Dorothy was aware of the pounding in her head before she was aware she’d been sleeping. That was how she emerged, with an angry fire burning in her skull and a mouth dry and pasty. “Goddess damn it,” she growled, pulling a pillow over her head and hugging it tightly. The coolness of the back of the pillow felt nice for a moment, but her own raging hangover heated it up within a minute. And there was still the matter of her parched throat.

Stuffing the pillow against the headboard, she rolled to her side and rubbed her eyes in order to peer at the digital clock glowing dimly on the nightstand. “Five o’clock.” Her voice rasped through another string of cusses as she evaluated her situation. She could try to grab another partial sleep cycle before her alarm went off, or she could get a glass of water and call it a wash, just go to work with a throbbing headache. Sighing heavily, she tossed back the sheets and swung her large legs over the edge of the mattress.

Dorothy was a loyal employee at Overmedia. Never took a sick day, always the first one in and departed sharply at 5 p.m. No one noticed her in the office and that was the way she liked it: as few meetings as were absolutely essential, and left alone to support the company single-handedly the rest of the time. Any daydreams she had of the younger, handsomer coworkers were quickly stifled down and replaced with a countdown to retirement. It was better to just focus on her paycheck and usher the gears of industry along as best she could.

But with every footfall of her thick feet, over her bedroom’s carpeting to the icy tiles of the bathroom, she wondered whether she might not put a small dent in her sick days. The doorways lurched sickeningly to the sides as she pulled herself through them. Her joints ached, her skin sweated, and it felt like there was a lump in her ass. The porcelain sink seemed to generate blinding light; she squinted and gritted her teeth, groping around for the polished chrome faucet. Chilly water roared into her waiting cup and she let it froth over her puffy hand, its coolness promising a primal relief to her suffering complex system. What if I didn’t go in today, she thought, hoisting the cup to her lips, letting it trickle over her gummy tongue and chill her throat. Oh, Goddess, that’s good. It tastes so much sweeter when I’m hungover.

She refilled the cup and brought it back to bed. There was no way she could go in today, not the way her head was pounding. All of her muscles felt lazy and gelatinous, and as she laid back down, the sloshing of her stomach told her she’d better not rock around too much longer, not without a bucket nearby. Setting the cup down on the nightstand, she fumbled gingerly for her cheaters and adjusted them on her nose before opening up the email app on her phone and breaking the bad news to her department. “Came down with a stomach bug,” she thumbed. “Encourage everyone to get their shots this flu season. Will be in Monday.”

The phone clattered to the nightstand as she rolled to her back and groaned. Why the hell did she drink so much, anyway? What was the occasion? Cupping her burning forehead in her cool palm, Dorothy reviewed the previous night’s activity.

That pretty blonde piece of fluff caught her as she was heading out the door. Lynn, her name was, in charge of Overmedia’s social media and relations. Dorothy, as research analyst, had to work with Lynn a couple times a month, generating reports on this marketing campaign or that outreach push, but they weren’t close in any sense. Why did Lynn need to see her so badly?

And why did Dorothy go along with it?

It didn’t sound like a bad idea at the time, going down to the mall, to Tuffy’s for two-for-ones. Not drink specials originally: Lynn insisted she had something important to talk about with Dorothy, but damned if she could remember what that was supposed to be. The two-for-ones kept coming, the Aperol, the Bellini, a pitcher of sangria. Lynn kept talking about her family, shows she was watching, never getting to the point of why they were there. In a way, it was nice to be included in something: Dorothy enjoyed a night out, getting a little careless, talking and laughing with another person.

Then it got hazy. There was a cab, or one of those ride-sharing services. Was there a hospital? Dorothy glanced at her wrists for an ID band, but no such thing was there. Somehow she ended up in her own bed, in a nightgown. Frowning, she sat up and looked around her bedroom. Her polyester suit from yesterday was draped across the back of a chair, next to her dresser. Did Lynn come up with her and get her changed? She really couldn’t remember.

She slumped back to the mattress, and her body inventory of annoying little aches and pains brought her back to her butt. She felt as though she were about to fart, but it was trapped between her huge cheeks and holding stationary. That’s what she hoped it was. If it was a drunken shart waiting to announce itself, she was going to be furious and depressed and humiliated. What was Lynn thinking? Dorothy laboriously drew in a breath and rolled to her side, fearing for the worst. She reached back and swatted her immense butt a couple times, a little awed at the profound ripples that traveled up her back and down her legs, in her vulnerable state.

Nothing came of that. She bit her bottom lip and groped her own butt cheek, her pudgy fingers crawling like a crab across the hillside of her ass. Hoping for the best, she gave her butt a tug and spread the deep fissure wide.

Something moved, something rolled out. Dorothy’s heart nearly stopped, fearful of one sole turd tumbling out and worsening an already crappy hangover. No pun intended. She froze for a moment, then sniffed the air: there was no scent of feces. Thank heaven for small favors! She sighed and relaxed, scooting her body to the side and rolling over to discover what was to be seen.

There on the pink-and-white bedsheets, within the curvature of her own body’s massive mountain range, lay a tiny little man.

Dorothy stared at it for a long time, it felt like. She knew it couldn’t be possible. Was it a toy? Who would’ve been able to shove a toy up her ass without her knowing? Oh, right, she was pretty sloshed last night. But what would have been Lynn’s motivation to slip a toy up her butt? And even if she wanted to, how did she have access? Did Dorothy provide access to her own butt to her coworker?

Did Lynn rape her with a toy?

Her heart pounded, but her asshole did not hurt. She took stock of her body: her stomach wanted to puke, her head was pounding, her muscles felt ill, but her ass was thankfully unviolated. It looked like she had a little riddle on her hands, solving the Mystery of Last Night. Taking no consolation in joining the time-honored ranks of this beloved American tradition, she retrained her swimming head upon the tiny figure sprawled somewhere below her sagging breasts.

He looked so realistic. So much detail had gone into this little toy. The hue of the skin was perfect. The fingers and toes were almost too small to be seen. She didn’t understand why he’d been dressed in what looked like a maxi pad, until she rubbed her eyes and found her reading glasses at the bedside table, and realized he was wearing a kind of tunic, a kind of muu-muu… no, a hospital gown. That was it: featureless, flat, and lightly patterned. But why? Why was a tiny man in a hospital gown hiding in her butt?

In a moment, her skin chilled and her insides turned clammy. Flashes of the previous night were coming back to her, new images, details of the hospital. The front desk, Lynn speaking aggressively to the nurses on staff. Lynn trying to get Dorothy to laugh, trying to get her to sit upright in her chair while they were waiting. Waiting for what?

The tiny figure was lying on its front. Its perfect calves bulged beneath the hem of its gown, its arms spread out at awkward angles. Its head was covered in matted hair. Frowning, Dorothy took up one of its arms, instinctively treating it with great delicacy. With this much exquisite detail came some fragility, no doubt. She rolled the figure to its back.

Why did it look like Derek? Why was a toy replica of Derek wearing a hospital gown? Why was the replica of her coworker stashed deep in the crack of her ass? How long had it been there?

“It” changed to “he” as her fingertips analyzed the tenderness of his wrist, the softness of the tiny man’s skin, how the joints flexed not like an articulated action figure but fluid, organic, like the fine bones in a chicken wing, but much, much smaller.

And that temperature. Cool and chilling, bleeding the heat of her deepest ass-crack regions. Limp, soft, and cool. This was not a toy.

Dorothy shrieked and rolled away, nearly falling out of bed. Instinctively she covered her crotch with one hand and tried to contain her full and floppy boobs with her other arm, crossing her legs defensively. Against what? There was no one else in the room except a tiny corpse, and she screamed again.

Derek. Derek was tiny. Derek was dead. Derek was tiny and dead in her bed.

Lynn. Lynn! What did you do, Lynn? What the fuck happened last night?

She realized she was still screaming and covered her mouth. It smelled like her own crotch, so she covered it with her other hand and let her boobs bobble upon her belly. Wide brown nipples stared at her bare feet. The world slowly woke up outside her window, light creeping in over the horizon, traffic slowly picking up. And Derek was dead and shrunken in her bed. Or shrunken, then dead, then in her bed. After being in her ass.

Dorothy’s eyes widened. Tiny Derek was in her ass, had been in her ass all night long while she slept. Was he dead when Lynn put him in there? No, that was too bizarre. That made no sense at all. Why would Lynn shrink a person down and hide him in her butt? But then again, why would she put a tiny living person in her butt? None of this made any sense.

Except.

If Derek was alive when Lynn put him in there.

And she had Derek in her ass all night long.

Did tiny Derek die in her ass?

Did Lynn kill tiny Derek by inserting him into her ass?

One hand drifted around her full hip and placed itself defensively upon her butt crack, far, far too late.

Her stomach seized, her armpits and head and chest flop-sweated. Her boob-clutching hand was busy protecting her butt, so her pussy-protecting hand flew to her mouth to prevent her from puking right there. The floorboards resounded with heavy blows from her heels as she stumped out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The lid and seat clattered in the tiled room as she clutched most of her hair and spewed great gouts of bile into the toilet, once, twice, thrice.

Her eyes watered. Her stomach cramped. She could scarcely draw a breath between rounds. The basin turned a rich burgundy, not of blood but of wine, sangria. Her head spun with all the drinks she must’ve consumed; very distantly she wondered who paid for all this. Was she going to have a nasty surprise when she checked her bank balance? The urge to punch a hole through Lynn’s skull was superseded by her ribs and abs spasming painfully, ready to eject more but nothing was forthcoming.

The rest was mechanical. Once the spasms subsided, she soaped up a washcloth and mopped her face. She brushed her teeth and savored her remineralizing mouthwash. Once she rinsed the stench of stomach acid from her sinuses, she drank about a gallon of water, standing nude in her kitchen. The morning sun shone through blinds, drawing glowing lines over her plump thigh and the wide curve of her hip, disappearing around the bulge of her ass. She breathed slowly, sucking in through her nostrils and blowing through pursed lips.

Fuck Lynn. Goddess-damned Lynn. She had some explaining to do. Later.

The coolness of the baked tiles of the kitchen floor, the marble counter against her wide ass, these were soothing to her. Dorothy used this relief to sort herself out.

If Derek was dead, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t in control of her actions. But she was mad at herself for believing that Lynn just wanted to make a new friendship, when really her goal was to stuff her miniaturized coworker in her ass.

Wait. That part didn’t make any sense. She would have to ask Lynn more about that, because absolutely nothing of it sounded rational.

Yet there was a dead tiny Derek in her bed right now. Was he still there? Was it a dream? She filled her electric kettle with cold water and set it to boil, to get ready for coffee, then slowly padded up the hall back to her bedroom.

The sheets were still thrown back and disheveled. There was an indent where her huge body had been laying all night. In the middle of this long crater lay a tiny, pale object. She rounded the corner of the bed and saw the tiny, fine limbs sticking out of the tiny hospital gown. Goddess damn it, there he was.

Dorothy drew a deep breath and crawled upon the bed, her fat knees digging into the mattress. She crouched near the tiny figure, staring at him. He wasn’t going to move, so she reached out and extended one pudgy index finger. She held her breath as she poked his side.

The limp little man rolled as far as she pushed him, then flopped back into place. He weighed nearly nothing, but she could feel a tiny hip and tiny ribs against her fingertip. Fascinating!

Emboldened, she crept closer on all fours. Her massive tits hung and blocked her view on the upswing. The tiny man was so much smaller than either of her boobs. She lowered her shoulders, watching her boobs rest upon the bedsheet and spread around the tiny man. She arranged him between her tits but she could have easily covered him with one: her resting boobs swelled over the diminutive body until only his peaceful face, almost sleeping, peeked between her fleshy mounds.

Was she sick? Was this wrong? Dorothy stared at tiny little Derek, embedded between her fat, matronly boobs. No one knew he was here, except Lynn, maybe. She didn’t mean to kill him, she just found him in her butt. He really did look asleep… Slowly she rocked on the bed, back and forth, making her massive boobs pulse around the tiny, handsome head. What was she doing? She didn’t know, but she wanted to find out.

Derek had been a frustrating character up to this point. He was good-looking, almost like Jim Halpert from The Office, but with shorter hair and younger. Not younger: Derek had a liveliness to him that made him seem young, but really, he was like a regressed adult. Playing pranks, saying horrible things about the women in the office, talking bullshit to get out of his responsibilities. Dorothy came to regard him as an obstacle: if you wanted to get something done, you had to disinclude Derek. Dorothy was all about results, doing a good job, wrapping things up and sending them along. Derek only wanted to drift through life, avoid hard work, avoid explanations, collect a paycheck and get drunk with friends.

It was hard to think bad thoughts about a dead acquaintance, but Dorothy was always a complex person. She could bear all these resentful thoughts in her head, and still look down at this sweetly dormant figure lodged in her fat boobs, simultaneously. No one in the office could guess what was going on within Dorothy at any moment, so she told herself.

It was unfortunate that Derek was dead. It wasn’t her fault; it was probably Lynn’s, but it was definitely not hers.

She let her hips slide to the mattress and stretched her legs out. Her stomach, her muscles all felt better, but she would need coffee soon to take care of her head. Her breasts bulged over the tiny little man, and she smiled to see it. If he were alive, would he be screaming right now?‌ Would he be thrilled?

Would he consider himself the luckiest little man in the world, buried beneath her gorgeous tits?

Dorothy paused, then rolled off of him, flopping to her back. This was fucked up. Even if he was the size of a toy, he was still Derek and he was still dead. There was a dead body in her bed, and she didn’t know if she should call the cops or… just… drop him into compost. Maybe toss him in the neighbor’s yard, the one with the little yappy dog. Let the dog take care of it.

She looked over one sagging boob at the tiny man lying not far from her armpit. No, that was too cruel. Tiny Derek was too cute for something that callous. Or was he? Dorothy’s brow furrowed: it wasn’t that she wanted to protect Derek. What was it?

The tip of her tongue poked between her lips and slid to the side, then the other. He was so cute, though. Derek was a handsome man, but now he was a cute little toy.

She kept one arm around him like a mountain range, but her other slipped over her round belly and her hand disappeared between her padded thighs. Her fingertips rasped through scraggly dark hairs, then sloshed between hot, wet, sucking lips.

He was so tiny and cute. So tiny.

Dorothy bit her lip and reached down to pluck him up. Such fine bones, so delicate. He dangled from her thumb and forefinger. Briefly she stopped masturbating to tug that ugly dressing gown off his body. There: Derek was naked. He was built about like Dorothy would’ve guessed: muscular legs and arms, a little padding around the belly, and… what a waste. That would’ve been a nice penis, if he were normal-sized. She wasn’t about to suck off a dead body, even if it looked like something she could win out of a gumball machine for fifty cents.

But.

Dorothy dug her heels into the mattress and shoved her head and shoulders into a pile of pillows. She brought her arm down, hoisting the limp figure over the hillside of her breasts, the mountain of her belly, down into the valley of her thighs. She stared at the ceiling, focusing on the sensation of draping the soft, yielding form upon her labia. He was cool, but he picked up her heat rapidly. She glanced guiltily at the Venetian blinds: there was no way anyone could see her. There were bushes and trees, and the next house lay at the wrong angle. She closed her eyes and placed her index finger between his shoulder blades and nudged him gently between her thick labia.

The tiny little chest pushed through her folds easily. He stuck there, weightless, adhered by her old pussy’s juices. Such juices! Dorothy hadn’t gotten this wet on her own in a long time. Her nightstand held a couple bottles of flavored lube, just something for her own entertainment, but she was delighted to discover how copiously the fluid flowed from her pussy right now. Her knuckle brushed the tiny skull against her clit and she gasped. She released him and he held in place, embraced by her engorged labia. Taking a deep breath, she ground her fingertips on either side of her clit and rubbed it in slow, deep circles, harder and faster.

Derek stayed put. The tiny body remained lodged in her vulva, a warm, solid mass of person, like a strong man’s thumb except softer. She strummed her little pink bean harder, hoping not to knock him out of her pussy, but he never left. It’s like he wanted to be there. She bit her lip and rubbed harder, gripped one huge tit in her other hand, and held her breath.

In two minutes she came, hard. The tiny man plopped to the mattress, finally set free by a torrent of juices from Dorothy’s depths. She didn’t even mind, stunned at this renewed lease on sexual life. Did she want Derek that much? That couldn’t have been it. But this little man, this tiny man that she could own, that she could place wherever she wanted and make do whatever she needed…

She had to talk to Lynn. Lynn must know what was going on. And she did call, after she mopped herself up and showered, and after she stuffed the tiny body entirely inside her pussy and came even harder than before. Derek didn’t look so good when he came out, like he’d been strangled and crushed, so Dorothy wadded him up in paper towel and hid him in the compost bucket, half in disgust and half in regret. But she called Lynn.

“Hi, this is Lynn, social media manager for Overmedia! I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now—”

Dorothy hung up, swore, and redialed.

“Hi, this is Lynn—”

“Answer, you coward!” Dorothy’s throat hurt from vomiting. She scrunched her face up and tried to recall the day’s schedule. She called up her calendar on her phone: there were no meetings until noon, after which were talks about specific projects. No all-office meetings, no reason for Lynn to be away from her desk.

“Hi, this is Lynn—”

Dorothy wondered if this made her look crazy, rapidly redialing someone like this. Would it be like Lynn to avoid her? Maybe her name was coming up on caller ID and Lynn didn’t want to deal with the shitstorm she’d created. Was that like her? No, Lynn was pretty good about owning up to things. Derek was the one who’d dodge and evade and slip away like smoke.

“Hi, this is Lynn.”

Dorothy nearly hung up, until she heard no more words forthcoming. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Lynn.”

“Hello?”

“Hello?”

“Lynn?”

“Hi, this is Lynn.”

Dorothy pulled her phone away and stared at it, flummoxed, then put it back to her ear. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, this is Lynn with Overmedia. Who’s this?”

“Lynn! This is Dorothy.”

There was a slight pause. “Dorothy, hi! How’s your head? I saw from your email you’re not coming in today.”

“I’m taking it easy today. Shit, I‌ forgot I’m making coffee. How are you doing? You’re in the office, didn’t you drink as much as I did?”

Laughter barked over the smartphone. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but I can still handle a night of binge-drinking. I‌ was surprised you kept up with me.”

“I‌’m surprised I‌ tried. That’s not usually something I‌ do. But I’m getting off track, this isn’t what I called about.”

“Is there something I can do for you?”

Dorothy paused. Was Lynn playing dumb because she was at work, or did she really not know what was going on?

“Hey, Lynn.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

“I hope you’re not upset about our girls’ night out. I‌ mean, you are a consenting adult, we were just having a little fun.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I can accept responsibility for how much I drank, or I‌ have to.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t know why you needed me to drink so much, but I‌ suspect it has to do with what I found in my bed this morning.”

“Uh, Dorothy, I had a late breakfast, so if you’re about to tell me about something your body did because of last night—”

“No, Lynn. You know what I’m talking about.”

Pause. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“I’m talking about… someone we know.”

Pause. “I’ve got a meeting I‌ have to get ready for. Can we pick this up later?”

“You don’t have any meetings, I checked your calendar.”

“There are people outside my office right now. I can’t talk about this now. Can we pick it up later?”

Dorothy’s face flushed with anger. “When would you like to talk about it, Lynn?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Saturday?”

“Meet me at the Grindstone by our office. Can you do ten o’clock?”

Dorothy could. They hung up and she had another long, hot shower, rinsing the cum off her inner thighs and out of all the creases in her hips and thighs and ass. Then she thought of that slender, frail form draped over her pussy’s lips and her thick fingers thrust and hooked into her pussy and her howls echoed off the shower tiles and she gushed sloppy spray around her ankles. She had pictured the tiny man again, but not dead or even sleeping. Awake, doing stuff. But after cumming three times in an hour, as she toweled herself off, she started to wonder what the hell was wrong with her. This wasn’t something she was into, she never had been, not even a hint of it. Why the hell would she suddenly get off to something so strange? Was her body waiting for something like this all these years? She swayed on her feet, suddenly dizzy, and let herself collapse to the bed with a choir of groaning springs and stressed wood frame.

Her head was pounding. Her heart beat hard and fast, but it calmed down shortly, as though she were experiencing a head rush. Slowly she sat up, bound her wet hair up in her towel, and pulled on a dressing gown for walking around the house. She couldn’t remember which windows were open and didn’t want to give anyone a show. She just wanted to make some breakfast, turn on the TV, and lie down and stop thinking for a long time.

Saturday morning was warm and clear. Dorothy went with faded jeans, the old reliable pair by the one brand who seemed to understand not all women were beanpoles without hips, and a comfortable old sweatshirt from her alma mater. There was no reason to dress up, just to go out for coffee with a coworker. That was a reason to play it frumpy, actually, to show Lynn that she wasn’t just a high-performing working stiff, though the instinct to “prove” herself to Lynn surprised her. Why on earth.

She carefully balanced her pumpkin spice latte from the counter to a small wooden table, which she discovered had uneven feet. Rising, she pursed her lips to survey the store: she took a postcard from the front counter, one promoting two bands she’d never heard of—Steaks of Leisure and Why Lizard, Why?—and folded it several times before wedging it under the shortest foot. She was testing the table as Lynn walked up from the rear of the cafe, probably the restrooms. The young blonde woman set her backpack on her chair and leaned over to hug Dorothy with a keening “hi-i-i-i-i!” as if they were old friends. Lynn excused herself immediately to go order a coffee, and Dorothy watched her go, surprised to see her in jeans and a hoodie as well.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Lynn said, once she got set up at the little table. Dorothy took the booth so Lynn got the little chair.

Dorothy opened her mouth and closed it again. “I don’t know how to start this. Something very strange happened to me yesterday morning, and I think it had to do with you and me going out and getting plowed Thursday night.”

Lynn’s eyes twinkled. “Were you a little hungover? I’m really sorry about that. I just thought we were having a good time. I guess we got a little out of control.”

“That’s the other part that doesn’t make sense. We don’t talk in the hallway, you never stop by my office and I never stop by yours, unless we’re talking about an assignment. Why did you call me out for a good time? We’re not that close, frankly.”

“I thought we could be!”

“But why? Why is a young, pretty, professional woman like you worried about forming an alliance, or whatever you were trying to do, with someone like me?”

Lynn’s eyebrows arched and she tilted her head. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Dorothy. Are you saying you don’t want to be friends?”

Dorothy straightened up in her seat. “Don’t try that low-grade manipulation on me. I’ve been around the block a few times. That might work on your Pinot Noir friends, your Sex and the City club, and it might have worked on me 30 years ago. Answer my question.”

“What was your question?” Lynn’s eyes lit up as she sipped her latte, looking cartoonishly large over the rim of her cup.

Dorothy snorted hard enough to disturb the milk froth on her drink. “Fine, that’s how you want to play it?” She cleared her throat, and her resentment of Lynn overrode her self-consciousness at what she was about to do: speaking loudly enough for the tables nearby to hear. “What did you insert into my ass in the hospital, after you got me blackout drunk?”

Lynn swore and ducked her head, as if to avoid the sweeping gazes of those around them. “Holy crap! Keep your voice down. I’ll tell you everything, jeez, just calm down.” It pleased Dorothy to see the younger woman off-balance, peering around her with flushed cheeks. “What exactly are you talking about? I was pretty lit too, so maybe…”

“Are you going to keep messing around with me?” Dorothy drew a long breath, glaring at Lynn.

“All right, all right! I’ll tell you, but you won’t believe me.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“And don’t scream.”

“Oh, I did all my screaming yesterday morning, believe me. Lots of screaming and puking, both because of you, for different but, I suspect, related reasons. Now spill.”

To her credit, Lynn did.

It was a difficult conversation, but both women were intent on getting through it, both the large, dumpy, middle-aged woman in jeans and a sweatshirt and the young, lean woman coincidentally dressed like her. They sipped their coffees, attracting no attention from anyone around them in Grindstone, and staged their bizarre conversation methodically.

“That’s impossible.”

“I thought so too, but it happened.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“You have to, there’s no other explanation.”

“People don’t get that small.”

“You saw him in the hospital, when you sat on him.”

“No, I saw him dead in my bed when I‌ rolled over.”

“He was alive when you took him into your butt.”

“I don’t remember any of that, because you got me shitfaced drunk.”

“I’m not responsible for your intake.”

“The only reason you went out with me was to get me drunk and end up stuffing that poor little man in my rear.”

Lynn was past denying this. She sighed heavily and watched the little disk of latte swirl around the bottom of her cup. “Nothing against you, Dorothy. I wouldn’t have even thought of you if you weren’t complicit.”

Dorothy reared. “What? How in Goddess’s name am I complicit at all?”

“You were sitting on him for a good hour or more, in your own office.”

“I never did.”

“You weren’t aware of it, but yeah, Derek ended up on your chair and you plumped yourself right down on him, farting all afternoon.”

Dorothy’s mouth opened and shut. She wanted to deny this blandishment but she knew what condition her digestive tract was in lately, and only a tiny man lodged under her rear could have had that kind of information. “I was completely unaware of this.”

“You also shit on him, before that.”

The room spun around Dorothy, who gripped the arm of her seat to steady herself. “That’s foul. You’re just being foul for shock’s sake. You’re going too far, young missy.”

“It was the same day. You came into the bathroom after I did. I dropped him into the toilet on accident, and I was washing my hands when you came in and used my stall. Remember?”

Dorothy did. It was that lame lie about losing her phone in the stall. She was struck by how insistent Lynn was on going back into that stall and none other.

“So, poor little Derek was swimming around in the bowl when you dropped your pants and unleashed on him.” Lynn grimaced and shivered in her seat. “I heard it all. Maybe you need more fiber or something.”

“But it’s fiber that makes me—” Dorothy cut herself off. She pictured the scene, tugging down her polyester slacks, absently turning around and plopping down on that cold, resin seat, and just letting herself go. She had no idea Lynn was still there, and she had absolutely no idea Derek was underneath her. That meant he saw… well, everything. To say nothing of the human waste she dumped upon him. “How did he get out of there? Was he okay?”

“I waited around until you left, and then I fished him out and washed him down. It was fucking disgusting.” Lynn peered into her cup again and, deciding the image of a white basin with brown running around the bottom was a bit too suggestive, set her cup on the table and hugged herself.

Dorothy was sick with embarrassment. “Why me? Why are you picking on me like this? I didn’t want to… poop all over Derek. I liked him, I thought he was cute. Annoying, lazy, but not a bad guy.”

Lynn turned to lock Dorothy’s gaze. “That’s because he wasn’t targeting you. You have no idea what he was like, all the innuendos, the jokes he makes when I’m in earshot.” She paused. “Made. The jokes, the comments he made, constantly asking me out and calling me horrible things when I refused. So it just built up, the resentment. It stacked up inside me like a warehouse of hatred. I wanted to punch him or push him out the window, but I just kept it all inside me until one day…” She flung her fingers wide. “Poof. He shrunk down. If I had to guess, it’s just the big release of psychic energy or something. Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

Dorothy hadn’t. She thought about Derek, tall and handsome, walking around the office innocently while harassing the younger, cuter women. Of course he wouldn’t pay any attention to Dorothy. But it was so nice rubbing him on her crotch, draping him over herself like a napkin or a veil. To hold a tiny person like that in her hand, a real person, a real man in her hand… “That wasn’t fair of you to use me like that. You got me so sick the next day, and then I had to dispose of the body.”

“I’m sorry, Dorothy. I‌ wasn’t thinking clearly, I was just reacting to a bizarre circumstance.”

“And it wasn’t fair to give him to me when you’d already taken him away.”

The blonde tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t know he was a person, at first. He looked realistic, but just detailed, like an expensive toy. And…” Why was she telling Lynn this? She bit her lip and looked down, where her large thighs stretched out her jeans.

“Dorothy? What are you saying?” Lynn’s hair spilled over the table as she leaned into Dorothy’s space, grinning. “Were you into that? Did you like having a tiny, little man of your own?”

Heat welled up in Dorothy’s cheeks. Her armpits were suddenly clammy with sweat. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s a hell of a thing to tease a woman with, giving her this incredible gift and yanking it away again.”

Lynn rested her chin in her palm and tapped her front teeth. “What if I got you another one?”

“That’s not funny.”

“No, Dorothy, listen. If I did this once, I could probably do it again. I haven’t tried, but there’s no harm in trying, is there?”

The heart in Dorothy’s ribs bounced off the walls. “Do you really think you could?”

Lynn nestled back in her seat. “Who do you like, in the office? Who do you want?”

“I… I don’t…” Dorothy hadn’t considered this at all. She tried to run down the roster of employees but kept seeing the women in charge, the women she answered to. She didn’t want a tiny woman. She wanted another tiny man, but who was there?

James. He was very handsome, so tall and strong. Dorothy loved his skin, the suggestion of muscles beneath those well-tailored shirts. But no, James would be missed, he was too prominent in the office. It had to be someone unnoticeable, someone new and menial. Was there anyone like that? She tried hard to recall, but her ambit was so small, there were so few people she had to deal with.

Sensing internal conflict, Lynn suggested a couple names in the office. “Ilyas?” “Don’t be silly, he’s too important.” “Ethan?” “He’s not really my, you know.” “Yeah, I‌ know. How about Warren?” “Where’s he work?” “He’s one of the copywriters.” “I can’t picture him.” “Neal?” “The tall, skinny guy?” “No, the… forget it. How about David?” “No, he’s mean to me. I don’t like to look at him.”

This went on until Dorothy finally threw up her arms. “This isn’t working. This is ridiculous! Look at us, going through all the men in our office like a grocery list. This is sick, what are we doing?”

Undeterred, Lynn said, “What about Simon?”

Dorothy paused. “Who’s Simon?”

“He’s like Derek but with a lot less power.”

“Where does he work?”

“At the front desk. He’s an intern. Have you seriously never met Simon?” Lynn put her hands on her hips and looked at Dorothy incredulously.

“I’m just not placing him…”

“Here.” Lynn lurched over to fish her phone from her pocket. “This was a couple weeks ago. I got a picture of him to welcome him on our blog.” She held out a large, glassy slab.

Dorothy regarded it critically, then slowly leaned in and took the phone. “Oh, my Goddess, he’s a little charmer. How long’s he been with us? He looks like he’s quite taken with you.”

Lynn pursed her lips. “I thought he was making a face for the camera, but he’s been kind of a pest. He always stops me with a joke or small talk whenever I walk by his desk. And I’m kinda of trapped, he’s in the middle of it all and I’m at the end of the hall, I can’t avoid him.” Her eyes narrowed. “‌I bet I could build up enough energy to zap him.”

And so it was decided: Lynn would “prepare” Simon for Dorothy, and the three of them would meet at a nice restaurant within the next three days. “Wear something revealing, too. You’ve got some nice curves on you, you should play them up.” When Dorothy tried to deny this, Lynn insisted: “Look, he’s going to be a tiny little man under your control. You can show up in a muu-muu if you want: he can’t run away. You might as well show yourself off to him, right? Make yourself feel sexy? Get yourself in the mood?”

“Yes, but in public?”

“Who cares what anyone else thinks? You’re going home with a tiny little man! Who else gets that?” Lynn grinned toothily. “A little man all to yourself, to play with and love and throw away when you’re done with him.”

“I would never!”

“Okay, but you could if you wanted. Right? Aren’t you in control? Doesn’t his fate rest in your hands? You bet it does.” Lynn gathered her cup and Dorothy’s, wadding up their little paper napkins. “You’re going to be great. Have fun with it! Who knows if this’ll ever happen again?”

Dorothy watched her bus the dishes away, then come back for her backpack under the chair. She hugged the younger woman and they traded personal numbers. When would it be, Dorothy wanted to know, but Lynn said they had to wait until just the right moment so she could really build up a charge and unleash it on the poor, unwitting intern. Dorothy laid a hand upon her wide chest, trying to calm her heart, watching Lynn wave encouragingly as she left. She watched Lynn drop a couple ones in the tip jar, then hold the door open for a pair of squirrelly kids and their beleaguered mother. Past the seated customers and through the brushed steel frames of the windows, Dorothy watched ‌Lynn recede into the background as she walked to her car. She looked at her hands in her broad lap, her wrinkled hands, her fat fingers, and she wondered whether she’d made a mistake.

What she did not see was Lynn peeling off her hoodie and angrily unzipping her backpack in the trunk of her car. She did not see Lynn pull out a variety of outfits, snatching up a more fashionable blouse and stash the hoodie away. Even if she had, she might not have guessed that Lynn had shown up first and was waiting for Dorothy, to see what she wore, ready to change in the bathroom to match her as closely as possible, a subtler way to build rapport than taking her to another bar to get her sloshed.

# # #

Monday came and Dorothy was at her desk, slightly early, ready to take on the day. People slowly filtered in over the next half hour, taking up their positions, shaking off the weekend. The printer/copier ran through its comprehensive warmup rituals. Doors unlocked, greetings were exchanged, and Dorothy watched bodies pass by outside her door.

“Lynn!” she shouted at the slender bare legs scissoring by in a tight black skirt. “Good morning, Lynn! Today’s the day, right?”

Lynn gave her that toothy grin again, flanked by crossed fingers. “Wish me luck, I’ll do what I can!”

But nothing happened that day. It turned out Simon didn’t work every day in the office, just some days. He’d be in Tuesday.

Tuesday, Dorothy dressed in a sparkling turtleneck with a long loose-knit sweater jacket, hanging down to her knees. It was a little more casual than what she preferred, but she felt like taking a chance.

James performed a double-take, leaning into her doorway to grin at her. “Look at you, Miss Dorothy! All dressed up for a Tuesday. You got something special going on tonight?” Dorothy simpered and stammered her way through a denial, “just felt like sprucing up a bit. No reason.”

Lynn passed by a couple times, seeming not to hear Dorothy calling out to her. Pouting, she wondered if she might catch a glimpse of the new guy, at least. She picked out a new manila folder, stuffed it with random paperwork from behind her desk, and sauntered out into the foyer.

A young man sat in a large ergonomic chair upholstered in fake leather. His haircut was tidy and his clothes were clean, but they hung on him poorly, too boxy and wadded up on his lean frame. He’d be more comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts, Dorothy thought, though immediately she tried to picture him naked. Was he too boyish? Was he even old enough to be working here? Dorothy slowly let out a pent-up breath through her nostrils, studying him: no, she was old enough that anyone in their 20s looked like a baby. Still, she found it hard to believe he was drinking age. Maybe he wasn’t! Lynn didn’t say.

After some minutes of awkwardly ignoring her, Simon was compelled to speak up. “Yes, ma’am, can I help you with something?” His voice had the squawk of late puberty, or maybe that was her imagination.

“Hello, there… Simon, isn’t it?” Dorothy lifted her chin and smiled vaguely. “You can call me Dorothy, I do research analysis, right in that office over there.” She reached behind her, without turning away, to both point at the office and to thrust her breasts over the front desk, but she turned back too slowly to see whether he’d checked her out. All things considered, she had some pretty nice boobs, though this thought was immediately chased by one that made her feel ridiculous for proffering herself to someone young enough to be her son. “How do you like it here at Overmedia?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s all right, I guess. I‌ mean, I‌ just started, I don’t know.”

Dorothy leaned over, resting her elbows upon the desk, wishing she’d chosen something with a lower neckline than a damned turtleneck. “Have you worked in many other offices downtown?”

“No, actually, I’m not from Greenville. Just going here for college.”

“Oh, really? Usha Benton Memorial University?”

He nodded like a spasmodic jerk. “First semester.”

“That’s my alma mater, like a lot of people around here. What are you taking?”

Simon looked like he wanted to shrink in his clothes and disappear. “Dunno yet. Just gonna, kinda, take a bunch of stuff and see if I‌ like anything.” Lacking the graces to say something to get himself out of the conversation, he simply placed his hands on his keyboard and pretended to type.

“It’s good to keep your options open, Simon,” Dorothy said, pulling back from the desk. “In fact, sometimes it’s a good idea not to have any plans at all.” Was that suitably foreboding? She hoped so, sashaying back to her desk, where she realized she was three minutes late for a campaign rollout meeting downstairs.

Dorothy didn’t see Lynn for all of Wednesday, so there were no updates. She texted the blonde piece of fluff but didn’t hear back from her until after dinner, and even then it was just an emoji, a blonde woman shrugging.

Thursday, Dorothy couldn’t get more than a tight grin and a thumbs-up from Lynn, passing by her office. Simon was out Mondays and Thursdays, apparently. When was this supposed to happen? Was Lynn even trying? Dorothy didn’t know if she could wait another week! She felt stranded, misled, maybe even betrayed. She went into the office calendar and looked at Lynn’s schedule, and her heart sank. Lynn was completely booked up and pulled in a dozen directions. No wonder this was such a struggle for her: Lynn didn’t mean to blow her off. Sighing, Dorothy looked at the next couple of weeks in Lynn’s calendar, hoping to find a free hour or two. Maybe she could stopper it up with a fake meeting, a placeholder so Lynn could build up her magic and do her stuff.

Unless she was being lied to about the whole process…

#   #   #

“Hey, Lynn.” Simon appeared out of nowhere behind her.

Lynn finished punching commands on the LCD screen of the printer. “Hey, Simon,”‌ she said without looking up. She tossed back her ponytail; it swung right back down into the screen she was reading.

“I like your shoes.”

“Hm.”

“They’re nice shoes. …Where’d you get them?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think I got them anywhere you’d shop.”

“Huh… oh, yeah!” Simon’s laughter sounded like a dog being strangled. “Having trouble with the copier? Anything I can help with?”

“Have you ever used this model before?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then nope.”

Through the silence interrupted by the quiet pings of the printer’s help screen, Lynn sensed a tension building up. She stopped what she was doing and slowly stood upright, then turned around. Simon had been hanging out by the door of the copy room behind her, quite obviously staring at her legs. When he saw her spot him, he pretended to get something to drink from the water cooler, but he didn’t have a cup and only doused his hand.

“Hey, Simon,” Lynn said slowly. “You’re new in town, aren’t you? Have you figured out where all the hot spots are around here?”

He straightened up but his rumpled clothes made him look like a discarded marionette. “No, uh, no. I mean, yeah, I’ve been to some clubs.”

“Have you? Which ones?”

Simon blushed and looked down. “All-ages shows, you know. I’m not 21 yet.”

“So, Tuffy’s? The Lamplighter?”

“Uh, no. I’ve been to Bench a few times, saw Mallet Sisters and Steak of Leisure.”

“Bench? Isn’t that in the, uh, Student Union?”

Simon shifted from foot to foot, wiping his hand on his slacks.

“I‌ was just wondering if you wanted to go out sometime.”

The young man looked like someone shoved a backup diesel generator up his butt. “What? Who? With me?”

“Yeah, of course you, dummy! Who else?” She leaned against the printer, folding her arms right under her breasts. Watching the goofy grin spread across his face felt like pouring cold slime down her back.

“I didn’t think you knew who I even was,”‌ he said, stepping toward her.

“Oh, I know who you are, all right. I know someone who really wants to meet you, too.”

He froze in his tracks and deflated. “I thought you wanted to go out with me.”

She laughed louder than she intended. “Me? And you? Please, you’re not in my league, little boy.”

“I’m a grown-ass man,” he said, straightening up. Finally he was able to make eye contact with her, but the rest of his body looked like it wanted to flee.

“No, I see how you stare at me when I‌ walk by, Simon.” She pushed off the printer with her hips. “You’re not subtle in the least, leaning over to check me out when I‌ walk back to my office. You’ve got me trapped, don’t you, in that one single hallway? I have to walk by you to get to my office, and all you have to do is wait for me to come out.” One of her pumps slowly swung around the other as she strode toward him. “Do you like that, Simon? Having women trapped like that? Women who are stuck right where you want them?” She took another step, flexing her fingers into fists. She tried to muster the hatred she felt before, but the young man looked pathetic. “Does it make you feel powerful, Simon? Do you feel like you’re in total control of them?”

“Uh, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Simon was blushing deeply and trying to edge around her.

“Can you imagine what it would be like to have those roles reversed, Simon? To have someone else in control of you? To live with someone else who has all the power and tells you what to do?” She reached up and untied her ponytail, letting her golden hair spill down the shoulders of her jacket. Maybe the magical tension had to do with his arousal, too, like with Derek. “It could be scary… but it could be really nice, too. No more responsibilities, no more confusing thoughts. Just belonging to someone else, someone who wants very few things out of you. Think about that, Simon, how simple that would make things. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I have to get back to my desk,”‌ he stammered.

“There’s only one place you have to go now, Simon,” she said in a low growl. It was difficult to hate, really hate someone as hapless as the intern. He looked like he was going to puke. Lynn shook her head: no, he objectified her, just like Derek. He ogled her, he contributed to an unsafe work environment for women. He was young and stupid and weak now, but in a few years, he could be another Derek. Never mind that he was starting to cry right now…

“Goddess damn it.” Lynn couldn’t do it. Simon was a mere irritation compared to Derek. He wasn’t the crass, insulting, bullying tormentor that Derek was. She could just see his face now, that smirk, those leering eyes. She recalled how lively conversation dropped whenever she entered the area, how he and his friends would stare at her while she did her work and laugh behind her back.

So that was the answer: she needed her hatred of Derek to get her through this. She blocked out wimpy little Simon’s begging to step around her and get back to his computer, and she focused on her old harasser. All that energy was still in her, fresh and hot, and before she knew it there was a flash of heat and light.

Lynn caught herself against the printer, panting. It took a lot out of her, but it looked like it worked: Simon was nothing more than a pile of clothes in the middle of the copy room. Hastily she gathered them all up, feeling the tiny, squirming body in the middle of them. She trotted back to her office, passing Dorothy on the way. She hoisted the bundle of clothes briefly, letting the older, larger woman know that the operation was a success. Her heavy office door slammed behind her, and she threw the clothes to her desk and pulled them apart, searching for her little prize.

She found him. Lynn stared at the shrunken man, frozen in mid-toss of his ill-fitting dress shirt. Simon gaped at her, then searched the room in confusion, sprawled on her desk.

“Oh, shit,”‌ she said.

#   #   #

Simon woke up with an aching jaw and sore neck. He tried to roll over, finding himself folded up in an uncomfortable position, but he was swaddled in a blanket. No, that wasn’t quite right: there was fabric all around him, but it wasn’t binding him. He had the ability to move, somewhat. It was more like being zipped up in a roomy sleeping bag.

And then tossed into a storage garage or something. Hard objects jutted into his side, lay unyielding behind his back and against his head. “What the hell is this,”‌ he groaned, trying to look around. Everything was dark and cramped, and it freaked him out. His breathing sped up and he caught whiffs of candy, mint, perfume. Lots of different perfumes competing with each other. He found he could breathe easily, despite the cloying aromas crowding his nose, so he settled in to figure out how much room he actually had.

Looking around was useless, as there was no light and anywhere he turned bumped him into something. He cried out as he aggravated his neck. Why did it hurt? Dimly he recalled that it had something to do with how his head snapped to the side when he took the blow to his jaw. Wincing in the shadows, he gingerly touched his jaw and neck muscles to assess them for damage. Why did his jaw hurt? And where were his clothes?

Slowly the answers floated up to him like lost balloons at a birthday party. No, he wasn’t kidnapped and stored in a warehouse. His whole body flinched violently at the memory of Lynn’s fist rushing toward him, blocking out everything. Except she hadn’t punched him, exactly. She tucked her finger behind her thumb, then released it, and there was a flash of her nail polish before everything went black.

What happened right before that, though? And where were his clothes?

“Dorothy! Over here!” Simon heard Lynn’s voice call out brightly, if muffled.

“Lynn! Hey, Lynn, help me! I’m trapped somewhere!” he shouted back.

There was no response at all. Had he hallucinated it? Was he going crazy, cramped in the darkness, naked and injured? Was he hungry, thirsty? He ran his tongue around his mouth and drew breath to call out again.

“Look at you! You really went all out!” Lynn said again. She was speaking normally but someone had turned the volume up.

“Really? You don’t think it’s too much?” This second voice was kind of familiar, but Simon couldn’t place it. But Lynn gave that speaker a name. Did he know a Dorothy? That was an old person’s name.

“Turn around, let’s get a look at you. I‌ can’t believe it! How come you never dress this sexy in the office?” “Oh, stop!” “No, seriously! You look like you hunt down antelope and devour them raw. Greenville better lock up the boys!” “Not so loud, you’re attracting attention.” “What attention? There’s nobody back here, just us. It’s just…” “Oh, no! What? What’s wrong?” “Nothing, but you’re tugging on your waistband. Turn around a sec.” “Are they too tight? They’re too tight. Are they?” “They look great, it just looks like they’re fighting you. You kinda gotta healthy backside, there, girl. Were you trying to hide it?” “I’m too fat for these!” “No, no.” “This is a disaster!” “No, no.” “Was this a bad idea? This was a bad idea. I look like a fool.” “Hey, knock that off. All right? Nothing but good vibes here. You look like a knockout, you’re sure to impress.” “Is he here? Oh, my Goddess! Is he here already?” “Oh, he’s here all right. Why don’t you have a seat?” “I’m too nervous to sit. Wait, isn’t that his chair?” “Nope, it’s all yours.” “Then that means… it worked?!” “Sure, it worked.” “What’s that look for? Did it work or not?” “Yes, it worked. Mostly.” “What does mostly mean? What’s that mean? Is he okay?” “Why don’t you have a seat and find out for yourself.”

Simon could hear the wooden legs of a chair scrape over a floor. The room he was in turned sideways, and everything in it leaped up and flew around, banging into him. He yelped and pushed hard, heavy, plastic objects away from his head, until enormous fingers slid around his waist and clutched him. He cried out and hammered at the large knuckle on his belly, but the fist hauled him out of the strange container and brought him into the light.

Lacquered wood struck his feet and his knees buckled. He rubbed his eyes as all the powdery floral scents gave way to steak and fried food. His stomach grumbled reflexively and he realized he was starving. But he was also being shaken, violently, unable to focus on anything. “Stand up, stand up!” Lynn was saying sharply. Where was she?

He was held aloft and he could make out globes of red glass glowing in iron chandeliers that looked like wagon wheels, hanging by chains from the ceiling. The sounds of a busy kitchen were in the distance, with tinny music coming along with them, superseded by louder music all around him. His legs hung in space until the hardwood surface rose once more, brushing his toes. Reflexively he tried to find his balance on the surface, and once his legs stiffened, the massive fist slowly relinquished its hold on him. Warm air washed over his stomach and thighs and bare butt, and vaguely his hands drifted to cover his penis. He was naked in a restaurant. Why was he naked in a restaurant?

A shrieking woman shattered the shell of his confusion. “Oh, my Goddess! He’s adorable!” Simon hunched defensively and looked around himself.

He was standing on a glossy platform, next to a huge glowing red globe and a billboard bearing menu items and prices. There was a gigantic woman in front of him and another behind him, like statues, except they were both moving and talking. He could only see them from the waist up. Everything else around them looked like a regular restaurant: Jubilee Manor, in fact. He’d followed a group of carousing college students here one night, lacking anything better to do. But it looked like they were in one of the private rooms in the back, large enough for a party but closed off from the regular patrons.

He was alone with two giantesses, standing naked between them on a raised platform, not far from large red, plastic canisters in front of each of them. The canisters looked like cheap drinking tumblers, like you might find at a restaurant like this. And that billboard looked like the faithful recreation of a menu. He looked at the floor beneath his bare feet, and a thought started to emerge from the back of his skull, an unacceptable and intrusive thought.

“He’s a bit larger than I was expecting, though,” said the older huge woman.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Simon spun around to look at the giantess behind him, and discovered that she looked a lot like Lynn, from the office. It was Lynn, just enormous and very close. He looked up at her as she looked over him: he could see under her jaw, up into her nostrils. It was kind of exciting, though the perspective made him dizzy. Was this a dream? He let out a strangled, nervous laugh. It could only be a dream.

He struggled to find his breath, in his surprise. “Hey… hi, Lynn,” he said, freeing one hand to wave at her. She ignored him, so he looked at the other giant woman.

She was staring dead at him. She absolutely did notice him, with huge, intense eyes and a dreamy grin twitching on her lips. Deep gouges of wine-red lipstick accented otherwise thin lips, and dark eyeliner emphasized her eyes. Her dark hair was swept to the side in a dramatic wave, with a large, ruby-colored earring glinting beneath it. A thin gold necklace rested around her chubby neck and disappeared between large breasts. She wore a voluminous ruffled blouse with a wide scoop neck that showed off her shoulders, her chest, and quite a lot of her tits. It bothered him how familiar she looked, almost as much as her gaze unnerved him. She looked like she was expecting something from him.

What could she want? He looked back at Lynn.

“I couldn’t get the same anger at him that I had for Derek. I think that was part of it.” Lynn finally looked down at him, so he smiled and waved again. She gave no indication that she noticed this. “I mean, I could try again, but I don’t know what would happen. I’m sorry, Dorothy, I really tried to do it again. This was the best I could muster.”

“Oh, no, don’t apologize. He’s beautiful.” Simon turned toward the older woman and realized who Dorothy was and how he knew her. She never wore this much makeup at work. She must be done-up for this restaurant. “In fact, he’s better than perfect. He looks like he can take some… I mean, he looks more durable.” She covered her mouth with four pudgy fingers and blushed a little bit. “I‌ just mean that Derek was so light and fragile. I could hardly touch him without fear of breaking him into pieces. But this guy looks like he’ll last a while.”

The older giantess reached for him, thick and wrinkly hands spreading greedy fingers as they grew closer. Simon stepped back, then turned to run to Lynn for protection. He only collided with her open palms, as solid as a brick wall, and then he staggered to keep upright as they shoved him into Dorothy’s grasp.

“So, what do you think?” Lynn beamed at Dorothy, reading her delighted expression. “Is he going to do the job?”

Dorothy cradled the little man in the crook of one arm, corralling him upon one massive breast. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.” She cooed at him, poking at him with thick fingers, giggling as he tried to kick her away. “I’ve got another chance…”

“Another chance at what?” Lynn tilted her head, her golden hair spilling and shimmering in the candlelight.

It was some moments before Dorothy heard her, rapt as she was with her prize. She looked up and blinked at Lynn. “Oh, uh, nothing. I just can’t believe this is real! Isn’t this amazing?” She gazed lovingly upon the little man who stared up at her in horror, swatting her fingers away as she wheedled his tiny little penis between her thumb and forefinger. “You don’t like that? Of course you do. Now, just hold still and let Mommy please you, okay?” Her breathing grew heavier as she pinned his arms down, pressing them into her tit, and slipped another finger between his lean thighs. The tip of her finger brushed over his balls: she panted, watching the tiny scrotum roll and slide over the ridges in her fingerprint.

Simon heard Lynn laugh and say, “Mommy? Hold on, what did you just say?” He tried to reach out to her, but Dorothy’s huge index finger held his arm fast. His elbow dug into pliant tit-meat, but the force of her finger kept him from slipping free. He stared up at Dorothy: her huge eyes were wide with excitement, glassy even. Her irises trembled, rattling back and forth as she gobbled his body down with her gaze. The effect unnerved him so he looked at her mouth instead, which was a mistake. Her thin, dark lips hung slack from her jaws. She had no concept of how she appeared, fixated on her new possession, and her composure was falling apart. Her hot breath, sour with alcohol, blasted upon his bare body, making him wince and turn away in order to catch a fresh breath of air. If he turned to the left, he saw Lynn cackling to herself across the vast landscape of tablecloth; to the right was the sloping hillside of wrinkling flesh, age spots and moles, and the deep creases where her neck planted into her shoulder.

Yet he was terrified to not watch, to block out all vision, because he had no idea what was going to happen next. He was locked in combat with her huge, stupid, groping fingers, playing with his cock as though it belonged to her. Simon grew more frustrated, and behind that more scared, that his two strong arms couldn’t shove her determined finger away. And he didn’t know which was the bigger threat: getting his cock pinched and torn off by the large, ugly, clumsy digits, or getting flayed alive by the glossy talons that erupted from them.

And then those gibbering, flapping lips called Dorothy his “Mommy.” Simon’s blood ran cold at that. For that matter, his mind nearly broke: being shrunken down to the size of a doll, presented to this horny ogre buck-naked, and then she calls herself Mommy? And Lynn just laughed at it as though it was funny. Why wasn’t she helping him? Couldn’t she see what was going on?

He watched the gross head slowly rise toward Lynn. Wobbly fat ringed her neck, trembling as she spoke. “Did I say… I was just trying things. You know, freeforming? Freestyling, I think the kids call it.” Her laughter was unconvincing, and her half-smiling, dreamlike expression as she returned to him was unappealing on every level.

“Why don’t you let Mommy give you a little kiss,” Dorothy grunted, and shadows spread over Simon as her face hovered in all directions and descended upon him.

“No… no! No! Get away!” he screamed. In a momentary lapse of her grasp, his arms broke free and he threw them above himself. His hands landed upon her puckering upper lip. Coarse little hairs poked between his fingers as tissue-like skin gave and spread behind his palms. He shoved her upper lip toward her nose, which hideously exposed her gums and a row of well-seasoned incisors.

“Ahh,”‌ she breathed heavily, opening her mouth wider. Her voice echoed around him, and his skin grew moist in the wave of her breath. Candlelight sparkled on her thick, writhing tongue, a slap of muscle that poured out of her jaws and tumbled upon his thighs. The giantess moaned throatily, and Simon could glimpse the cavern beyond her tongue, widening with a lusty eagerness mere inches away from him.

“No! Stop! Get away from me!” His own voice echoed briefly in the deep red cavern of her maw. Fillings in molars peeked behind spiky rows of yellowing ivory, as the heavy mattress of her tongue slurped up from his knees and thighs to slobber over his belly and chest. He pounded at it with his fists, making pathetic little slap-slap noises in her tastebuds. Her throat flexed with chuckling, a threatening gesture at this size, and more of that musky air clouded him entirely.

What made it worse was how his body responded. The horror of gigantic Dorothy should have soured him against any interest, and the shame of Lynn sitting across the table, ogling him in his nakedness should have embarrassed him into remission. But as soon as that thick, hot, damp mattress of tongue piled upon him and slithered up his body, his cock sprang to life. Even as he stared at potential death in rows of sharp, jagged teeth ringing the entrance to the wide, orgasming chasm of her throat, his cock got hard as hundreds of tastebuds slid over it, coating him in her saliva. Now he was just baffled, alienated to himself, on top of horrified and losing his sanity. What was there to be aroused about, with this overweight and middle-aged T-rex threatening to gobble him down?

Lynn’s laughter rang like a dinner bell. “Hey, you two, get a room!” Her tone was playful, but with an edge. Dorothy glanced at her, trying to read whether Lynn was changing her mind about all this. What she saw was a wild-eyed blonde woman with more teeth than she remembered. “Here, Dorothy, hand him over to me, and why don’t you get up and show him what you’ve got going on?”

“What do you mean?” Dorothy asked, nonetheless passing little Simon over the candle and condiments to Lynn’s waiting paws.

“I‌ mean, get your sexy ass on up out of your chair and shake it for your little toy, here! Show him what he’s got to look forward to this weekend, right? Give him a little appetizer before he plunges into the Dorothy buffet!” Her eyes glinted, as did her teeth. Where Dorothy had cradled the miniaturized man upon her bosom, Lynn simply wrapped her fist around his waist, two fingers digging into the exposed guts between his ribs and his hips. Simon wasn’t going anywhere, and there was no love coming from Lynn, unlike how Dorothy doted upon him.

Slowly, entranced, Dorothy pushed her chair back and rose beside the table. “But other people will see,” she said, glancing around the empty room.

“No one’s coming back here.” Lynn glanced at the staff up front, who glanced in turn at the front door. “We’ve got this section to ourselves. And anyway, so what if they do? Who’s going to get upset at seeing a big, beautiful woman enjoying herself?” It was a credit to Lynn that she refrained from breaking out in laughter at this line; instead, she only stared more intensely at her coworker, nodding encouragingly.

Dorothy felt ridiculous, standing in the middle of a nearly empty room, smoothing out her blouse, tossing her hair back, getting ready to give a little dance to a little man. Her heart pounded in her chest. None of this made any sense, and yet she was going along with it like floating down a slow river. Sometimes she bumped into something, sometimes she got spun around, but she just kept going with the flow to see where it would lead.

She licked her upper lip for a moment, then shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.” She looked at the little naked man in Lynn’s fist—that wasn’t true, there was one thing she desperately wanted to do, but she couldn’t do it in a restaurant and definitely not in front of her young, attractive coworker.

Simon cried out as Lynn’s fist clenched him. After realizing how strong she was, he noticed her palm was clammy and damp. “Just do a little dance!” Lynn said, with increasing sharpness to her tone. “Think of a song you like, and show off your amazing rack to this little… thing.” Lynn hoisted Simon up, holding him just over the edge of the table.

Dorothy looked down at her breasts, erupting full from her chest and resting partially upon her belly. Were they nice breasts? Usually she wore a bra, but something told her that this would be sexier. It didn’t really feel like her, though, she didn’t think. She shimmied her shoulders tentatively, and her huge breasts swayed over her belly, rustling the rumpled blouse that draped over them.

“Yeah, like that. More like that. You liked that, didn’t you Simon?”

He knew it wasn’t a question, by the raptor-like intensity in Lynn’s eyes and the harshness in her tone. The truth was that he was frightened by the gigantic boobs: if he got sandwiched between them, he could suffocate to death. If he was lying on the table and she lowered one upon him, he didn’t know if the weight could break his bones, but again, he’d lose all his oxygen. He was pretty sure he couldn’t heave that massive sack of flesh and fat off him, as well. So when they swung past him like wrecking balls, but larger, he was far from enticed. It was only Lynn’s iron grip on his vulnerable waist that prevented him from warding them off or struggling to escape. All he could do was hang there in open space as sheets of burgundy blouse sailed past him. He did notice that her nipples were large and prominent, as one nearly took his head off.

How Lynn laughed at that. The blonde social media manager threw back her head and guffawed at the spectacle. Her fingers clenched around Simon, making him groan. He wedged his tiny hands inside the curve of her finger in an attempt to wedge a little space for himself, without much luck. He craned in her grip to look up at her.

Her nostrils flared with laughter. Her teeth shone in the dark room, and her eyes lit up like Christmas tree lights. “There you go,” she barked. “Swing your titties! Holy buckets, you’re stacked, lady! This is the luckiest little guy in the world.”

Simon waved up at her. “Lynn,”‌ he croaked. “Lynn, hey. Help me out, here. Let me go.” It was difficult to turn his body to face her. He could only feebly flap one little arm in the air, hoping she would catch the motion in the corner of her vision.

And she did. Lynn glanced at him, turning her face down to frown at him. Just like that, 60 to zero in one second, from being delighted at Dorothy’s burlesque to being disgusted at the sight of him. “Lynn, please, help me. Just let me go. I don’t want to do this.”

She said nothing, but her lip curled for a second. She snarled at him. Literally snarled! In that second her scowl exposed a glimpse of canine and incisor, and then her head snapped back to Dorothy, urging her on. Shaken, Simon braced his back against the knuckle of her thumb and planted both palms on her index finger, straining to loosen her grip on him.

“Lynn, why are you doing this?” he grunted between efforts.

She snorted without looking at him, told the larger, dumpier woman to put her shoulders into it. Obediently, Dorothy bent slightly at the waist and set her bosom swinging ponderously before the little man. He watched these immense sacks of flesh break through the air, taking devastating swipes right in front of him. If he were wedged between them, and one was set to collide into the other, would he survive? Simon winced, gawking up at the vast tower of destruction that the middle-aged research analyst now represented. There were so many ways he could die upon a body like this… upon, or within. The rolls of fat that could trap him, the gross spheres of ass or breasts that could crush or smother him. And, before he could stop the thought, all of the various holes and slits and orifices into which he might, more or less, fit.

He cried out and put his shoulders into shoving at Lynn’s mere index finger, and he couldn’t budge it an inch. His palms dug into the meaty flesh of her base digit, but the tendons that ran beneath the creamy flesh of her knuckles raised only slightly. This least amount of effort was more than enough to keep Simon apprehended as well as any steel cage. His spirit sank as he realized how inadequate he was to make a difference with nothing more than the blonde woman’s finger. He collapsed upon her finger, arms hanging over her fist, and sobbed once in defeat.

That was when Lynn noticed him. She turned her fist toward her own face, rotating the miniaturized young man to face her. Chuckling quietly, she picked out all the features of his dejection with sharp, dark eyes, how his arms hung like noodles over her fingers, how his head lolled upon her knuckle, even how his legs stopped kicking and his feet swayed with her least movement.

“Yes, that’s good.”‌ Her voice was husky and low. “That’s the stuff. Eat it up, you little fucker.”

When Simon looked up at her voice, she thrust him right back at the larger, dumpier woman feeling her way through a teasing dance, lost in her own world. Dorothy closed her eyes and heaved herself back and forth to a beat only in her own head. She bit her lip and thrust her chest, smacking the little man in Lynn’s fist with a heavy, meaty boob. Lynn laughed and demanded more.

“Yeah? Is this good?” Dorothy’s expression lightened as she slid her hands beneath her own boobs, hefting them up for display. The wine-red blouse bunched up in her grip but stretched out around her huge tits. She bobbled them up and down alternately, in a slow juggle, then grinned shyly as she spread them and enclosed them around Lynn’s fist.

Simon lacked the spirit to even cry out as he watched the mountainous woman advance on him. Her grin was almost cute, in the moment before the tremendous hillsides of womanly flesh buried him. Reflex caused him to lash out and fight against them, thrusting his pathetic little arms into the avalanche of tit. Her blouse was coarse against his fine little fingers, and the boobs were unrelenting: they flowed over his arms and sandwiched his head and swallowed him in darkness.

The flesh surged around him. It piled upon him on the left, then it shoved its way on the right, and then it churned back and forth. Simon’s little body bent like a willow in the angry blonde’s fist. All he could do was ride along with the irresistible forces acting upon him, hot, bulging mounds of soft yet weighty mammary flesh.

Lynn cackled and whipped the little man out abruptly. “You are in for such a treat tonight, you little fuck,”‌ she whispered sharply at him, then turned back to her coworker. “Dorothy! You wanna dance for this little guy?”

“I am dancing,” she said back, “I‌ thought.”

“No, a special dance.” Simon felt his bare soles brush the tablecloth as Lynn issued her orders. “Come up to the table here. Show him your hips, the front of you. I‌ want him to see where he’s going tonight.”

Dorothy wore a crooked grin as she bellied up to the table. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“This little fucker knows, don’t you?” Lynn’s fist flexed and dumped Simon upon the table. “Don’t you think about running, now. You can’t go anywhere fast enough, and if I‌ catch you, you get a special punishment.”

Simon stood shakily at the edge of the table, overshadowed by Dorothy’s pudge. “What kind of punishment?”

Once again, Lynn displayed all the teeth in her head. “I‌ don’t even know, Simon. Why don’t you try being naughty, and we’ll discover this together?”

He shook his head and shrank from her, without fully taking a step away from the dancing ogress before him.

“Go ahead, Simon. Try to get away with something. I’m curious.”

“No, thanks,”‌ he said. It took some force of will to refrain from pissing down his own bare leg. There was no good option here, between giving himself over to that gross pile of flesh in that ridiculous outfit, or staying within arm’s reach of this… truly frightening woman.

Simon looked between each of them, trying to estimate his odds of survival. Unpleasant as it was, he had to admit that Dorothy, such as she was, was still affectionate and friendly. Lynn hated him for some reason, he couldn’t imagine why, and she was looking for an excuse to fuck him up. Gulping hard, he turned toward Dorothy.

All he saw was a deep cleft in denim. Apparently she was wearing a form of jeggings, elasticized denim whose stretch-to-fit feature could make a pretty woman look stunning. But Dorothy was wearing them, and what was readily apparent was that she didn’t know what size to get. Her thighs looked like armored sausages, stuffed into the pant legs, and her hips were just having none of it. They spilled out pillowy as the tops of muffins, rimming her vast hips beyond the belly that threatened to break and flood upon him any second.

And right at eye-level to him, right in front of him, the jeggings dug in what looked like painful manner between thick cakes of flesh. Above the packed thighs, below the threatening belly, the fabric plowed and disappeared between what could only be Dorothy’s distended labia.

Simon’s heart lurched, and he swore. “Camel toe” was an understatement, but he was too stunned to formulate an adequate replacement. Wasn’t she in pain? Didn’t that hurt? The ogress’s hips rolled back and forth at the table, and the deep cleft swayed almost within arm’s reach. It was compelling in its grotesqueness, he had to admit. He stepped forward, gingerly, just to see if the paltry candle behind him could reveal how deep that groove ran.

But he leaned forward, right up to where her overtaxed waistband shifted above him, and for the life of him he couldn’t see where the split ended. The jeggings were simply coated over the thick slabs of labia, and they ran down between them, as though going on for eternity. He knew that couldn’t be true: no woman’s vagina was a bottomless pit, but holy fuck, he could not see where the plunge ended. He clutched at his chest, unable to break his stare.

Lynn, predictably, laughed at the sight. “Look at that, Dorothy! He went straight to his new home. He knows what’s up, he’s not such a useless fucking idiot after all.”

“What? What’s he doing?” Mounds of wobbly-bobbly stomach fat shifted above him as Dorothy clutched at her own flab.

“He’s checking you out, girl! He’s digging you.” With a sharp go on and get some, Lynn’s slender hand raced up behind him and swatted him harshly upon his pony little buttocks. Simon, surprised, stumbled forward and fell headlong against Dorothy’s clothed pussy.

It would have been comical, he realized, if his tiny head had gotten stuck in that perilous cleft, but it did not happen. His face bumped against one bulge of labia, the fabric brushing his cheek roughly, and he collapsed beneath her pussy. Lynn cracked up and Dorothy begged to be let in on what was so funny. She could have stepped back from the table, but for some reason she wouldn’t, choosing to strain to contain her belly over the helpless little man. He sprawled on the tablecloth, his face stinging, and he became aware of an aroma…

“Oh, my fucking Goddess, that’s perfect.” Lynn had leaned back in her chair, folded her arms beneath her comparatively inadequate breasts, and pressed one curled finger against her lips. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” She continued to ignore Dorothy’s pleas. “But you know what? You really need to show him your best feature. I think that’s what needs to happen now.”

“What’s my best feature?” Dorothy’s voice was plaintive.

“Oh, you know! Don’t be shy, girl.”

“No, really. I‌ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Is it my eyes?”

“Dorothy! Come on! Turn around and show him your ass.”

Simon gaped at Lynn. That was Dorothy’s best feature? He didn’t know whether to laugh or vomit. He could only imagine what kind of cottage-cheesy sacks of fat someone like Dorothy had been cultivating through a lifetime of poor dietary choices and a career of sitting on her butt at a thankless office job.

Dorothy said she didn’t know what Lynn was talking about, but the mountain of flesh slowly rotated nonetheless. The overhanging belly drifted away like a thundercloud, yards and yards of taut, straining jeggings ran past, swelling to a climax as one colossal buttock churned into view.

“Holy fuck,‌” Simon gasped, scrabbling backward. There was too much to see, too much to take in all at once. She couldn’t possibly sit upon the table, could she?

Dorothy hooked her thumbs under the waistband, jamming her knuckles into her flesh where the fabric wouldn’t—couldn’t!—give anymore. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, almost slow-dancing in the gradual rotation that exposed the other side of the moon, so to speak, to her new little prize.

Her expression wavered between trepidation and self-consciousness, and a rising elation at winning her own tiny man to do with as she pleased. And if he didn’t like her, what could he do about it? Ah, but she wasn’t cruel! She wasn’t a rapist. He would come around. Dorothy didn’t look too bad for someone her age, she thought. Sure, she had to upgrade her wardrobe every couple of years, but everyone’s body went south on them after a certain period of time. When she looked at other people in her age group, she liked what she saw. These were private thoughts, stuff she’d never share with anyone else. Lynn would just laugh at her if she said them aloud, probably, despite how encouraging she was being right now. Dorothy could sniff a raw edge to the sentiments expressed by the young social media expert, whether they came from her drink or the liberty being accessed as they explored this lurid secret fantasy together. What was Lynn getting out of it? Would she want some kind of payment later? She eyed the lean, fit blonde for a moment, until her own shoulder rolled into view and it was showtime.

Simon, oblivious to the torment going on in the gigantic woman’s head, stared with morbid fascination at the enormous rear coming at him. The elasticized denim appeared painted on, with the exception of a few wrinkles tugging from the chasm of her inner thighs to the deep tuck of the bottom of her butt cheeks. The seam ran from a suspended cover over her crack, way up at the top, down to where it likewise vanished into the darkness between her legs. The back pockets, he noted idly, were either stitched on as a gesture or so shallow and stretched so taut as to be useless. What they did do, however, was accentuate every heaving jiggle of her rear with every nervous adjustment of her step. Dorothy was really taking her time to turn around, as though a car manufacturer were showing off its latest model and not wanting its audience to miss a single feature.

Her bulbous ass swelled above him, sufficient to cover him in case of a cloudburst or shelter him from the brutal sub-Saharan sun. What stopped it from being completely cozy or comforting was the ever-present awareness of how much poundage‌ (nay, tonnage) that ass represented, and how threateningly it floated above him. Soon he was aligned with her ass crack, with ample spheres of flesh bobbling on either side of him. Unconsciously he stepped back, not to flee but to remove the impending threat to his person, and Lynn didn’t stop him.

Up and up and up the jeggings stretched, gripping the planetary ass greedily, running up as far as they could to the straining waistband. And where the jeggings ended, the whale-tail began: the arms of a bright teal thong leaped joyously from within the pants, springing up to wrap around immense hips and, conceivably, diving back down into the fleshy, musky quarters below her pudgy tummy. The segment of exposed flesh that swelled below the thin waist of the thong and above the jeggings formed, Simon could see, a nearly flat shelf of skin. Simon’s mind went back to photos of BBW models resting cans of beer or cocktail tumblers upon their own protuberant butts. It looked for all the world that this unassuming, middle-management office drudge could do the same thing, granting her backdoor (no pun intended) access into a seamy class of full-bodied models, should she ever want such a thing. He gasped a slight chuckle to himself, trying to picture Dorothy leering coyly over her padded shoulder at a camera whose view was focused on the chasm plunging between her pale, marbled spheres of ass flesh.

She could, he knew, and there would be a market for her. It wouldn’t be him, but people would pay to see this, even at her age, especially with her body type. He wondered, not for the last time, why it couldn’t be any of them in his position instead of this unwilling kidnappee.

Before he knew what was happening, a large fingertip planted upon his chest. He reared from it, but was held in place by a large thumb, and then his feet were cleared of the table, kicking in empty space. The salt and pepper shakers, the ugly vintage candle swept far below him, and Dorothy’s dumpy ass rotated in a new direction: now he was fixed above the crack of her ass, illustrated by the teal thong plunging into its depths. And he was held not far at all, too close for his liking. He contorted himself to look at Lynn and guess what she was up to.

Her fine jaw and sharp eyes were upturned to her coworker. “Back it up now, girl, right up to the table if you can. Yeah, that’s great. Now, uh,” she paused, estimating. Simon could not guess where this was going until it was too late. “Now bend over a little. No, don’t arch your back, bend at the waist. Yeah, like that.”

Like what? When Simon looked down, he discovered that the waistband of the jeggings had peeled down, being taxed far beyond their capacity for service, and were slowly exposing more and more of those spherical cheeks. Even, yes, to the point where he could see the teal thong become swallowed in that all-consuming crack of her ass. Consumed… Simon snapped to Lynn again, horrified. “No! No! You wouldn’t!”

In another uncommon instance of acknowledging the tiny man, Lynn merely grinned and licked her teeth, lowering him slowly into the crevasse. “Lynn! This is disgusting! Don’t put me in her fucking ass!” The tiny man wrapped his arms around her index finger and cycled his legs as the distance between himself and destiny closed.

“What’s he doing back there?” Dorothy called over her shoulder. “He sounds adorable. Is he saying something?”

Lynn laughed back. “He’s just excited to go somewhere. You should see him! He wants you so badly. Can you hold very still for a minute? This is probably going to tickle or feel strange.” Her leer broadened. “Though I guess it should feel familiar.”

Simon couldn’t even ask what that meant, so focused was he on avoiding his doom. Soon his tiny bare feet were pelting against the bulging cheeks, and still she lowered him. He planted his soles upon Dorothy’s skin, his thighs strained to hold him away, but still she lowered him. Before his tendons snapped he had to move his legs out of the way, which inadvertently lined them up with her ass crack, or else he would’ve been forced into some incredibly painful splits. “Lynn! Stop it, this is disgusting! This is too much! What are you doing?”

“He certainly does sound excited…”

“You bet! He’s so excited to move into his new home!”

“Lynn! Please, stop! I won’t be able to breathe!”

Simon’s toes ventured into the sweatiness between her buttocks first, sending the signal throughout his body of what to expect. Lynn pressed harder, burying his legs up to the knees between the blobby flesh. He released her finger and began hammering his tiny fists upon the jiggly skin, far too feebly to even set off a tremor. His fists simply bounced off and Dorothy’s imperious ass was entirely unaffected. If anything, her crack swallowed him up to the waist.

“Oh, my gosh! That does feel strange!” Dorothy’s shoulders jerked but, to her credit, she kept her massive butt mounted on the edge of the table. She sighed heavily and clutched her knees, straining to hold still for Lynn. “Are you actually putting him into my bottom?”

“He practically leaped right in there! Good luck keeping him out, is all I have to say to you. This thirsty little guy, I’m tellin’ ya…” Lynn wiggled the tiny body back and forth, fitting him deeper into the huge ass.

“I‌ don’t know if that’s such a great idea. Can you pull him back out?”

“I don’t know, Dorothy, he’s really digging himself in there,” Lynn said, pressing her thumb upon the tiny man’s shoulders to jam him into the crack.

“I’ve just been gassy lately, and it’s such a long drive back to my house. I want to make sure he survives, is all.”

Lynn was so surprised by her own laughter, she let go of Simon for one second. That was all the time he needed to writhe out of the way of her fingers. He flopped himself over one immense butt cheek, plastering himself to it, as he worked one leg and then the other out of the narrow abyss. Startled, Lynn grasped for him, smacking Dorothy’s butt and setting it trembling, but the tiny man rolled out of the way and tumbled down the huge ass to the table once more. But when he sprinted for the candle, Lynn’s arm shot out and she easily snatched him up in a vice-like fist once more.

She whisked him right up to her face, where thin, pink lips peeled back to expose her gleaming, bleached teeth. “You listen to me, you little fuck. You’re going to give poor, lonely Dorothy everything she wants. You hear me? You’re going to bend over backward to please her. You’re going to fulfill her every last whim, and you will ask her if you’ve satisfied her least little need.”

Simon’s heart nearly stopped, watching the large, polished shards of ivory dancing and clashing right in front of him. The tip of her tongue poked, her lips mashed against each other, and her skin around them wrinkled and strained to pack all the power she could into her words and spit them into him.

“Because I’ll check up on her, and if she says you’ve done everything she’s wanted, and much more, then you’re off the hook. You hear me? I’ll turn you back into normal.”

He glanced up at her, into her narrow, pinched nostrils.

“Yes, it’s true. This isn’t forever, this is just fucking around to give this poor woman a moment of happiness in this wretched world. You understand? So do a good job and give her everything she wants, and we’ll call it quits.”

He nodded, unsure. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could grow back up and escape this hell. And if all Dorothy wanted was some sexual stuff, even at his size, sure, he could put up with anything long enough to—

“But if she said you’ve failed her? If you’ve ever fallen short or complained? If you’ve ever made her feel unattractive?” She lifted him up to her eyes, huge and glassy and narrow as a knife’s edge. “You will die in her ass. Just like the last little man, and the one before him.” Her pupils shrank to angry little dots. “Think about that. This is a hell of a way to go, and it’s not quick, and it’s definitely not pleasant. Your fate rests entirely in your hands and how willing you are to work for it. Got it?”

Simon nodded.

“She’ll fart on you,‌” Lynn continued. A note of vagueness crept into her voice, softening the spite. “She’s gassy as hell. She’ll fart right into your stupid face until that’s all you can breathe. And there’s no oxygen in that, trust me. It’s just the refuse gases of bacteria in her intestines. That is all you’ll get to breathe.” She stifled a snicker, struggling to look angry. “Her asshole will lock around your neck and you’ll stick out like a butt-plug, and all you’ll get to breathe is the gas that builds up in her rectum. Does that sound good to you?”

He shook his head. Disgusted as he was at the imagery, he couldn’t help but notice that Lynn seemed to be cracking herself up. That made him wonder if she was making up these past deaths. And if she was lying about that…

Dorothy’s voice rang like bells across a hillside. “Is he still in there? I‌ can’t feel him anymore.” She gave her massive ass a playful wiggle.

“Dorothy?” Lynn called out without taking her eyes from the tiny man in her fist. “Dorothy, sweetie? Maybe you’d like to turn around and show this little guy how nice your jeans fit on you.” Her rigid face was a stark contrast with the brightness of her voice. Simon began to loathe himself for his naivete in falling for someone so frightening, so ruthless. At the earliest opportunity, he’d have to warn Dorothy about what kind of monster Lynn really was…

But in looking at the expression on the oversized giantess, the dreamlike delight that stretched her mouth and made her eyes go all doe-eyed, he was reminded once more that this middle-aged woman wasn’t a fellow victim or an ally. She was a tool of Lynn’s, a handy, fortuitous tool to facilitate whatever Lynn was trying to achieve. She wouldn’t rescue Simon from anyone: she was looking forward to bringing him home and using him in the grossest way he could imagine.

Had he really done anything so bad as to deserve this? What the hell was going on?

Dorothy didn’t exactly giggle and coo, but she gave off that kind of vibe, playfully biting one finger as she grinned at him from over the huge breasts resting upon her midsection. That aroma returned when she did, too. He noticed it the same instant he tumbled from the social media manager’s cold, wiry grip. He struggled to catch himself, stumbling almost up to Dorothy’s crotch, finding himself face-to-face with the deep cleft in her puffy camel toe. The jeggings did nothing to cover or conceal this in any way: if anything, their seam sought out the deep groove like a heat-tracking missile and dug in deep. It was grotesque, how the fabric sluiced into her crotch with a seemingly animalistic urgency.

“You like it, don’t you,” urged Lynn. Simon glanced up at her serious brow, the narrow slit of her unhappy mouth, none of which matched the musical tone of her words. “My gosh, Dorothy! I think he really likes you.”

“Is that true?” The hopefulness in Dorothy’s voice made him pity her. Was she so delusional? She had to know she looked like a dumpy ogress. She couldn’t look in the mirror after getting out of the shower and seriously think she was some guy’s snack. “Does he really? I just… I’m sorry, I have to admit, I‌ really want this to work out. You have to be honest with me.”

“Oh yeah, he’s into you. Anyone could see that.” And because the tiny man was standing there, dumbfounded, Lynn’s narrow hand gave a short sweep to carom him directly into the turgid camel toe. His legs pinwheeled in a desperate effort to keep him upright, but momentum drove him straight into the deep seam. Jeggings rasped over his cheeks as the front of his skull momentarily disappeared between the thick labia.

“Oh my God, I felt that! I actually felt him do something down there!”

“What did he do, do you know? Can you describe it?”

“Well, I’m not sure. It felt like he was rubbing me with his finger, but his fingers are so small now. But I definitely felt a gentle nudge… er, down there.”

Lynn smiled toothily. “Down where, Dorothy?”

“Well, you know. Down between my legs.”

“Between your thighs? He’s not there, he’s standing here on the table.” Lynn slid an arm behind Simon who, at eight inches tall, could easily have stepped over it, but it was a symbol. What it represented was the line he dare not cross if he wanted to come out of this intact. He looked at the salt and pepper shakers in the distance, so close and yet so far. The other tables in the back room of the restaurant were a distant dream, not to be considered at all. But the waitstaff, where were they? Didn’t anyone work here?

Lynn cleared her throat and snagged Simon’s attention promptly. He looked up at her, and she nodded insistently at Dorothy’s hips. His mouth crumpled like he was about to cry, but he obediently got down on all fours and crawled beneath Dorothy’s belly, toward the obscene crotch.

“No, not literally between my legs. You know what I mean.” Dorothy was getting flustered, stammering over the occasional word.

Lynn’s disingenuous tone, by contrast, was syrupy sweet. “I’m not sure I do, hon. Was it anything like this?”

Once again, Simon felt her serpentine fingers coil around his waist, cinching in an unbreakable hold. His palms and knees dragged over the rough tablecloth as she rammed him, entirely without subtlety or grace, into the older woman’s cleft. He grimaced at the pinches in his neck, as Lynn stabbed him over and over between the jegging-covered labia.

Dorothy moaned theatrically, in a fluttering voice and spoke of heartfelt longing. “Oh, my God, what are you doing to me, Simon…” He wanted to shout in protest. He wanted to insist he wasn’t doing anything, he was having stuff done to him. He was being raped, he was being used like a mere object to tease the older woman. But he hardly liked to open his mouth as the heady musk grew stronger, and his head discovered—with subsequent jabs into her vulva—that a certain moisture was beginning to well up and spread throughout the stretchy fabric.

“Oh, Christ,” Simon moaned, keeping his voice down.

It wouldn’t be a tableau of humiliation without Lynn’s laughter ringing like bells. “Whoa, slow down there, Simon! There’s more than enough for a hungry little guy like you! You need to learn some patience or you’re going to burn yourself out before Dorothy gets her cookie.” She smiled up at the research analyst. “He’s getting a little randy, Dorothy. Are you sure you can handle him? I don’t think he’s going to be gentle with you.”

“Oh-h-h!” Dorothy gasped, unconsciously cradling her breasts in her arms. “Oh, my sweet little man, I’m here for you!”

Lynn practically squeezed Simon’s guts into his rib cage like a tube of toothpaste, as she wedged him harder and harder into the steadily dampening crotch. He could feel it oozing around his neck and shoulders, which grew cold with the restaurant air when she pulled him out, and warmed right back up when she thrust him in for more.

“Patience, my sweet little man, patience,” Dorothy said. “Please, we have to wait until we get home, okay? Please try to restrain yourself.”

“I don’t think he can wait that long,” said Lynn. “‌Maybe you should give him a little taste to tide him over. We don’t want to be cruel to the little guy, after all.”

Dorothy shook her head as though coming out of a dream and glanced around. The back room was still empty, but she saw the shoulder of a busboy disappear into the kitchen for a fragment of a second. “Oh, we can’t! Not here, not now. It wouldn’t be right. It’d be… obscene.”

“Don’t be silly, Dorothy. No one’s coming back here. We practically own this place! Look at it.” Lynn shared a hot look with the waitstaff at the edge of the room. The woman frowned, but turned and closed the service door with a loud latch, giving confidence to the two women that they would be left quite alone.

“I’ve just never done anything like this before,” stammered Dorothy, going back into her dreamy state.

“Have you always wanted to?”

“No, I’ve never even thought about anything like this.” Dorothy struggled to contain and heave her breasts aside and spy the tiny man. All she saw, however, was Lynn’s slim arm disappearing beneath her.

“Really? No dreams about showing up naked at college?”

“Well, sure, everyone has those. I still do, once in a while. That’s something you’ve got to look forward to.” Dorothy chuckled nervously.

“Haven’t you always wanted to run naked through town, though?” Lynn decided Dorothy was taking too long—beating around the bush, pun intended—so she brought her other hand up, slipped her fingers into the waistband of the jeggings, and started tugging them down. “Just to feel so free, so uninhibited by anything?”

“I… I guess…” Dorothy slowly swung her head around to look at Lynn. “What are you doing? Lynn, are you taking my clothes off? No, no, don’t do that.” One of her thick arms peeled away from her floppy boobs and timidly swatted at Lynn.

“Come on, Dorothy, you’re going to love it! Don’t you want to take this to the next level?”

Dorothy glanced around the room again. “Sure, but right here? Do we have to?”

“We have no choice, girl! Your little man’s practically champing at the bit to get at you. He’s not to be denied.”

“Well… I don’t want to let him down…” Her immense boobs rolled upon her belly as she let go to begin thumbing her own waistband. Her broad hips shimmied with great exaggeration as she fought to cinch the tight garment over them.

Simon, seeing very little of this, was terrified as the gigantic woman swayed in her delusional state. She looked unsteady on her feet as she mumbled along with the lines Lynn was feeding her. But Lynn’s fist held him fast, clamping harder as his struggle to escape reminded her of what she had in her slender hand. There was no escape, there was no protecting himself from disaster, and no one would save him. This was beginning to sink in, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or vomit. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair, and it certainly wasn’t reasonable. What the hell shrunk him down? What made boring old Dorothy think she wanted him? And why was Lynn orchestrating all of this? He planted his palms upon the base knuckles of her thumb and forefinger and pushed down as hard as he could, but he couldn’t pop his hips out of the ring her fingers formed. As far as he could tell, his bare dick was rubbing against her palm, but she didn’t give any indication of being aware of this. Likewise, she didn’t notice his little bare butt grinding against the fleshy meat between her knuckles. She didn’t seem to care that she had a totally naked little man in her hand, except as a device to be used to deceive the bland woman who’d grown old and let herself go into thinking she was beautiful, for some unknowable reason. This was a form of evil Simon wasn’t familiar with: usually evil people made sense. You could study their actions and, eventually, guess what it was all leading to. This was true in books and movies and even the news. But Lynn was beyond all this. Nothing she was doing made any sense at all. What could she get out of Dorothy feeling attractive? Why was she victimizing a little nobody like an intern? What was it going to take for her to feel satisfied and to put an end to all of this?

There were no answers. There was just Lynn’s cold fist around his private parts, and the snap of a billboard’s worth of jeggings suddenly popping down, out of view beyond the edge of the table, and the abrupt presentation of a gnarled thicket of pubic hair, crowding around the edges of the teal thong.

“Oh, no,” Simon said. “No, don’t do this. This is bad, this is very bad.” He twisted in Lynn’s grip to stare up at her. “Lynn, please don’t do what I think you’re about to do.”

“Whatever could you mean, Simon?” she asked him. Her face was twisted into a rictus of cruel delight.

“Don’t do it! Don’t do it, please! This is disgusting!”

“What’s that? You want to go inside her what?”

Her contrariness was whipping him up into a frenzy. “No! The opposite! Keep me away from her, please! I’m begging you!”

Lynn chortled sweetly. “Dorothy, you’ll never believe this, but now he’s begging me to let him go inside you!”

Dorothy’s breath hitched within her massive bosom. “Oh, my sweet lord…”

“What do you think? Should I?”

“I… I don’t…”

“Right here, in this restaurant, where anyone could walk in on us at any moment?”

Dorothy’s cheeks burned, and her thick hand flapped to cool herself. “Oh, no, don’t say that… we shouldn’t, this is so wrong…”

Grinning, Lynn gingerly plucked the thong to one side and gently brushed Simon’s head into the thicket of pubic hair, dragging him up and down. His skull roared with the rasp of coarse, kinky hairs scraping over his scalp and cheeks. They crunched when she jabbed him into them, and they slashed at his eyelids and tried to crawl into his lips the rest of the time.

“I don’t know, Dorothy, he seems pretty desperate.”

“Oh, my God…”

“Here, I’ll pull him away from you.”

“No!”

Lynn sat up and blinked at Dorothy. “What was that?”

“I mean… I think it’ll be okay, if…” The big woman began panting, her huge breasts rising and falling with each breath. “I‌ mean, we shouldn’t, obviously, but… maybe if it’s quick…”

“It’s your lucky day, little man,” Lynn said, leaning in close to her hapless prisoner. “That’s right, dig in. She said it’s okay.”

Simon stared at her in horror and commenced to screaming as his limbs dragged over the tablecloth and she closed the distance between him and the monstrous pussy that awaited him.

It was indeed something out of a Cronenberg film. The scraggly hairs craned and reached for him with a life of their own. Hanging from the swollen, distended outer labia were thick, ropy strands of milky fluid, anchored to the rumpled jeggings that strained between the immense thighs. The thong was soaked a dark navy blue, where it disappeared between her inner thighs; Lynn tried to hide her grimace as she tugged it away from the vaginal entrance, fitting it to the side of the thick labia. And more fluid, clearer but just as thick, were dribbling down her inner legs. The intense aroma of the giantess’s arousal filled his head and chest as the thighs drew nearer, the hair brushed over his spine, and the labia fairly quivered in anticipation. This pussy was starved for something to stuff it, and there was only one thing in Lynn’s hand.

Lynn smiled to hear his little scream, a thin, reedy note that barely reached her ears. She couldn’t even see the little man screaming, only felt a frenzied squirm in her fist, and when she grew tired of it all, she bit her lip and gave one last thrust. The annoying, buzzing little scream abruptly cut off. She looked up to see how her coworker was taking it.

Dorothy gasped at the contact, staring at nothing with wide eyes and a mouth like a large, rosy O. Her eyelids fluttered shut and her head relaxed, sinking back. She reached for the little man. She started to, at least, pudgy fingers grasping at the air as they neared the looming, lusty woman, but she didn’t want to bump into Lynn. Her hands twitched in frustration for a moment before hovering back up to her boobs. Fat fingers disappeared in bulging flesh when she squeezed herself. Even she found it amusing how her own breasts resisted being contained by her grasp. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a tiny man trying to hold one of her boobs… and, oh yes, she was going to make him try.

Her pussy clenched at the thought. All the things she could try with this little man, all the games she could play. Fireworks were going off in her brain, every one a new idea that sparkled into a dozen new possibilities. New worlds were unfolding within her, as the thick mass pushing between her labia nudged ever more insistently at her.

The clench, unnoticed by Lynn, send icicles of terror up Simon’s spine. The thick, meaty labia spread begrudging around his shoulders, as his head disappeared within searing walls of tender tissue inside. Inside! He was actually inside another human being! And when those walls began to shiver and then constrict around his head, he wanted to scream. He didn’t, of course, as basal reflex took over to avoid filling his throat with the copious fluids Dorothy’s pussy was churning out. Good lord, where did all that water come from? Did she suckle a garden hose for ten hours a day? How could she produce so much juice without her skin drying up and flaking away?

Simon drew up his hands to push the immense pussy away, but his palms only clapped against the thick, bulging slabs of labia, fingers immediately knotting in hundreds of dense, kinky hairs. He tried to push, but his arms were bent at an odd angle, unable to reach forward for any leverage. When his shoulders complained he backed off immediately, but he couldn’t take going any deeper into this toothless mouth, so he grabbed two fists of hair and held on tight.

“Oh, ouch,” Dorothy murmured.

Lynn’s head snapped up. “What? Am I‌ hurting– …I‌ mean, is he hurting you? Oh, I hadn’t thought about menopause. Is it really painful down there?” Inwardly she cursed, forgetting all about the changes a woman’s body goes through. Her own mother used to share intimate complaints about this, so she knew the unpleasantness ahead of her.

“It’s nothing like that. No, I keep myself… my gosh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I keep myself, uh, nice and limber. I‌ don’t know, I‌ just never lost my libido. I know that most women do, but I never did.” Dorothy gasped and turned her head, biting her lip. “I know I’m not much to look at, and frankly, in many ways I’ve given up. I’m invisible to men, so what’s the point? But when I get home… let’s just say I have a very rich interior life.” She simpered coyly at her own turn of phrase. “I read a lot of erotica, and I’ve even tried my hand and writing some. It’s not very good, but I‌ joined an online community and they’re very encouraging. Can you believe it? A crowd of women like me, all taking up the typewriter, so to speak, and cranking out these lurid fantasies you’d never imagine coming out of us.”

Lynn could not, in fact, believe it. Was this true?

“My fantasies have always been the normal stuff, you know, a couple getting away on a vacation and role-playing. A‌ wife taking her gardener into her room, getting found out by the husband, but he joins in. You’ve read stuff like this a hundred times, I’m sure. It’s not very imaginative, but there’s a huge demand for it.”

Lynn had never read anything like this. She chalked it up to a generational phenomenon.

“But lately… I don’t know, I’ve just had this real appetite for bondage and discipline. That’s what you kids call it, right? I’ve been exploring women like me, people that no one assumes anything about, no one fantasizes about, suddenly coming out of their shells and demanding the sex life they need. Stuff they’ve kept locked up inside themselves all this time.”

“It sounds very empowering.”‌ Lynn was fairly impressed.

“But like I said, lately it’s just been starting to get a little weird. The women in my stories have been getting stronger, bigger, like taller. They can punch a man and knock him down. And the men, I used to write about CEOs with influence, who could command a woman to do things she wouldn’t ordinarily, unlocking her own deep fantasies. But now the men in my stories are getting thinner, shorter… not necessarily older, but feeble, definitely. And then one of these women sat on one of these men, sat on his, er, face…” Dorothy blushed slightly and struggled with her flobbery boobs. “And she covered him entirely. It didn’t make sense at their scale, their real sizes, but it just seemed right. Her butt covered his face, even his ears, and he started to, um, enter her.”

Lynn sat bolt upright in her chair. “Was this before or after Derek?”

Dorothy said quietly, “This was about two weeks before Derek. I thought about sharing it with the group, but I was afraid they’d find it too weird. And then I found this little man in my butt, and…” Her thighs squeezed on Lynn’s hand and her pussy clenched again. “I thought it was a sign. I thought I’d had a vision and… it sounds stupid, I‌ know. But I didn’t know whether I was predicting the future or I’d actually summoned it into being. There was this moment, where…” She laughed, then gasped again. “Wow, he’s really squirmy.”

“Oh, shit!” Lynn jerked the tiny man out of Dorothy’s vulva. He was flushed deep red with goo running over his bulging eyes and gaping mouth. His throat emitted tiny rasps as he fought against her viscous fluids for fresh air. When the goop slipped over his mouth and he blew a cum-bubble, larger than his own head, she broke out in laughter.

“What’s so funny? What’s going on?” Dorothy blink-blinked and looked down at Lynn, started to back away.

“Oh, no, honey, it has nothing to do with you.” Lynn awkwardly dragged Simon over the tablecloth, fairly scraping the fluids off of his face. It wouldn’t do to kill him before she got him home. No, he had to last much longer than that. “Simon was just telling me how much he loves… natural women! Yes. He’s so grateful you don’t shave down there.”

Dorothy gasped and released one huge boob to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, I forgot all about that. Am I horrible down there?”

“No, no! He loves it, I promise. Isn’t that right, little man?” Lynn pantomimed assent by dragging him up and down Dorothy’s scraggly pubes, as though this equated to nodding his head. “He’s just crazy for you. He can’t believe how perfect you are for him.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous…”

“No, seriously! It’s just like you were talking about, in your erotica. Fantasies being unlocked, new worlds opening up, new possibilities. He never knew it could be this wonderful. He… what’s that?” The blonde made a show of leaning in, as though to listen to Simon’s tiny, mouse-like entreaties. “Oh, the poor dear.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He just confessed—and this cannot leave this room—that he has been ashamed all his life of telling anyone about his fantasy.”

“His fantasy?”

“Yes, a woman just like you. Your age, built like you, with all your ample features.”‌ She shook her head slowly. “You just never know what the heart wants, but it wants what it wants. How sad, that he’s been suffering in silence all these years, wanting something he thought he could never have.” She looked up at Dorothy. “But now he has you! That’s true, isn’t it?”

Dorothy’s bottom lip quivered. “Yes, yes, oh, my God! Yes, Simon, you have me! If you want me, I’m all yours!”

Simon, of course, screamed bloody murder, but his voice was too small to carry. Ambient evening traffic rumbled through the restaurant’s bay windows, tinted from the outside view. Only Lynn got to hear his anguish, and she drank it in like a Cabernet.

“Is there any way you could, you know, show yourself off for him?” Lynn’s voice was soft and light.

Dorothy clucked her tongue. “I really don’t know what you mean. He’s basically seen everything I have to offer… what with where he was just playing around…”

“It’s just a gesture, hon.” Lynn caused her eyes to twinkle, somehow. “On this magic night, where two hearts come together as one, so to speak. You know what I mean? Your own fantasies have been leading up to this, and he’s been yearning for this his entire life. There’s no reason to reduce it to, like, crude rutting. I just think it would be nice to cap it off with a little demonstration to, you know, welcome him to his new world.”

“New world?”

“You are going to be his world, after all. Isn’t that true?”

Dorothy’s laughter was nearly hysterical. “I suppose. I guess that’s right. But what should I do?”

Lynn sucked a long breath through her nose. “Nothing too elaborate. You don’t have to make up a mating dance or anything,” she said, laughing. “How about you just turn around and bend over and show yourself off to him?”

“Oh, nobody wants to see anything like that.”  Dorothy’s hand flapped the notion away.

“I can promise you, one special little guy does.” Lynn winked at her coworker and gave the shrunken man a warning clench of her fist, standing him upright near the edge of the table.

Dorothy finally glimpsed Simon, grasped in Lynn’s little fist like one of the old-fashioned GI‌ Joe’s from back in her day. He was indeed a brave little soldier, getting past his inhibitions to confess his innermost longings to her. She tilted her head and smiled so warmly upon him, then nodded sweetly and began the laborious process of turning around. Her jeggings bit into her thighs and would not let her legs separate any more, so she hopped awkwardly in place, each foot twisting to crank her massive body around.

Simon’s heart quailed at the lost opportunity. His feet rested on the harsh cloth of the restaurant’s covering. His knees buckled, as Lynn didn’t know how much pressure to exert in holding him in place. Her fingers dug into his sides and he wondered if she could crack his ribs with an angry clench. But for a moment, he was face to face with the old ogress, gazing up at her without her boobs to occlude the view, and all he had to do was… something. Anything. A scream, flailing arms, even an anguished expression to break through the illusion his blonde tormentor had constructed.

And he didn’t. Not because of the fear Lynn had instilled in him, but because of the warmth that radiated off of Dorothy’s face. The deep creases running from the corners of her mouth to the sides of her nostrils, as her wrinkled lips stretched and smoothed in that saccharine grin. The dreaminess of her eyes, suddenly dark and moist with real, pure affection. He couldn’t look up into that expression of a desperately lonely woman falling powerfully in love with him, couldn’t look into that and then shit on it. It was overpowering, it was…

Fuck that! Of course he could! He flung up his arms and screamed, but it was too late. Dorothy heaved her breasts to the side as she rotated like a planet. Her massive hip rose and fell, rolling along in its path, and then her shoulder blocked her head and her buttock came fully into view, then the other. Her curly hair spilled down her shoulders, and then disappeared as her head bent forward, her shoulders sank forward, and her entire back lowered and disappeared beyond her colossal rump.

It was as impressive as it was horrifying. Those bulbous, pronounced spheres, imperfectly round, hanging a-quiver beside the table, with that wobbly dark seam between them. Not the neat, clean stripe of a young, tight crack between two pert cheeks. No, very far from that. This was a deep gouge between two protuberant masses of flesh, so much more than any human should be able to pack on, and lumpy flesh at that. Lumps, maybe even nodes lodged in the pale skin, amassed to give the impression of globes in general. Look at it quickly and you could tell yourself you were looking at two large spheres of carved alabaster, that milky and smooth. But it only took another couple of seconds to dispel that illusion, and all the flaws leaped out at you. The fine hairs that glinted in the candlelight, the ass crack that twisted and bumped on the long, long route down from her pelvis to the all-engulfing crevasse between her monumental thighs. The dips, the divots, the nooks and crannies, all the deviations in contour that led to picking out the slight moles and freckles. Not many of those, not at all, but definitely all over.

Hypnotized, he barely noticed the release of the hand around his body. Instinctively he drew a deep breath, his air suffused with the healthy flora of a rampantly productive vagina (not to mention the paste that even now was cooling and drying all over his upper body). His tiny chest rose and fell, and he looked down at himself with a start, surprised at his liberty. He shook out his arms, urging the blood back into his torso, and looked at Lynn.

The blonde giantess kept a close watch on him, even as she vigorously scrubbed the coating of vaginal secretions off her hand and wrist, rubbing her skin raw with a not-entirely-absorbent linen/polyester napkin. Her thin lips were screwed up in disgust but she made not a sound in her task, doing nothing to dispel Dorothy’s trance. That was priority, clearly. She glared back at Simon and nodded her head at Dorothy’s planetary backside.

The little man badly wanted to plead with her, but he knew what it would get him. The tension in Lynn’s face was warning enough. Miserably he turned back to Dorothy’s presentation, only to find things had gotten worse, much worse.

The monstrous woman had reached around with her fat hands, was digging her stout fingers into her own abundant ass cheeks and was hauling them apart. Her own hands, dwarfed by her own buttocks, were a surprising sight on its own, but there was more. Her ass crack had all but disappeared, with the restaurant’s mood lighting spilling into the yawning chasm. There, in a large diamond of burnished, brown flesh, was a puffy anus, dozens of sharp lines pulling in from all around to disappear within the sphincter like light toward a black hole. It clenched as he watched, pushed out like a kissing pair of lips, then sucked in possessively. His heart fell into his stomach.

And below this, separated by a short patch of wrinkly puce skin, her fat labia once again throbbed with fullness, scraggly hairs starting halfway down and proliferating into impenetrable brambles just above the strained crotch of her jeggings. Dorothy had bothered to tug her own teal thong off her hips, and they lay, taut and gummy, upon the tights. There was nothing but the glory of a fearsome, gigantic ass spreading before him, and the unspoken invitation to the chambers within.

Simon’s breath escaped in a terrified gasp. He was fixed to the spot, his body rigid with revolt, unable to twitch his little finger as he drank in the spectacle before him.

The great cakes of Dorothy’s engorged labia spread, exposing a deep ridge of thick, glossy, pink meat. It nearly spurted from between her outer labia, excited to likewise be freed as his own pathetic body was. Her deep cunt churned and flexed before him, baldly eager to welcome him in its own beefy embrace. And the fluids seeped out and ran freely over the whole scene.

“Go on,”‌ he heard Lynn hiss. “Give her a kiss.”

The broad ass spread before Simon like a mountainside of alabaster: vast spheres wobbled on either side as though they were about to collapse and spill all over the restaurant table. His tiny heart pounded in his little rib cage, and every single nerve in his body was twitching to flee. He shook where he stood, scant inches from where the tremendous ass was poised. It swayed, perhaps unconsciously—because what monstrosity could possibly control all this mass?—adding to the primal warning that he was about to be buried, crushed beneath it.

Between the immense, quivering buttocks, a delirious column of rippling, ruffled flesh stretched nearly as tall as himself. Thick panels of outer labia, sprouting with overgrowths of coarse, scraggly dark hair, reluctantly spread with the rhythmic clenching within. Bright red and hot pink tissues oozed and bulged with rampant desire, glistening in a thick, flowing coat of aromatic juices. Simon knew matter could not be created or destroyed, but he swore the middle-aged research analyst was generating gallons of vasocongestive fluid out of nowhere, gallons of womanly juices that did not exist before, gallons now copiously drooling from her inner recesses to form an erotic waterfall over her inner wings, thick folds of tender flesh engorged with bestial arousal.

“Where are you, my little man,” Dorothy moaned, somewhere behind this perverse mountain range. “I‌ need you so badly, right now. Please, show me how much you need me, too.” Her voice bounced off the restaurant windows, only just perceptible above the muted roar of legitimate customers in another section of Jubilee Manor. And as her voice mewled, so did her huge pussy quiver and churn, all too similar to a gigantic mouth waiting to chew the miniaturized young man up.

“Hold on, he’s coming, Dorothy,” said Lynn. She had to lean back from where she was hissing threateningly at Simon, to crane around the breadth of Dorothy’s profound rear and speak to her. “Don’t you think this anticipation increases the sexual tension? It’s agony for him to hold himself back from you right now, when you’ve presented yourself so very invitingly to him”—she shot the tiny intern a menacing glance—“but he wants you to savor every single second of building up to your union.”

Dorothy peered over her shoulder at her coworker, lost in libidinous torment. “Is that true? Do you promise?”

Lynn coughed and covered her mouth to keep from laughing at Dorothy’s clownish expression: her huge, longing eyes, that wide, trembling mouth ringed in garish color. “I promise you, Dorothy, I have never been witness to such an electric, soulful connection as this. Even sitting so closely to it like this, why, I might have to excuse myself and go, er, take care of some business.” Lynn leaned forward to block Dorothy’s plaintive expression behind the pallid hillside of buttock, then loomed near the tiny man. “Now, you get the fuck in there and give the nice lady what she wants, or I swear I’ll twist your fucking neck, toss you in the deep fryer, and serve you with Sriracha aioli!”

Simon flinched at the lovely blonde’s teeth, snapping behind snarling lips, and unintentionally backed into the mammoth labia beside him. The giantess moaned loudly as Simon jerked back, alarmed. His arm was coated in glistening ooze, just his head was slick with juices. Thin little muscles bunched up all along his body as a scream formed within him. He wanted nothing more than to jump out of his skin and throw himself to the floor, come what may. Yet Lynn’s glowering visage hovered before him, begging for any excuse to introduce him to a new realm of suffering. Which was worse, he thought unwillingly, to be crushed and shredded between Lynn’s bony fists, or…

He turned toward the yearning chasm of churning flesh. The huge pussy pulsed in anticipation, which in some perverse way could be flattering. Yes, behind him was spite and wrath, but in front of him was an overwhelming kind of love, in a certain interpretation. How bad could that be, really? Wiping the goop out of his eye with his clean arm, Simon raised his drenched hand and reached up to the gibbering labia, wrinkled and glutted and ruddy.

His fingers stroked one wobbly line of rippling tissue. It was cool, for having stuck out, but warmer as he pressed his hand into its folds. Yes, very rapidly it was hotter, and the abundant fluids carried his hand nearly frictionlessly into the folds. He ran his hand up and down this one seam among many. It glided between tender panels of skin; in response, the entrance to the gigantic cunt puckered and pushed out another dollop of fluids. As though in a trance, Simon turned toward the portal, a narrowing hole into the heart of this woman, the source of her moisture. Part of him screamed that this was a bad idea, but the rest of him reached for that hole, to understand how it was producing this spring of fluid. Passively it sucked his arm up to his elbow, and with morbid curiosity he pushed his arm in the rest of the way, until that trembling sheet of red/violet tissue quivered against his cheek. Her flora filled his nostrils and his lungs, the potent, humid vapors that radiated from her, and now he could hear the quiet click-click of his arm sliding among the lubricated tissues and muscles. He looked, and just overhead, the wrinkled asshole embedded in a field of brown diamond clenched mightily and sucked into the giantess’s hips. The power mesmerized him, all these muscles working together to grind and clench and churn… He shook his head and started to pull out, took a step back…

Dorothy cried, “I can’t take it anymore!” Faster than anyone would’ve guessed, and with a reach that defied belief, her hand flew around her rump with savage greed. Fingers like fat logs pounded into Simon’s spine; in a flash, the thick tissues he’d toyed with now smothered the entire front of his body. He hadn’t time to draw a breath. He thrust his arms against the huge pussy, but the slick surfaces sucked him up to his chest, and still the heavy fingertips drummed against his skull, hammering him deeper into the hungry, quaking slit.

Simon struggled to wrench his head free of the thick tissues. “Help, someone help! Lynn, get me out of here!” He could only turn toward her, unable to clear his vision of the viscous slime his face was slathered in. Realizing he had no succor with her, he screamed instead to the amorous giantess. “Dorothy! Stop, stop! You’re drowning me, I can’t breathe!” Drowning? Suffocating would have been accurate too, but he didn’t have time for that. Asphyxiating likewise took too long to say.

Seemingly in response, the huge fingers shifted over his shoulders. One fleshy pad rested upon the back of his skull, and in an instant they shoved and he was subsumed. Light disappeared as his head was plunged into Dorothy’s depths. Moisture popped around his ears. Hot, smooth tissues flowed over his cheeks, nestled around his neck, sucked at his shoulders and chest. He almost had the sense of falling, with all the flesh spreading around his face and running down his body. Yes, falling into the deeps, being carried along into the inner recesses of this dumpy, ordinary woman. To look at her… well, you wouldn’t even notice her in a lineup, never pick her out on the street. Walking past her working in her office was tantamount to walking past a blank patch of office wall. The last thing anyone could ever have guessed about her was how wet she could get, how amoral in her appetite, and how fucking insane she was to want to suck an entire, living person up inside her pussy. Shouldn’t she be done with sex by now? Menopause and all that? One truly never knew what lurked inside some people.

And now, Simon thought hysterically, he would be lurking inside Dorothy.

“Oh, fuck me,” the pear-shaped woman moaned. All the muscles in her hips came to life, all the sleepy and lazy ones that were left unused after years and years of sitting in an office chair for eight hours and heaving her bulk out of it again. How could she be so reactive after all this time? She’d reconciled with saying goodbye to an active sex life after her second failed marriage. The first one was a fluke, a childish whim of two young, stupid college students. The second, she’d actually put herself into. She really loved that man, she really thought it would work. Some insipid, mousy secretary disabused her of that notion, and as she drew up her own divorce paperwork, so did she divorce from that whole messy, chaotic aspect of humanity. Dorothy was fine with—not resigned to—her life of books, gardening, live theater, and minding her own Goddess-damned business.

Everything was upended when she met Lynn. No, that’s not accurate: she resented Lynn, who seemed to embody everything she’d lost. Lynn was young, fit, and very pretty. The guys in Overmedia were crazy for her in various degrees: the C-class rulers who needed more meetings with her, the working drones who made comments and almost robotically took ill-fated shots at her. Dorothy didn’t hate Lynn as a person, just what Lynn represented. It was salt in the wound to have to work so closely with her, but even those nerves were deadened over time.

But then Lynn took her out for drinks. And then Dorothy woke up with a tiny man lodged in her butt. And things only got crazier after that. Look at her now: backing her distended rump into a dining room table at a fancy restaurant, greedily stuffing a coworker into what should have been a dry, narrow slit, painful with disuse. Yet there was something about the miniature man that was turning back the clock: she was wetter, juicier than she’d ever been in college. Far from jamming an unwelcome lump into bruised tissue, the little man practically fell into her like a water slide, and all those old muscles were hugging him, squeezing him, clenching him possessively. This magical little man was unlocking doors within her, firing up the furnaces! Dorothy nearly sobbed with confusion and gratitude as she shoved him deeper inside.

Her fingertips played among his thighs, bumping against his firm little butt, batting his tiny little genitalia around. Oh Goddess, he was squirmy! Her thighs tensed and her pussy seized on him hard. Was she crushing him? Of course she didn’t want to hurt anyone, but even the very thought of having a whole man inside her and being able to grind him with her vagina, her old, disused, neglected pussy—that was intoxicating! Her stomach fluttered (its paunch hanging and swinging in the hammock of her blouse) as the wriggly little man set off giddy sparks and tremors deep inside her. My Goddess, she thought, he was so active! Just feel how hard he was squirming around in there! Was he as excited as her? What could this possibly be like for him, a young man in the prime of his life, embedded by a beautiful, vital, thriving vagina like this? It had to be a dream come true, an impossible dream from which he would never want to wake!

This is a nightmare, thought Simon, this is a fucking nightmare! This isn’t real, it can’t be real! This just doesn’t happen to people. And I can’t die like this! He screamed at himself to wake up as the frothing cauldron of Dorothy’s juices surged around him. He wished he could see what was going to happen to him, though he also knew the last thing he wanted was to be confronted with an up-close-and-personal gaze at a matronly woman’s internal biology. Veins, ruddy tissues, the living abyss of folds and crevices and channels going deeper and deeper into this insane giantess… he couldn’t have borne it. It would have been like gaping into the maw of madness, witnessing it gaping back at him.

Irrationally he reached out for something to grab onto, any handhold in the crowded, velvety darkness, but there was nothing. His arms wiped over the walls, and the walls clenched him harder. He braced his shoulders and shoved against the clenching bands of muscle, and they closed in and strangled him without the slightest indication of effort. Yet still he struggled, desperate to escape, increasingly desperate for one more gasp of air. He winced as the big woman’s lubrication insinuated itself everywhere: his hair, drenched in the stuff, was plastered to his head or swept around his face whenever he turned. It muted all hearing deep in his aural canals, and it crept into his sinuses as though it belonged there. All the holes in his head stung, and some of them began to twitch in their need for air. Simon wanted to cry, he wanted to scream curses, but all he could do was flail in the encroaching chamber of lust, struggle in vain to swim backwards, while his legs kicked and wheeled in dry, empty air.

“Did you say something?” Lynn asked, outside. She sat at the table, dressed for a dinner date, her face twisted into a rictus of morbid fascination. Without getting her drunk, she’d convinced Dorothy to pull down her fucking jeggings, those tacky-ass jeggings, in the middle of a Goddess-damned supper club. Was that more or less weird than actually shrinking a second human down to GI Joe-figure size? Leave that one for the philosophers! And speaking of that, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the impossible sight less than a foot in front of her (she couldn’t resist leaning in and soaking in the spectacle): two slender, lightly muscled legs sticking out of the hairy cooze of a fat, middle-aged, middle-management office fixture. The tiny man’s legs stretched and wheeled around like the limbs of a dying insect, reaching out for Goddess only knew what. They couldn’t grab onto anything, there was nothing for them to grab. It was just Dorothy’s fat labia, ballooned like a fucking primate in estrus, thickly pelted in scraggly dark hair, and Simon’s slim, pale legs pedaling in their death throes. It was overtly sexual, it was morbid, it was perverse. Lynn clapped her palm over her mouth, marveling at where life had taken her. How could anyone get bored of life?‌ How could anyone think about suicide, ruling out all the amazing, unbelievable things that were waiting just around the corner?‌ You just never knew! It was impossible to know what was going to happen next! She chuckled to herself, unable to tear her eyes from the flailing little man lodged halfway into a thick, hirsute, drooling cunt.

Simon’s body was burning with deprivation of oxygen and overstimulation of an active, clenching vagina covering every conceivable square inch of his body. It was too much, there was too much to take in. All this skin, being covered in all this flesh, overwhelmed by heat and inundated with moisture, and all of it unending. There was no pushing it away, there was no retreat. Even the panic began to lose its energy, it was too much. The resignation in his brain was gaining ground as his lungs realized they would never breathe again and his bones and joints would never have space to flex and stretch once more. How hard should he fight? All his struggles amounted to nothing. Dorothy was in control. The immense, stupid giantess was in control. All Simon had to do was give up and die inside the copious gloop her pussy was generating every second. He had no hope, he had no chance. He hated himself for his weakness and inadequacy, as her mere vaginal canal overpowered him without resistance. He was reduced to a weak, vulnerable little lump, in spite of whatever notions his head sparked with. This was all he was: a parcel of bones wrapped in erratically twitching muscles, and soon those would still and rest. No more needless effort, no more wasted energy.

He couldn’t accept it, even as it was happening. He pushed into the moist, inky blackness, against nothing. He twisted and struggled against the irresistible clamp on his waist. Even with no way of winning, he punched and kicked at fate.

His tiny knees pounded at Dorothy’s clitoris. The way the tiny man strove inside her, how he never stopped wriggling and squirming around, that was tantalizing on its own. But his knees kept banging against her clit. Whether it was on purpose or incidentally, Dorothy could never tell, but the effect was the same: a tiny little man she squeezed in her cunt was pressing her button over and over, even as every muscle in her hips bore down on him. Tension mounted against stimulation, and even with her coworker Lynn sitting right there, staring openly at her most private area, in the middle of a public restaurant,  Dorothy felt the climax coming forth. Maybe because of all of it: it was so freeing to have her pants pulled down, to expose her privates to the beautiful, young icon of her crushed dreams, to perform something so intimate and personal in a frankly not-great dining facility. What did the rules mean? Who even made the rules? She was realizing how malleable everything was, how much she’d accepted as given without challenging it. Yet more strictures and foregone conclusions being shattered by the magical little man in her pussy. She owed him so much, she thought, as her lungs gasped for more and more air. He was an incredible gift, bring world-bending realities to her, staggering new possibilities. All this she mused on, while her knees threatened to buckle and her heavy breasts swung through the restaurant air. Closer, she thought, blocking out all other conscious matter, closer. She was getting closer. She was going to cum right in front of Lynn, she realized, then pushed that thought out with how close she was getting.

Closer, she thought, and thought about less aside from this. Closer she was getting, and closer she thought.

He fought inside her, little limbs going everywhere, exploring her interior.

Tiny legs kicked outside of her, banging against her clit almost regularly.

“What are you doing to me,” she whispered, groping for his legs. “What are you doing to my body… You’re naughty, you’re terrible…” His legs pedaled and slipped between her fingers, but she was undeterred. She slapped her fat fingers around her inner thighs and crotch, until she pinned him flat. His little legs felt strong beneath her fingertips, little muscles pumping, always resisting her grip. Dorothy smiled vaguely to herself and slid his legs beneath her palm, slipped her fingers around them, and took the lower half of his body into a secure grip.

Simon had reflexively jerked away from her touch, figuring that anything this monstrous woman wanted to do to him was going to be worse. Not that he could get much worse than being lodged inside an old woman’s gaping pussy, but you know. It could always get worse. But when that large, strong hand seized his legs, he had the wild thought that things would change. Whatever she wanted to do, it would be in the fresh air, at least! He rallied his inner strength to hold relatively still, swallow his hysterical internal screams, and surrender himself to her. For the moment, at least, long enough to escape the ogress’s intimate dungeon.

That was a good sign, Dorothy thought, how he settled down under her touch. Was it a good sign? He was moving around so deliciously before, twitching and shaking and squirming inside her intimate parts. If he stopped now, did that mean he was bored of her? He hadn’t already come, had he? Well, whatever: it didn’t matter if he had, because Mommy was in charge and she was going to get what she needed. The dirtiness of this thought made her smirk, as she bunched his thighs and knees against each other and jammed him in deeper. Oh, that felt good, feeling this lovely little man filling up her last recesses! Slowly she dragged him back out, slowly and carefully. She didn’t want him popping out and flopping around, like some flaccid penis. How would she get him back in again without hurting him? She was pretty wet, she thought, chuckling. He could slip back inside.

But to business! With her pinky tucked between his tiny calves, she slid him back inside. The warm glow of having something solid and vital inside her spread throughout her pussy and hips. Oh, Goddess, it felt so good to have something inside there again. She swore she could feel his life in there. She could sense a living being, more than a penis, much more than a vibrator. Her hand tugged and withdrew him once more and, yes, the contrast was stark. Having the little man jammed inside her felt like love; pulling him out, the way her walls relaxed around the emptiness, that was crushing. It nearly broke her heart to feel him gone, even though she had him in her fist. She needed him inside again.

Snarling, she pumped her fist and jammed him deep inside three or four times. She was getting a cramp from the difficult reach around her enormous rump. For a crazy moment she thought about asking Lynn to take over and do this for her. “Just grab onto his legs with both of your little hands, and pump him inside me like you’re plunging a toilet or churning butter.” This was patently ridiculous, not only was it already uncomfortable to have her beautiful blonde coworker sitting right outside her entrance, at the same table, but she would lay odds that Lynn had never touched a toilet brush or even heard of a butter churn. “Guess I‌ gotta do everything myself, once again,” Dorothy said to herself. It was beside the point, but she considered herself a Ravenclaw, the only person you could count on to roll up her sleeves and do the job when everyone else was worried about glory or strategy or debate.

Lynn’s eyes widened as she witnessed the spectacle. The wrinkles over Dorothy’s knuckles stretched taut as she clamped down on tiny Simon’s legs and commenced to stabbing herself with him. Tiny feet squirmed uncomfortably; his tiny abs glistened and flashed as they emerged and retreated within the knobbly pink-and-tan folds of rubbery flesh; his teeny-tiny little penis flopped haplessly, swinging around in all directions. It was hard, this slender little wand, so it waved at Lynn warningly before dragging along Dorothy’s engorged pussy lips. It was amazing: the least tuck of tissue could bury his little penis in a stroke, while his entire body was thrusting inside her like a larger-than-average penis. Brief traces of sympathy for the helpless little intern were quickly dispelled with each noisy slurp as her cunt gobbled him up.

Dorothy owned a tiny man. She owned a whole person inside of her. He fit inside of her pussy and oh goddess oh goddess an entire person inside her clutching harder squeezing him and still he struggled but he was hers and she squeezed and here it came

Lynn had come before. She’d had orgasms, by herself and with partners. Mostly men, two women. They all had their own styles: the men racing to the finish, the women pleasing her like they’d pleased themselves, and then Lynn knowing what she herself liked. But what she saw in Dorothy was nothing like that. The scrawny little legs flailing from her hairy cunt, contrasted with the big, heavy, dumpy woman whose entire body was being shaken with an orgasm she couldn’t control. That was new. Lynn didn’t know whether something like that was possible. She’d read about it, sure, and it came up in movies, but it defied her three options. A tiny little man was wriggling inside one of Dorothy’s most private holes, and this was bringing the boring coworker to an earth-shattering climax. Lynn was almost jealous: she didn’t want to look like Dorothy, but she wanted to know what it was like for someone else to bring the orgasm. It wasn’t collaborative! What was Dorothy doing? Just bending over and showing her big ass to the dining room. The little man was doing all the work, and from what she could read in the tremors in her coworker’s enormous ass, it was incredible! For a moment she was tempted to steal Simon away for herself, but how could she possibly wash him enough to get Dorothy’s essence off him?

After a thunderous minute, Dorothy was able to gasp for air. Her vision was replaced with stars, her throat was clenched and would admit no more air. Her sound was blocked, scent didn’t even apply. The only thing that was real and persistent was the tiny, frenetic man lodged deep in her cunt. She shuddered and whimpered, clenching at him with her private fist. Her hands were relegated to clawing at her own thighs, groping her own ass while he danced inside her. Maybe she swore, maybe she called to the heavens, maybe she professed her love to the miniature man stuck halfway inside her cunt. Dorothy didn’t know: it all swirled and rose and exploded, and then her knees really went weak and she had to grab a nearby chair. She couldn’t even gather the breath to apologize to Lynn, for what she must’ve seen. All she could do was plop down in the sturdy restaurant chair.

In his dwindling consciousness, Simon felt the huge pussy around him clench repeatedly, spasming, rippling over his helpless body. The juices kept coming, flowing from all sides, coursing past him in a lurid torrent. His legs, spinning freely in his desperate bid for liberation, were abruptly pinned in place. He couldn’t kick or even twitch a toe: they were completely immobile, the big woman’s pussy mashing them against something unyielding. So this was how he was going to die, bent in an L-shape while a gigantic pussy smothered him to death? Simon wondered what he’d done wrong in his life to end up here, what false choices he’d made, what misjudgment he’d committed to deserve this. It seemed extreme, drowning to death inside a middle-aged woman’s pussy, and as the oxygen in his lungs burned off, he couldn’t imagine what crime he could have committed to earn this.

“Oh, I bet he can’t breathe,”‌ Dorothy gasped, and with demonstrative labor she rolled to one fat butt cheek. Her tongue probed thickly around the corner of her mouth as her eyes rolled heavenward, and her fingers groped around her vast curvature to dig into her deep crack. Within a minute she found Simon’s thin legs and wrapped her fist around them. She grinned shyly, devilishly at Lynn as she gave the little man a couple thrusts inside her for good measure, her eyelids going heavy with sinful pleasure, before she finally yanked him free.

Simon flopped in her fist, glossy with Dorothy’s lubrication. Coarse, dark pubic hairs stretched like scraggly scars across his chest and belly, running down his thin arms. “You’re a mess, little man,” Dorothy commented, hoping to lighten the mood. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up, if you can’t do that for yourself.” She reached for the rolled napkin around heavy silverware, near the red candle in plastic mesh. Even to her fingers, the fabric seemed more for show and not so great at absorption. Regardless, she rolled it out and tried scraping the goop off her tiny lover’s body.

The napkin was coarse and agonizing to Simon’s sensitive little body, but Dorothy had no clue of this. All she knew was that it took a few extra, careful strokes to wipe her love-juices off his chest, his arms, his face. “But you know what,” she purred to the miniature figure in her fist, mindless of Lynn, “I think I know another way to clean you off. A better way. Yes, I know exactly what will do the job right now.” She hardly noticed how the tiny man gasped for air now, how his head lolled around with however she turned him in her fist. All she knew was that there was a sexier, more sensual way of cleaning her lover.

Simon’s vision slowly returned. Everything he saw was a stark contrast from the black-and-blood blurs behind his eyelids, while he passed out inside the older woman’s pussy. Now everything was brighter light: not as glaring as a hospital room, obviously, but even the ambient lighting of a couple dozen candles in a private dining room was brighter than what he’d been subjected to. His vision canted and wheeled as he flopped around in the giant woman’s fist, and his strength was slow to return to him. He’d been in the epicenter of a gigantic orgasm, it was important to note, while in the middle of a near-death experience. Simon was done with thinking for a while, resigned to experiencing things as they happened.

So when the enormous mouth lunged at him, teeth and all, it hardly fazed him. He stared dully into Dorothy’s cavernous throat as her thick, strong tongue buffeted his limp body. There was no point in resisting, he thought, since he had no strength with which to resist. He only laid back and watched Dorothy’s eating orifice come at him again and again, as the hot and slimy tongue scraped over his body here and there. Why not? At least he was no longer stuck inside her pussy. How could a mouth be any worse? He flopped to the side as her tongue shoved him around, lifting his enervated arms and digging around his armpits, his sides, his chest and belly. He should have been ticklish, but he was that deadened by the shock of the experience, nearly getting crushed to death in an old woman’s pussy.

His throat seized up, stinging and prickling. Simon’s face screwed up and the tendons in his neck stood out as he stopped breathing.

“Oh? What is it? What’s wrong, little man?” Dorothy’s eyes went big and round, like her clownish lips. “Are you trying to say something? Are you hurt? What’s going on? Speak to me, li’l guy.” She looked at Lynn, who shrugged. Not knowing what else to do, she shook the limp figure in her fist. He wobbled in place for a moment, then caught the counter frequency to her moves and whipped back and forth violently. The tiny figure collapsed upon her thumb and draped over it like a fistful of cooked spaghetti.

“What did I do? Did I do this?” Dorothy began to stammer, tossing questions at Lynn. “Tell me what to do! Tell me how to fix him! I can’t lose him already, I‌ just got him!”

Lynn scowled, glaring at the little man clutched in the fat fist. What an irritation he was! All he had to do was just give this big woman what she needed, but he collapsed already? Men were just useless! She started to reach for him and changed her mind, chewing her lip with indecision.

Abruptly, Simon’s tiny hands planted upon the long bone of Dorothy’s thumb. He sucked in a tortured wheeze, then stiffened and pushed himself up from her grip as though electrocuted. Tiny eyes clenched, he opened his jaws wide and barked out a racking cough with the whole of his little person. A thin stream of white fluid leaped out of his throat and sailed briefly through the air until it struck Dorothy’s chin. It thinned and dribbled around her tiny hairs, picking up granules of foundation as it crawled down to the rim of her jaw.

Dorothy and Lynn looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Here, lemme get that,” said Lynn, daubing at her coworker’s chin with a stiff cloth napkin. “Looks like the little guy tried to drink more than he could… no, that doesn’t work. His eyes were bigger than his stomach?”

The larger woman simpered cutely at her prize. “There’s much more where that came from,” she told him, purring. “Pace yourself, little man! Don’t rush yourself on my account.” She cooed over him, plucking at gummy strands of pubic hairs plastered over his back and face, when a set of subtle electronic tones rang throughout the room. Dorothy looked at the entrance, where hands were fumbling with a curtain.

Lynn bared her teeth and leaped to her feet. “Fuck! They must be filling up for the dinner rush and need this room! Let me help you get dressed!” Her two hands and Dorothy’s one—the one not holding her precious little toy—struggled to haul her ridiculous jeggings back up over her prodigious hips. “Couldn’t wear a muu-muu for tonight, I guess,” Lynn grumbled ruefully. They got the larger woman put together just as the first couple slipped into the dining room, peering into the relative darkness. Lynn seized on their confusion, adjusting to the lighting, to collect everything they’d brought and straighten out the table, mostly, before leading Dorothy by the arm and hustling her out of Jubilee Manor.

“Looks like we’ve worn out our welcome,” she said, glancing back at the disapproving faces behind the server’s lectern. “Well, this is a logical conclusion to the evening, I think. Now all you’ve got to do is bring your precious little lover home, and you can get as down-and-dirty with him as you like!”

Dorothy stumbled along to her car. “That’s true, isn’t it? Oh, that’s true!” Her concern melted into delight as she brought Simon up to her lips and smothered him in a long, noisy smooch. “You awful, awful little man! You shouldn’t write any checks your body can’t cash. What in the world were you thinking, seducing me like that? You came so close to embarrassing me in a public restaurant!” She bit her lip and leered at Lynn. “That was pretty exciting, though, wasn’t it? Being naughty like that in public? Oh my Goddess, I feel like I’m back in college! Should I get a pack of cigarettes? I haven’t smoked since I got my MBA.”

“Sure, get some smokes, pick up a fifth of something. Make it a party!” Lynn guided Dorothy between parked cars, watching out for traffic, peering up the street.

Dorothy barely paid attention to where she was going. “An all-nighter, just like in college! Because I’m going to go all night long, you saucy little tease. Get your strength back up on the drive home, because I’m going to make sure you finish what you’ve started tonight.” She brought the little man up before her eyes; her lipstick stood out across his face and chest even in the red neon light of the restaurant’s signage. “You hear me? Mama needs her cookie in a bad way. That was a nice little quickie, but that was just the overture. You get me? You’re going to give me all of that and more, several times over. Compounded interest!” She giggled as Lynn fished around in her purse and unlocked what turned out to be her car.

“There you go, Dorothy, slide on into your car. You’re good to drive?” Lynn waited until Dorothy pulled her leg in to slam the door solidly. “You go easy on that tiny intern, okay? We’re going to need him back at work bright and early, after the weekend.” When Dorothy looked up at her in horror, she broke out in laughter. “I’m just messing with you, girl! He’s all yours, fuck him every which-way you can think of! If anything happens to him, we’ll just pick out another hottie for you to play with. How’s that sound, Dorothy?”

The older woman hardly took her eyes off of Simon, sprawled upon one vast thigh in strained denim print. “Call me Dotty,” she murmured, “like in college.” She started up the engine and gave Lynn a wink, before stuffing the tiny, pale body deep between her thighs. Lynn stepped back and watched her pull out, roll through the parking lot, and blend into evening traffic.

Droplets ran down the jade glass cylinder: pausing, building, sprinting to the retro laminate tabletop. They pooled around the base of the bottle, spreading around the rim as the volume built up. The pattern in the table was magnified and warped through the pool, and the image trembled and calmed every time a new droplet joined it. Little droplets of water, condensation forming on a chilled bottle of wine, running a short race before joining the pool; little individuals, immediately absorbed, lost in and adding to the mass of something greater.

The symbolism was lost on Simon as he stared at the water, rapt with how thirsty he suddenly realized he was.

“It’s a hot night, isn’t it?” Dotty said, fanning herself theatrically. That was her excuse for stripping down to a lacy black bra and her teal thong, as soon as they arrived at her place. She secured her tiny man under an upended wire fruit basket, weighted down with her heaviest book on hand: The Joy of‌ Cooking. “You’re lucky, you’re so small, you probably don’t have any mass at all to build up heat. And what with your ventilated home”—she laughed, and enormous twin hillsides resting upon the table wobbled in their black lace cups—“you probably feel quite cozy, don’t you? Aren’t you glad you don’t have any tiny clothes to overheat in? If you stripped down now, you’d likely lose them to a stiff breeze or something.”

The base of the bottle lifted away. Simon’s view was hampered by the low ceiling of the cookbook, so he could pick out the bottom of Dorothy’s—Dotty’s—wine glass filling with the rolling deluge of pale golden liquid. It was more reasonable to say his vision was commanded by his kidnapper’s tremendous bosom, but he took pains to focus on anything other than the mountainside of mammaries.

She went on. “Oh, I wish I could share some of this with you, my darling little man. I just don’t know if I can trust you yet.”

“You can trust me. You’re powerful and huge, and you’re quicker than I am,” he called out. “You could crush me on accident, so I’m not going to do anything stupid.” And he even spoke mostly honestly, but much of that was motivated by the enormous monolith of recipes sitting just above his head.

“I‌ know how serviceable you were in the restaurant. But I was a little dizzy-headed with booze back then. It’s had some time to settle, and as I‌ look back on it, I don’t know how ready or willing you were to please me. You know?”

“I promise you—”

“Promises mean nothing, little man. Actions, that’s where it’s at. You can scream your little voice hoarse, if you want, but you have to prove yourself to me with actions.” The stem of her glass rose beyond his view; after some performative slurping noises, it rang elegantly against the tabletop once more. “I know what I‌ look like. I‌ have no illusions about myself.”

Even a whelp like Simon could detect that her tone in that last sentence didn’t match her behavior for the entire evening. There was a new tension, a taut feeling to her words, that told him her initial buzz had worn off and now he was in new territory. That is to say, obviously, he was in her kitchenette instead of the private dining quarters of Jubilee Manor, but what was meant that this was no longer giddy, lusty Dotty. This was the sterner, business-only woman he’d been introduced to at Overmedia. Did that mean he could reason with her now? Was she open to discussion? Would she actually help him out of his predicament?

Estimating how often the big, green bottle and the stem of her wine glass took turns disappearing, the answer to that was “unlikely, at best.” He crept forward, wrapping his thin fingers around the even thinner copper wires of his cage and strained to look up at her. Above her mountainous breasts, a large larynx caked in pale flesh, ringed in deep wrinkles, churned mightily, and in a flash the Chardonnay was gone. “Quaffed” was the word for that, when someone knocks a drink back quickly and wholly. Staring up at the giantess, scantily clad, piles of rounded, soft flesh that rose beyond view, he could easily envision her drinking entire barrels of booze at a quaff.

Fascination with this concept gave way to terror as it dawned upon him what a drunk giantess entailed.

“Hey! I can see you again. You changing your mind about being such a stick in the mud?” After a pause, Dorothy—ugh, Dotty—laughed deeply about that. He saw it struck her as funny, but it was lost on him. “I don’t mind if you wanna come out and join me. You know? It’d be so much better if we got along, considering the night’s agenda. How you feel about that?”

The wine was hitting her hard again. It was astounding to imagine such a gigantic, heavy woman could be a lightweight at drinking. Still, it was loosening her mind and that could be an advantage… “I’d like that,” he shouted.

“Yeah? Really?” The wine glass rang as she set it down, unsteadily.

“I think it’s important that we get to know each other. I‌’d like to feel more comfortable with you.” Simon grimaced deeply, out of her eyesight, as he said the next part. “I don’t want to be just your toy, I‌ want to be your partner. I‌ want to learn how to make you happy.” This wasn’t technically a lie: it seemed to be the only means for his redemption.

Two fleshy hands slapped upon the old laminate table surface. “Well, that sounds lovely! Now you’re seeing it like I do. I really want us to become closer, I think it’ll make things better between us. I‌ mean, you were into me at the restaurant, that was obvious, but… yeah, we’re thinking, feeling adults. Why can’t we… Here, I need to see you better.” The hands disappeared, and then the immense slab of cooking recipes lifted from the roof of his cage. Dotty set the tome aside, beyond the scattered apples and oranges that now populated her table.

When her eyes were averted with her task, Simon gripped the basket wires and heaved. The whole thing lifted easily, revealing a large gap between the rim of the basket and the table. Problem was, he couldn’t race for it while holding the basket over his head. He’d have to get a new grip with successive wires, working his way toward the edge—

A heavy blow knocked him to his knees and shocked the cage out of his hands.‌ He looked up to see the wires overhead biting gently into a fleshy woman’s palm. “Ah, ah, ah, you little scamp,” she said, chuckling. “You haven’t earned the privilege of freedom just yet! C’mere a little closer, you.”

Simon had to crawl forward, naked and frustrated, as Dotty effortlessly slid the cage closer to her enormous boobs, until each alabaster, amorphous sphere bulged through the copper wires as well. The lace of her bra captivated his attention: only he could appreciate the detail of the floral loops, from his perspective. But this was just the fringe to two heavy, dense cups of what looked for all the world like black canvas, and layers of it. After all, they had to contain the immense globes of Dotty’s tits, and they did so under profound duress. The bra cups only pushed a little against the basket’s frame, but the lace and the bare skin looked like they were waiting for anything to set them flooding into his enclosure.

“So you wanna get to know me better, huh? Ask me something, big guy.” She laughed at this as well.

As badly as Simon wanted to back away from the tits that looked like they could crush the goddamn wire cage, he only sat down and hugged his knees and peered up at her around the heel of her palm, weighting the cage down. “Well, what do you do for a living?”

Dotty was in the middle of pouring herself another glass of wine when he asked, single-handedly. She stared at him with huge blue-gray eyes, her brows furrowing, and then she slammed the bottle down and threw her head back to howl with laughter. As frightening as the blast of the bottle against his landscape was, he was relieved to get the desired response. He couldn’t help smiling, even, at the gusto of her amusement.

“I‌ was not expecting that at all,” she said, gasping between laughs. She mopped her eyes with the back of her wrist before resuming filling her glass. “Holy fuck, that hit me in the right place. You’re all right, little man.” She was nearly looking directly down at him, her double-chin forming over the immense cleavage, all of which she seemed unaware of. Her grin widened into a toothy smile, and her blinking was much slower. Under other circumstances…

But Simon watched with dread as her sausage-fingers gracelessly gripped the big, round glass (the wrong one for white wine, even he knew that), watched her massy head cant back as though her neck could no longer support it, watched the garishly painted lips spread and expose imperfectly aligned rows of teeth in a gaping ring to receive the waterfall of bargain Chardonnay. At this point, he no longer knew whether her binge drinking was working for him or against him.

Every time she slapped that glass to the table, he wondered if it would shatter. But now her hand left the glass and did not go for the bottle: Dotty’s hand perched outside of the cage, fingers flexed, ready, waiting. “You look a li’l lonely in there, Sensitive Naked Man.” Once more, she laughed at a reference he didn’t pick up on. That probably happened a lot with old people. “Why don’t you come out here and party with me?”

A metallic ringing noise made him look up: her thick, lacquered nails pinged over the copper cables as her fingers curled into a claw, gripping the fruit basket-cum-prison and lifting it like the lid of a jewelry box. Simon sucked his breath through his teeth: fleeing behind him was ruled out, and running to either side just worked to her advantage. While he strategized, her thick hand lunged and seized him with surprisingly little effort.

Dotty transferred him between hands, carefully planting her thick thumb on his chest and two fingers across his back. “I can’t get over how big you are,” she said, waggling him gently in the empty space above her little dining table. The way her irises flicked downward, how her grin widened, he supposed he was checking out how his penis flopped around as well. “That’s to say, you’re smaller, but you’re bigger than the last guy.”

“What last guy? Tell me about him.” Simon struggled to poke one arm past the webbing between her thumb and forefinger, in order to hug her thumb and make himself feel more secure.

Her eyes squinted almost closed. “I thought guys hated hearing about their girlfriends’ past experiences.”

Her implication turned his blood to ice water. “No, it’s cool. I want to know more about you.”

“You’re bigger’n him, so you got nothing to worry about in that department.”

“Are you talking about… our penises, or…”

Again she burst out laughing, from her gaping mouth to her heaving shoulders, on down to the rolls of fat that disappeared behind the edge of the table. He estimated it to be about a 5.7 magnitude quake. “No, you silly-billy! I’m talking about your size, like, all of you. He was just this little guy, you’re like twice his size.”

She was slurring more now, the wine was catching up with her. He tried to suck in a deep breath but her thumb was like an iron band across his sternum. “How did you get him?”

“I found him in my butt.” Dotty’s eyes were a little sleepy, and her mouth hung open after “butt.” It almost looked challenging, like she was daring him to ask more or maybe call her a liar. “I just rolled over and there was a little man in my butt. I was like… what? And I wanted to play with him but he was already dead.” Her eyes rolled slowly to the side as she held the wine bottle up to the light. “Gonna need a refill soon.”

He was already dead. She just tossed that out casually, like “here’s your mail” or “it’s done raining.” Before he could ask for clarification, Dotty upended the bottle in her mouth and heaved herself out of her chair to toddle toward the fridge.

She was built like a contrast. The top of her wasn’t even that heavy, just a little pudgy. A little belly, huge, round boobs that hung upon it, and some padding on her sides. Round shoulders, padded arms. That was it, just a lot of padding over a normal person’s body, resulting in smooth, soft, milky flesh everywhere. But then you went down to her waist—where she was swinging him casually, in her little trip—and there was an eruption of hips and ass. Where did it all come from? Why was it building up all down there? The teal thong he spotted in the restaurant, her “whale tail,” it was nothing more than a thin, painted line riding over one round hip to disappear either beneath the tuck of her belly or within the plunging crevasse of her ass.

The magnetic rubber seal around the door of her vintage fridge peeled and smacked when she opened it, and the hand pinching him rested against the frame as she stuck her head inside. “So important to keep this stuff chilled, you know. It’s no good warm. Fucking dog piss.” She muttered to herself as glass bowls scraped over glass shelves, contents getting rearranged to clear access to another big, green bottle.

Simon was pinned against the fridge, warm on the outside but cold air spilling like a slow-motion waterfall. From his position he could stare down the length of her puffy arm to the enticingly gentle slope of her shoulder, down the deep groove of shadow her spine formed along nearly flawless skin—couldn’t help noticing a mole here, a cluster of freckles there, the way they stood out—to the almost comical contrast of bulging hips and inflated buttocks. His eyes were drawn to them like a reverse gothic cathedral, running from top to bottom (no pun intended). There was that flash of teal, the overworked and abused thong that would conceal very little on a model and much, much less on this monstrosity. When he saw it run down her lower pelvis and disappear between the vast cakes of ass-flesh, his heart quailed sympathetically. Because, realistically, that could be him, and the way he estimated the bulk and volume of her colossal buttocks… he could easily be lost within. Eight inches of frail intern was nothing against the depths her nearly spherical buttocks formed, and he had to think quickly if he was going to stay out of there.

Before he could think of anything clever to say, Dotty let out a victorious cry and slammed the heavy fridge door shut. It rocked on its feet and hit the wall behind it, its motor complaining with heavy grinding before working back up to speed. Was anything in this house new? How little was Dorothy earning, if she was relying on WWII-era appliances and furniture to last just one more year, year after year? The bills alone…

Dotty held the bottle aloft, parading theatrically back to the table. Simon witnessed those pillowy thighs trembling with each step she took, could even catch her knotted calves, well-developed muscles after decades of hauling all this weight around. in contrast, far off in the distance, her feet looked positively doll-like.

They approached the chair she’d been sitting at, with only one more like it at the little table. He wondered how often she had guests, with such inadequate seating. He was learning more about her, but again, before he could ask anything, she hurled herself into her seat. Simon wanted to cry out a warning, glancing at the vintage vinyl-upholstered chair: Dotty flung her arms out wide, bottle on one side, tiny lover on the other. He had a completely unobstructed view as her mountainous hips piled into the hapless little chair, dumping over the edges and completely engulfing the seat. It was fearsome, it was impressive, both how the chair completely disappeared beneath the spilling rolls of Dotty’s womanly flesh, and how the thin little legs didn’t immediately buckle under her tonnage.

And being as small as he was, easily placed and manipulated, and with mental self-defense mechanisms being what they were, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to lie in the center of that seat, watching those thick, gelatinous thighs sidling into place, watching the light dim as those gargantuan cheeks descended to entomb him… Wow, he really hoped that wasn’t any form of foreshadowing.

Her voice shattered his morbid reverie. “You ready to party with me, li’l man?” She was losing more and more letters in her pronunciation as the minutes ticked away. He wondered what time it was, anyway, until she stuck him between her legs. Yes, just like that: the new bottle and old, empty bottle flashed away, the aluminum-ridged edge of the table raced past, and suddenly he was jammed unceremoniously between her fatty thighs, stored in an afterthought. She needed both hands to wrangle with the foil around the neck of the wine, after all.

The blubber around her legs was surprisingly cold. Wasn’t she cold? She was wearing next to nothing, but she didn’t seem to be suffering for it. No chattering teeth, no blue lips, no stammering… well, drunken stammering, slurring, not stuttering like someone entering hypothermia. Grimacing, he dug his little fists into one wall of flesh. It gave easily, his arms disappearing into the indentations in her cellulite. The overhead lighting in her kitchenette cast harsh shadows on the dimples in her legs, where the fat cells fed and swelled up against each other, where they ran in bands around her legs. it was almost a fascinating study, except they were coupled with a certain resilience: no matter how he pushed at them, there was still more waiting to flood up his arms and cover his face. His back bled heat into her other thigh, chilling down rapidly. He cast his gaze around, looking for a way out, but Dotty had spread her legs just long enough to trap most of his body between them. Kicking and struggling yielded nothing, gave no ground. At best, he could only see where her teal thong spread into a wide triangle, with the hint of a scraggly dark underbrush of pubes beneath it, before it was lost in the chasm of her crotch. Simon liked this less and less.

Dotty, for her part, seemed to be having a party all by herself. She laughed merrily as she popped the cork on the fresh bottle; Simon was doused in the foamy spray of dry white wine, running over her hands. She poured herself another new glass. “I just can’t get enough of this stuff! I buy it by the case when I can get it. Doesn’t seem to be a lot of competition for it. Guess people just don’t know where to find the good stuff.” She clucked her tongue and upended another glass, bouncing in her seat. Immense thighs churned against each other, coated and running with the splash of wine over her skin. Simon reached out and slapped his arm against one leg, hoping to pull himself out of the pinch, but his hand just slid over the booze and came away smelling metallic.

“You’re awfully eager, down there, li’l man! You wanna come party upstairs?” Dotty’s eyes were all that was visible over her flobbery boobs. They widened and leered at him, under the table, and then her hand occluded their view. Simon hadn’t a second to defend himself against her grip, but she loosed him from the depths of her lap in a hot second and hoisted him above her next drink. “Look at me, bein’ all greedy an’ shit! Time for you to let le bon temps roulez!”

Before he could even ask what that meant, she wrapped one fat fist around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides, with only his stunned expression sprouting on top. Below, his legs hung and swung as she held him, until they were doused in cold.

So cold! Fuck! What was that? Simon kicked out in panic, and his toes collided mercilessly against an unforgiving glass wall; the heel of his other foot likewise smarted, striking the other side of her glass. Her glass! She was dunking him like a goddamn cookie! Very quickly he realized how little space he had in there, so he was able to barely refrain from lashing out in alarm.

The alarm returned, however, when Dotty hoisted him out of her drink and held him above her head. She lolled back, lazily laughing at him for any of a number of reasons, and suspended him over her face. Slowly her smile opened to a wide gape and her thick, mauve tongue unfurled and rolled around her streaked lips. Lipstick smeared around her mouth like a murder scene, splotched on her teeth in ragged streaks. “Oh, fuck,” Simon said, watching the older woman’s face spread and grow larger, signifying his descent.

“Come to mama,” she murmured drowsily, seconds before Simon’s soles landed on something soft and hot. Dozens of papillae tickled his feet, a sensation that shot straight up into his crotch like an electrical connection. No, I can’t get hard at this. This is wrong, this is dangerous. What the fuck’s happening to me? Simon closed his eyes and tried to imagine where his feet were descending.

Well, that was obvious: her tongue. Hot, moist bumps rippled up his ankles and calves and the backs of his knees. Very hot, contrasted with the cheap, refrigerated wine she’d dunked him in a moment ago. It was almost a relief, until her upper incisor banged against his knee, and then his imagination was flooded with the ridge of jagged, polished edges of bone her mouth was lined with.

That, at least, kept him from kicking out his legs in a stupid, primal attempt to escape. He shrugged his shoulders, gritted his teeth, but everything north of his ass and cock was firmly bound in a warm, leathery embrace. There was no getting away from that. Dotty’s fingers weren’t budging an inch, no matter what he did. But he could stop craning to look down at her hideous, drunken visage and rest his skull against the inside of her index finger’s knuckle, as he focused on the tactile expression running up his legs to guide him without injury into her mouth.

Her mouth. Was she trying to fucking eat him? That notion was rapidly disabused: Dotty’s heavy, thick, slimy tongue caressed his legs almost lovingly. It parted his knees with its bulk, casually shoving itself between his legs without a hint of resistance. The tip wound around his shins and ankle, prodding his tiny little toes on a course of discovery. It really felt, once he could set his shrieking panic aside, that Dotty was exploring him, trying to learn more about him strictly through her tongue. Granted, that was usually a technique reserved for toddlers, but he was in no position to give her any advice.

Her thick lips bounced over his knees and ankles, and then his moist legs hit the cool air of the kitchen, in the second before being dunked in the wine again. “Good Lord, you’re a tasty li’l guy,” Dotty declared. “I could suck on you all night long! How’s that sound to you? Would you like that?” Without waiting for an answer she stuck him back in her mouth, moaning loudly. The vibrations of her voice ran through his skin, into his muscles. It was foreign, and disturbing because of that, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Kinda like the sensation of sitting on an old washing machine, feeling how heavily it rattled you, all the vibrations running through your entire body. Except this was a huge woman’s mouth…

Dotty shifted her grip. The little intern held perfectly still as her fist seemed to change its mind and her thick, blunt fingers picked at him critically. The first thing he noticed, in the moment she released him, was that those old-woman lips were puckered around his waist. They were thick and long, and they bunched up with a hundred wrinkles as her jaws suckled upon the lower half of his body.

“Holy fuck! Lemme out!” Without thinking, Simon began pummeling her upper lip. He tried to kick, as well, but found his legs slowed by her thick, swollen tongue. It welled against the backs of his legs, and his feet turned against the roof of her mouth, not having anywhere else to go. The knowledge of this fueled the panic in his chest, and he began to scream. His fists, on the other hand, had free range of motion but absolutely no effect: laid bare before him was the thin, wispy mustache of an older woman, sprouting from the wrinkled skin between the nose and upper lip. How fine the skin turned with age, the better for every last crinkle and fold to stand out, apparently. That’s what he hammered against in his fright, a frail old woman’s lip, with nothing but her flared and hairy nostrils to appeal to. Dotty snorted in the course of normal breathing, and Simon was flooded with hot, humid jets of air. He could see the coarse hairs in her nostrils flagging in the breeze; there was even a particle of dried booger stuck at the ends of two hairs, and it trembled in the winds that gusted up from her chest, through her throat, and out her sinuses.

Simon grew dizzy, struck with vertigo as a response to the abrupt awareness of all of Dorothy’s systems, where her air came from, what it passed through to get to him, and where the rest of it went in her body. He was at the entrance of a massive woman, after all, and he barely noticed as her thumb mounted between his shoulder blades and her index fingertip found a resting place on his frail, birdlike rib cage. The huge lips pulsed around his midsection, wrinkling and spreading slightly, suckling on him like a baby on its bottle. That juxtaposition snapped him back to awareness, as he did not want to go sliding down her throat as a form of nourishment. Growling, he fixed his palms hard against the ridge where her lip transitioned to regular skin, and he put his shoulders into it and shoved.

Cool air wreathed his waist as it slowly emerged from Dorothy’s kiss. (She was too threatening to be a Dotty just now.) Her spittle glistened over his abs as he curled his spine and slowly extricated himself from her lips. The progress was heartening, and a goofy smile crept across his face as his heels pedaled inside her mouth, looking for something to latch onto and finding it in what must’ve been her premolars.

Gusts of air blasted into his chest in staccato bursts as the immense woman laughed at him. Simon looked up, wondering what he’d missed, what he’d done wrong, when he finally seemed to be getting somewhere. Her eyes, rimmed with lashes in clotting mascara, were barely visible over her pronounced cheekbones. They stood out, he discerned, because she was smiling as much as she could without relinquishing her lips’ hold upon him. Her nostrils flared from slits to ovals, reddened with the ambient light through her nares, leading to a penetrating blackness as the passages entered into the giantess’s skull, and there Simon stopped staring as his stomach grew queasy with the thought. Bad enough to be swallowed, but to be lodged in the head of a gigantic woman? A similar scene from Moby-Dick rose inexorably to mind and he had to swallow his bile.

Of a sudden, the fingertips pinched slightly harder and he felt the skin around his body tug as his hips, thighs, and legs were dragged out of his coworker’s smooch. “Oh, my Goddess, you sweet li’l man,” Dotty said, fluttering her eyelids ecstatically. “You are such a delicious little morsel. I wish… I wish I could describe what you mean to me right now.” She pulled him away and held him over the table, and her head rose and tilted forward with considerable labor. She was good and sloshed, which concerned him when she picked up her wine glass, the one she’d been dunking him in, and quaffed the contents in a couple seconds. “You are fantastic, you wonderful li’l lover. You’re driving me crazy! How can you do this to me?” All of her teeth presented themselves as she brayed drunkenly at him. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take, honestly. You know what? Yes. You know what?”

Her words were a smeary oil painting now, colors and lines bleeding into each other without definition. Simon watched as the behemoth struggled to right herself in her seat, shimmying her shoulders, heaving her bulk to no effect.

“You know what we have to do now. Right now,” she said, struggling to keep her head upright.

Wary, Simon yelled back that he didn’t know.

“You know,” she said, wearing a wan grin. “You know. You know what we gotta do.”

“No, I really don’t. Let me down and we can talk about it?”

“Na-a-ah, nope, uh-uh. Thass the opposite of what we gotta do right now.”

Her grip on him remained firm, even if the hand holding him weaved through space a bit. “What do you think we have to do now, Dotty?”

Her eyes lit up and her tone was sharp. “No, call me Dotty! Like in college!” When she blinked, her lids closed at slightly different times. Simon was ready to shit himself. “Oh, you did. Goo’ boy. What we gotta do right now is, it’s time to make love.”

His skin crawled and his throat dried up. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we gotta make sweet, sweet love right now. We gotta do this b’fore I‌ pass out.” Her head lolled forward and she regarded him with lowered, sultry brows and a crooked, hungry smile.

“Yeah, we do,” said Dotty. “Yeah, we do.” She cradled the eight-inch-long man in her fleshy palms and practically sang to him that, yes, they did. “E’rything’s been leading up-ta this moment. The perfec’ end to a perfec’ night.” Her lips went slack and her head wobbled slowly above her possession.

Simon dug his heels into Dotty’s hand and tried to scoot himself backward, away from the thick, heavy face. His bare butt tingled as it dragged over deep furrows in her palm, tingled with the shame of being exposed to his coworker like this, not to mention a gigantic, drunk old woman. “We don’t have to do this, Dotty. There’s nothing that says we have to do this.” He wasn’t sure she heard him, with her heavy-lidded gaze, dusted thickly in blue eyeshadow, and the way her lips seemed to hang from her teeth in a deeply stupefied expression. She hung over him, breathing heavily in long, wheezing pants; her wine-soaked breath spilled over him like the exhaust of some gross engine. He tried not to think about her saliva, drying all over the lower half of his body, soaking into his cells.

“No, we gotta.” She blinked slowly, one sky-blue eyelid closing and the other right behind it. “I need it. You made me need you, an’ now you gotta finish me off. You can’t just lead a lady on like that, seducing her with your…” Her irises wandered down the length of his shrunken body, lingering on his crotch. “I need this, and you need this. You wan’ it, too. You wan’ it as bad as I do, I can tell.”

The ogress was so focused on his dick, he almost felt as though the rest of him could slip away unnoticed. Dotty was intent, this was amply apparent. If he could find something else for her to focus on, maybe he could use that to his advantage. “No, Dotty, you’re projecting.”

“Wha?”

“You’re projecting. You’re telling me things that you want, as though I want them.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t, Dotty, I really don’t. You’re making me feel scared right now.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah.”

“Of what? Of li’l ol’ me?” She attempted to flutter her eyelashes; instead, the effect resembled the spasms of someone about to vomit.

“Dotty, just please set me down on the table, and let’s talk about this for another minute.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the large head above him: it looked like it was about to swing loose of its moorings and collapse upon him like a boulder.

“No more talk. You wan’ this. Lemme show you.” Before he could react, Dotty’s slack lips parted and widened and pounced upon him! He looked on in horror as the flabby curtains of her mouth attempted to devour him. The bulbous tip of her nose ground into his belly, blocking his view, and no matter how he punched or slapped it, he couldn’t get it to move an inch out of the way. He found himself face-to-brow with her forehead, a wall of more or less parallel furrows across her skin, powdered with foundation. As loath as he was to sully his hands in her facial oil and makeup, he planted his palms upon her forehead and tried to use her own palm as leverage to shove the massive head away.

All he got for his labors was a lot of yummy-noises from the giantess. “Mmm, mmmph,” she moaned nasally, steaming up his abs. He couldn’t feel her teeth, but he felt they had to be coming any second now, the way she was gobbling him up. Her lips, numb and heavy mere seconds ago, were now animatedly clutching his belly, scarfing him up like she was in an eating contest at a rib roast: gracelessly, greedily, completely self-interestedly. New lines formed upon her forehead, deep ridges of concentration as her eyebrows bulged and pressed together. Worried, Simon balled his fists up and pounded against her forehead, but there wasn’t enough room to swing and his arms were too spindly and underdeveloped, against the broad cliff face of her forehead.

Then his body was shocked with the overwhelming sensation of a huge drunk woman’s tongue slobbering all over his cock. It dragged thickly over his stomach, spilling down the sides. It retracted, and its large, blunt end wriggled obnoxiously between his butt cheeks, as though trying to stuff itself into his ass. It couldn’t go there! It couldn’t fit! Simon yelled at her, trying to punch her thick, stupid forehead, struggling to deny how strangely interesting it felt for that hot, moist, nubbly surface to squirm in his crotch like that.

Her tongue burrowed into his ass for a minute, then it kneaded his balls. His throat seized shut and stars swam in his eyes for a moment: as soft and inaccurate as her tongue could be, it nonetheless smarted when she jabbed it into his testicles. “Careful,”‌ he croaked, as soon as he could draw enough wind to speak, but the drunken giantess ignored him. Her tongue writhed thickly between his inner thighs, slathering him in her spit and slurping it back up again. The blunt end of her tongue battered his balls again, but this time… it still hurt, but… maybe it was less of a surprise, and that’s why it didn’t hurt so much. Or it still hurt as much, but now he kinda… no, that was wrong. He did not like being smacked in the balls, he told himself, even as his mind’s eye filled with the image of a thick, voluptuous tongue writhing possessively around his cock.

This is insane, he told himself. This is obscene, unnatural, and disgusting, he insisted internally. And yet…

Dotty was moaning, too. While her floppy upper lip dragged over his abs and her tongue shoved and dug around to find every bare inch of skin between his legs, she moaned all over him. Her nose moaned on him in a prolonged nnnNNNnngh, hot air spilling around his sides and down his hips. From deep within her throat, a heavy, guttural moan rumbled in powerful bass notes, making the flesh coating his thighs and belly vibrate intensely. It was a thrilling effect, an ultra-loud woman’s voice nearly growling and tickling his nerve endings, rumbling through the sharp slurps her lips made as she suckled on his hips.

Abruptly Dotty pulled back, a wan grin spreading across her broad face. Her eyes needed a moment to refocus and uncross. “There, see?” she said in a lazy draw. “You wanted it all along.”

Simon looked down at his rapidly cooling body. His cock stood at attention, pointing insistently at the matronly woman’s mouth, throbbing with the familiar ache of craving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, stammering.

She grinned at him, and he noticed the slightest gap between her two upper incisors. With the influence his penis cast upon his mindset, he wondered briefly whether he could actually slip his cock between them, whether he could actually fuck her teeth. She’d probably let him… He shook his head violently and covered his raging erection with both hands. “No! No, wrong! This whole thing is wrong!”

Dotty’s eyebrows tented in a sweetly pained expression. “No, no, sweetie, nothing’s wrong. This’s jus’ human nature. This’s what we’re built for. Sex feels good so people wanna keep making more humans.” She licked her teeth: the underside of her tongue glistened inches away from his face, all tendons and pale blue veins, shoving her painted upper lip out of the way as it passed. “But we’re lucky, ’cause we can keep having sex without makin’ babies. See? We get all the good stuff, all the warm fuzzies, all the cookies, for free an’ just for fun! So why don’t we? Why don’t we just enjoy these amazing bodies we been given? Loosen up, li’l man, let yourself go. Let Mommy take care o’ you, make you feel so good.” She chuckled, and the enormous boulder of her head swayed precariously above him.

His heart hammered in his chest. Everything was wrong with this, how she was talking, who she was, what’d she’d done to him—what she was currently doing to him—but her words… was she wrong? About anything? In a way, this came down to bodies against bodies, bodies pleasing each other, playing on the primal…

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” she was saying, purring behind the noise of his chaotic thoughts. “Don’t you wanna see how nice this can be? Why won’t you let me please you, li’l guy? All I want to do is make you feel so good.” A thready whimper escaped her nostrils as her wide lips pursed and slid and puckered, reaching for his naked body, begging for his manhood. And his cock pointed at her mouth, reaching for her. It seemed angry that its reach was so short, that his hips wouldn’t lift to push it into her lips. Simon closed his eyes, torn between self-defense and letting himself explode against these middle-aged, experienced lips. She had reduced her monologue to kissy-noises and petulant whimpering, which should have been annoying, uncharacteristic at least, but her soft, full lips ground and mashed mere inches away from his cock… it would just take a second…

How could he be so scared and so aroused at the same time?

Simon jammed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Hey, okay, look,” he called out, “hold on a second. Just listen to me for a second, and then”—he gulped hard—“you can do whatever you want to me.”

The massive face froze for a moment, then slowly retreated. “With you, you mean,” the gigantic woman said quietly. “With you. This is us, together. Don’t make it sound like—” Her lips tugged down in a deep frown, lower lip pushing out, and the hands that held him began to shake.

His eyes widened. He had to bear in mind how much Dorothy—Dotty—had had to drink, how it was affecting her. Clearly she was locked in some kind of fetish fantasy, one he couldn’t understand… no, he couldn’t relate to it. He could look at his surroundings and understand the rules, however bizarre. And he had to respect these rules, he knew, as the large hands couching his entire body could simply curl up and crush him within a second. At any second.

“Yeah, us. You and me, Dotty. Us, here tonight.” He strained to smile as a large, wet drop smacked her palm and splashed him. He stared at it, surprised, until his mind translated the size difference and he realized it was a teardrop. It shone as it spread into the folds of her skin, running between thin grooves. He looked up again, into a sniffling nose and rumpled lips. Crying women didn’t look great under normal circumstances, but to be practically pinned beneath the house-sized head of a weepy older woman was… Well, thankfully, his penis finally deflated and sank irritably between his thighs. That cleared his head somewhat.

Suddenly an idea lit up in his brain. It was risky, but it could buy him more time. “I‌ mean, look at the situation here. It’s kinda funny, right?”

Her huge head swiveled down to glare at him. “There’s nothing funny about this! A woman my age openly addressing her wants and desires is a beautiful thing! Society is so terrified of women owning their sexuality! And it’s so disgusting to think that an older woman could still be a sexual creature, isn’t it!” Now her hands were quaking around him, and her lips stretched taut in a vicious snarl.

“Wow, whoa, hey, that’s not what I’m saying. Quite the opposite!” He raised his hands in supplication and forced a light laugh. “I’m talking about the role reversal here. Like, usually it’s the guy going after the woman, right?”

“You said we were in this together!”

“And usually it’s the guy who wants to go straight into the action, and the woman who wants the foreplay, right?”

Her eyelids lowered from excitable to thoughtful, and her lips hung in mid-thought. “What do you mean?”

Simon made his voice crack disingenuously, as though he were being shy about confessing something personal. “I don’t know, I just think… maybe this is unusual for a man to say, but what if we tried a little foreplay?”

She sniffled and turned her head momentarily to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. “Foreplay?”

“Yeah, just some games to get us in the mood.”

A low, dry laugh gusted from the deep tunnel of her throat. “I’m already in the mood, little man. I could gobble you up in one bite.”

He made a show of rolling his eyes. “Well, sure, you could just get yourself off with me, get it over with in a minute. But where’s the fun in that? Don’t you want to savor this moment? It’s like that delayed gratification experiment with the kids and the marshmallow: you could get one sloppy, urgent orgasm right now, but if you could hold off for a while… if you could heighten the moment with some fun little games… wouldn’t it be that much bigger of a pop?” He waggled his eyebrows enticingly, then wondered whether she could even pick that out on his tiny face.

Instead, he stretched his lean, young body out in her palms. He wasn’t ripped, always kind of a skinny guy, but he had very little fat to him. One woman he’d dated was very into his body, insisted he shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes. He didn’t know what that meant, but if it was any kind of currency he could use now… As ridiculous as it felt, he joined his hands above his head and stretched his arms out. He closed his eyes and rolled his head as though in a dream, arched his back and writhed to display his chest, his abs. He rubbed his little butt into the hot, soft skin beneath him and practiced flexing his legs, alternately showing off his thighs or emphasizing his calves, pointing his feet at her chest. “Just think about what that could be like,”‌ he said, dropping his voice to a bedroom-appropriate purr. “Both of us, teasing each other, stretching out the moment… building up our passion until we just can’t stand it anymore, and then…” His hand slithered down his chest, over his belly, and gripped his cock and balls almost painfully. He threw a moan in there for emphasis.

He also felt completely ridiculous. All of this might have looked good on a woman, but as he tried to objectify himself, his mind started to crack and admit a new perspective… oh, no… what if…

Cool wind rushed around his body as Dotty seemed to suck in all the air of the room with a rattling, throaty gasp. “Oh, my Goddess,” she moaned, and it sounded like she was cumming right in her kitchen chair. “I want you so bad, right now…”

Motion in the corner of his vision made his head snap up: swollen, rosy fingertips were descending upon him. Thick fingers were curling, trembling. Glossy nails flashed as they reached for his frail little chest, and shadows drew around his face. He couldn’t even croak a warning to her. His arms shot up and his tiny, pathetic hands braced against powerful, gigantic fingers.

Her fingers splayed abruptly and her hands tilted, as though Dotty were trying to hug him with her palms. “I‌ love it. I‌ LOVE‌ it! I‌ knew you’d be the perfect little toy for me! Oh, I‌ knew it!” When her palms opened, he could see her head craning over her shoulder, gazing up the hallway to her bedroom. “And I know just the game we can play, too. Oh, my gosh!” She looked at him again, her face glowing with excitement. “It might seem a little silly, but give it a chance, please. I really think it’ll be fun!”

“Sure, I’m up for anything,” Simon said, realizing as he spoke that she hadn’t asked him anything. “Is this something we’re going to do in the bedroom?” He’d been hoping to avoid the epicenter of her sexual world, but if a silly game was going to buy him some time, perhaps it wasn’t the worst option. His heart fell, instead, when she stuck him inside the wire fruit bowl, weighted down with the cookbook. The kitchen chair sighed and groaned as her tremendous rump lifted from it, like a world-ending asteroid driving into a planet but in reverse. Great cakes of flesh jostled and swayed as Dotty tiptoed with unexpected daintiness up the dark hallway and disappeared into the back of her house.

That was a sight, oh boy. Granted, he was the size of a large GI‌ Joe action figure and everything around him was ginormous, but still. Dotty was a large woman. At normal size, she could have buried his head between those huge, quaking buttocks. She could have wrapped them around his face and nearly swallowed him whole. Those thighs? Forget about it. He watched the giantess imitate a coy sashay up the hallway, contradicted by the rippling cylinders of flesh that twisted slowly around her muscle. Every time her heels struck the floor, it set off a chain reaction of shuddering fat: how her calves trembled, how her thighs wrenched, and how her enormous ass bounced and danced in all directions at once! There had to be bone and muscle under there somewhere, and Simon bet that it was very well developed and dense, for all the weight it was hauling around each day.

Unable to hear his eyes away, he gawked with morbid fascination as she danced away like someone a whole person lighter. Her back and waist were padded, sure, but they looked relatively slender contrasted against her planetary hips. The jarring difference was accentuated by the slim racer stripes of teal thong arcing around her waist, then disappearing into that plunging crevasse, lost to the world. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that he could end up there, somehow. At his size, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d just be gone. Gone!

And what came next? Once you descended into the depths of a fat woman’s ass, then what? How far could it go? What was waiting for you in there? Simon was not sure he wanted to find out.

“Holy fuck.” He crawled on all fours, pacing fitfully around his twisted copper wire cage. “This can’t happen to me. This can’t be happening. Wake up, wake the fuck up.” He even went so far as to slap himself. It was a token smack, as if he were swatting a mosquito. Surprised at how hard it was to injure himself, he took another slap, faster and harder. It stung, but it wasn’t bad. Frowning, he slapped himself again and again, harder and harder, fixated on trying to really hurt himself. He was perplexed by whatever was holding back his full strength—unless he really wasn’t that strong to begin with.

That’s how Dotty found him: naked, hunched and sitting on the table, slapping himself repeatedly and looking confused. She crept up to the table, carefully holding something against her cleavage. “Hey, now, easy on the corporal punishment, there, little man! You’re messing with my property now, and if you damage it in any way, I’ll never forgive you.”

Startled, he looked up at her, or tried to. The Joy of Cooking blocked everything above the padded belly and pillowy thighs, separated by the tortured band of teal underwear like the savage strike a new border upon a map. This was a landscape of soft, smooth skin, a mountain dimpled with the shadowy cavern of a navel, hanging above a vast and plunging valley… Simon had to look away. All that coarse, scraggly hair brought him straight back to that nightmare in the restaurant. What the hell was Lynn doing, anyway? Why wouldn’t she help him? He tried to recall the beautiful young blonde he was excited to meet when he started at Overmedia. All that came to mind, however, were her skeletal hands and how they clutched him, how her mouth lined with cruelty as she laughed at him or ordered him around. You just never knew what lurked within some people.

There was a small crash and Simon looked again. The ogress was sorting through what looked like craft supplies. “Like I‌ said, it might feel a little silly at first,”‌ she was saying, babbling to herself, “but I think it could be a lot of fun. I mean, I know it’s going to be a lot of fun! It’ll just be more fun if you can get into it and go along with it. You will, of course, but I‌ hope you’ll do it because you want to have fun with me and not because I can tear your leg off like a chicken wing.”

The fuck did she just say?

“I guess I’m not really ready for this, so we’ll just have to make do with what I have. Your costume’s going to be easy enough, I just have to paste these…” Her voice trailed as she groped behind her for the chair back, tugging the seat into place. Once again, that prodigious bulk piled upon the poor, beleaguered chair, and it was a miracle it held her up. Simon couldn’t help but imagine what that could look like, all that flab bulging over the sides, the chair practically disappearing beneath her. He’d much rather be encaged in a wire bowl than standing on that chair at this moment, that was for damned sure.

Her heavy breasts rested upon the table as her thick forearms trembled slightly with activity: Dotty was working on something just outside of his view. Two ribbons hung between her wrists, swaying and jerking. He almost called up to ask what she was doing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Was this going to be some kind of bondage performance? And once she had him tied up… where was he going to go? What was she going to do with her? His gaze drifted from the ribbons to the deep cleavage of her bosom’s hillside.

Breasts were supposed to be nice, he thought, entranced. Small breasts were pretty, large breasts were inviting. But these… It had to be a load off her back, to heave those gigantic tits to the tabletop and let some other piece of furniture carry them around for a while. Again, if he’d been standing at the table’s edge when she plopped them down, maybe they wouldn’t have killed him but they wouldn’t have been easy to crawl out from under. Look at them, so flabby and watery as they trembled there, nudged around by her upper arms as she futzed around with her little project.

“There, that should do it,” Dotty said, lifting the ribbons out of his range of sight. “I didn’t have a sheet of felt, but I did have a kind of hair band with felt flowers decorating it. I‌ hardly ever wear it so I didn’t mind salvaging it for you. I‌ took some of the gray petals and stitched them onto this band of ribbon. Like I said, I could’ve done a better job with it if I’d had more time, but I‌ think this will be good for now. It’ll just rely on your performance as an actor, to really carry it off!” The shadow of the heavy tome upon his prison lifted away like a cloud on a breeze, thudding upon the other end of his kitchen table island. Dotty turned to him and grinned. “What do you think?”

Simon honestly did not know what to think. Now the mostly naked and towering ogress was wearing a plastic hairband with fuzzy, sequined cat’s ears in black. They stood up like perky triangles, a teenager’s idea of festivity, upon the swirling mop of Dotty’s hair, shot through with graying streaks. But she herself looked delighted with it: her eyebrows shot up hopefully, her broad grin sat crookedly, unsure. The tip of her round nose was colored in with a simple black triangle, pointing down to a line running down her upper lip. Her cheekbones, swollen with her grin, were dotted and streaked with what must’ve been whiskers. She held up an eyeliner pen. “Now you,” she said, reaching for the cage.

As soon as she lifted it, Simon sprinted away from her. His tiny heels tapped upon the table as he rounded an orange, putting it between them, and darted for The Joy of Cooking. If he could get behind that, it could block her from grabbing him until he could hurl himself over the edge of the table.

It was a dumb idea. To the tune of explosive, cackling laughter, Dotty’s fat palm slapped his entire back. His body lifted, his legs wheeled helplessly beneath him, and he struck the table with his chest and the side of his face. Her fingers plucked and squirmed and wrapped around him, hauling him easily back before her mammoth breasts. “You silly little man!” she said, cooing. “Not yet! You’ll have plenty of time for that, but you’ve got to get into costume first.”

Costume? A chance to run? What the hell was she thinking? Simon held obediently still as she draped a lacy ribbon upon his head, tugged it around his jaw, and struggled to effect a tidy little bow with her fat goddamned fingers. “There! Now hold very still.” She took up a gleaming pair of scissors he hadn’t noticed before and thrust them at his face. He shrieked and nearly raised his hands up to ward off the weapon, but lurid images of how bad an idea this was flashed in his mind and he hid his arms behind his back. The tip of the giantess’s tongue poked from between her lips and her brow bunched up and wrinkled as she held the heavy twin blades frighteningly close to his head. The tearing, rending snip rang in his ear, and he nearly urinated himself right there. Oblivious to this, Dotty permitted herself a grin as she wheeled the blades to the other side and cut the excess ribbon there. “Perfect! Oh my Goddess, you look adorable! But we’re not finished yet.” She took up an eyeliner pen and waggled it in front of his face.

Even Simon could see that the waxy stick was blunt and wide from months of use. What was she going to do, cover him in blackface? What kind of game did she have in mind? While he was distracted with the lance of eyeliner, her other hand stole behind him and pinched his skull fast. He only barely bit his tongue instead of screaming and fighting, and he watched the blunt, shiny eyeliner tip grow closer and closer to his delicate face. What was she doing?

“Huh.” Dotty sighed and bit her bottom lip, concentrating. She held the eyeliner at a sharp angle, tilting it mostly away from his face, and then she slashed at him.

His cheek burned with the attack. He glared at her, but she smiled and took two more strokes, tugging his cheek away from his teeth with each move. His neck wrenched as her mere thumb and forefinger turned his skull to the side, and she stabbed another paint job at him there. Setting the eyeliner down, she squealed with delight. Her breasts throbbed and pulsed on table, threatening to upend and trample him in their joy. “I can’t believe how adorable you look! Here, you’ve got to see.” Producing her phone from seemingly nowhere, she unlocked it and thumped away at the apps, then plucked him up once more and held him by her cheek.

Her cheek was warm and soft, a little too soft, like the crepe of an old person’s skin. It was fuzzy with hundreds of tiny, pale hairs, and it was powdery with foundation. Tiny fine wrinkles were apparent to him, bunched up around her eyes, digging in deeper from her nostril to the corner of her mouth. A large, pale mole sat upon the hillside of her cheekbone as she smiled. Slowly he turned to see what her other hand was doing.

There they were, in the vertical rectangle of her screen. Dotty was beaming, grinning with her slightly crooked, slightly yellowed teeth, the remnants of her streaked lipstick doing a patchwork job on her mouth. Two drawn whiskers swooped across her cheek to where she shoved his little body.

He looked stupid, in the screen’s image. His eyes were huge and stupefied. His mouth hung open in shock. It was humbling to see his bare chest next to a strange woman’s face like that, what should have been an intimate moment with a partner instead of a perverse abduction scenario. ‌But his face… Doubtlessly, Dotty had attempted to give him proportionally finer whiskers upon his cheeks, but they were still thickly slathered bars that ran from around his nose to the sides of his head. There was a ribbon bow bulging under his fine chin, awkwardly knotted and splaying limply down his chest. The ribbon wound around his head, and at the top sat two fuzzy circles, nearly complete circles. They were stitched into the ribbon and pinched in the center so they’d stand up. They looked familiar in a way. The lacy ribbon threw him for a moment, but mouse ears were iconic. Two circles on a head were iconic and unmistakable.

So the whiskers and the mouse ears were meant to be his costume? He was supposed to look like a mouse, he supposed.

And Dotty…

The pieces fell into place far too slowly. Simon felt like an idiot. Suddenly, he had the clearest picture possible of what the rest of the night was going to look like, and his blood slowly chilled. He could see his expression fall in the phone screen.

“Say cheese,” squealed Dotty.

“Where are you? Darn, you’re good at this, aren’t you? I‌ guess it’s ’cause you’re so small.” Thick bare feet pounded across the carpet, lifting abruptly and falling with a frightening crash, covering tremendous distances in seconds. “It’s not that I don’t want you small, that’s the whole game, but it’s really friggin’ inconvenient right now, I have to say. Why couldn’t we just roll around on the bed and have some fun tonight?”

The heavy feet paused inches away from the corner post of Sandra’s bed frame, pudgy toes flexing and digging into the fibers, easily seen beneath the short dust ruffle. Her big toes plowed into the carpet, showing off uneven cuticles and deep crimson toenails larger than dinner plates. A few dark hairs curled upon the backs of the toes, one or two, here and there. Angry-looking blisters swelled on the outside edge of each foot, the base knuckle of each pinky toe: yet another curse of the patriarchy, forcing women to dress up in uncomfortable, impractical shoes until they crippled themselves.

“Mousie? Did you hear me? I asked you a question.” One foot slightly lifted and slowly turned on its thick, callused heel, to the sound of the heavy rasp of synthetic fibers grinding. That foot flattened and fattened as the other slimmed slightly, representing the sheer tonnage of shifting all of Dotty’s weight from one poor extremity to the other. “If you’re ignoring me, I’m going to be very angry, Simon. Do you want to deal with me when I’m angry?”

Simon gritted his teeth, his back pressed against the bed frame post right next to her enormous stompers. He knew she was messing with him, in a very cheap and childish way, but her tantrum could be very real. Taking a deep chestful of air, he sprinted behind the dust ruffle along the foot of her bed, ducking beneath the support boards of the bed frame, while struggling to keep upright on the uneven pile landscape. When he reached the other post, panting, he cried out “SQUEAK SQUEAK” at the top of his lungs, then loped resentfully back.

With a “mrrow!” Dotty trundled to the other end of her bed, looking for her naughty little mouse. No matter how many times Simon pulled this juvenile trick, she never seemed to catch on. “Oh, you stupid little mousie! Ha ha, I heard you that time!” Thunderous footsteps receded and her knees boomed into the floor as she peered beneath her dresser. “Just a little intimidation, and you give everything away,” she said, grunting. “That’s what makes you such a great mousie. You just don’t have the… oh, damn.” She sat up, burying her ankles and feet beneath her enormous hips. The space between her dresser and bed was very narrow, easy for her to crawl into but difficult to get out of. Heaving a large sigh, Dotty planted her thick hands upon the carpet and slowly backed out of the dead end that terminated in her nightstand. She had two nightstands: the one on the other side of the bed held a cute little lamp, and it stood next to a fully loaded bookcase: romance novels, sci-fi and fantasy, authorized biographies of some of her favorite celebrities, and leftover books from book clubs that never seemed to work out.

The nightstand she was parked in front of, on the other hand, was loaded with sex toys and lube. The drawer held a box of condoms and doctor’s samples of various dick pills. There were candles, scented oils in little glass jars, Tiger Balm, even Band-Aids. The nightstand served as an altar to carnal delight: it sounded pathetic, to her, to be prepared in case she ever got a man in her bed. It sounded better to take a feng shui approach, maybe, a magical intention to bring a man to her in this showcase, the bait to call out to a willing spirit who would have Dotty as a partner.

One way or another, she thought, struggling to her feet, it worked. One morning she woke up with a tiny man in her ass, and now she was chasing an eight-inch-tall intern, naked but for a pair of felt mouse ears, around her boudoir. If that wasn’t magic, what was?

Simon caught his breath and watched the behemoth grunt and strain to heave her bulk, all the way on the other side of the bed. He knew this trick wouldn’t work forever. Once, in the course of this nightmarish evening, she’d looked beneath the bed and found him running for the bookcase. There were no gaps beneath it, however, and he had barely enough time to race to the corner and throw himself behind it before the big, libidinous giantess came thundering up to the books. She swore for a moment, and then he heard her bed springs complain, followed by a slurping noise. Daring to steal a peek, he spied one meaty calf flexing and straining, one heavy thigh mashed wide against the side of the mattress, and then one massive pile of shuddering ass cheek, heaving and grinding away at some labor. It was only when he caught a glimpse of glistening fingertips that he realized she’d bent herself over her own bed and was rubbing out her frustrations for a moment.

“Want you,” she grunted. “Fucking mousie… pussy’s so hungry. Can’t stand it.” Her ass was perpetually in motion, in large ways and small ways. Her buttocks heaved forward and back, gigantic mountains of creamy gelatin grinding weightily into her own fingers, while the surface layer of tender, soft flesh shook more anxiously. All the tension in her body registered with tiny shudders that rippled all over her rear, popping up here and there, giving the sense of electric sparks of erotic energy while swaying along on the immense mounds.

Simon found it difficult to tear his eyes away. His mouth contorted into a distasteful scowl, yet he was mesmerized by the motion of the research analyst’s derriere. So huge, so enormous, and everything it did emphasized that. It was a miracle of suspension, the layers and piles of fat that encased her hips, how they stayed up instead of spreading all over the bed or something. The only thing that shook him out of his trance was the ungodly roar as Dotty finally achieved climax. Her calves strained and bulged, her leathery heel bared as her foot arched, and that colossal leg (the other hidden by the edge of the shelf) twitched with unimaginable power as her entire body shuddered in ecstasy. Juices flowed copiously down the side of the white bedspread, drenching it instantly in a waterfall of arousal. Simon’s skin crawled at the sight, and he slowly backed up and tucked himself behind the bookshelf.

It was a great hiding spot. All he had to do was wait out the timer. Dotty told him that if he could escape being caught, then he could dictate how the rest of the evening went. Doubtlessly she thought he’d come up with ways to make love to a gigantic, submissive sex slave, but he was going to test her promise and make him take her back to Lynn to grow him up again. But if she caught him before time ran out, then he had to be her willing sex toy, going along with whatever she desired. Watching how she abused her own hand on the edge of the bed, his mind recoiled at what she could do with him.

The only problem was, she never said how long the game would go on. He tried to ask, but she only flung him to the bed. He sailed across a continent of fluffy white comforter and landed among pillows heavily redolent with perfume and hair product, climbing out to find her hiding her face against the closet doors and counting to twenty in a cartoonish cat voice. Without wasting a second he clawed his way out of the pillows, ran to one side, and bent to grab the hem of a sheet. He rappeled easily to the carpeted floor and ducked under the nightstand in front of the bookcase. No sooner did he realize what a stupid choice this was—his jumbo-action-figure frame was completely exposed amid four narrow, painted wooden legs—than Dotty concluded counting at twenty.

“Ready or not, here I‌ come! I mean, meow!” The floor thundered with her footsteps, and it was only dumb luck that sent the lumbering beast around the other side of the bed. His gaze jerked left to right, taking in the possibilities. There was a narrow gap under the bookcase to his left, and beyond that was a tall plant with wide leaves in a broad, maroon glazed planter, with a wide wicker chair beyond that. To his right, of course, was the bed, with a thick, cloud-like comforter draped over the mattress and box spring and a frilly dust ruffle running around all sides, almost to the floor. He yanked up the dust ruffle and was about to hurl himself beneath the bed when, across the sheltered darkness, he saw a triangle of light tug up, exposing huge, round knees.

“Shit!” he hissed, hurling himself backward. One of the nightstand legs stung his left shoulder blade, but he wheeled and sprinted for the slim gap under the bookcase.

“Not under here,” Dotty mewled. “The big, bad kitty’s coming for her little mousie! Are you scared? Mrrow!” It seemed as though the entire room shuddered with her footsteps. How did the pictures stay nailed to the walls? Why wasn’t the floor a shambles of broken frames and tumbled books?

Simon cursed under his breath as he felt the heavy steps through the floorboards (yes, even through the carpet), and he’d just wedged his legs beneath the shelving when he saw her thick feet flopping around the corner of the bed. Out of time, all he could do now was hide his face and hold very, very still.

“Tons of places for a clever li’l mousie to hide, isn’t there? Meow! You’ve got quite the advantage, little mousie.”

Simon gritted his teeth in the undisturbed dust beneath the bookcase, painfully aware of the shoulder and arm he couldn’t tuck inside. The footsteps pounded ever closer, and he could easily imagine her stomping him out of existence before she ever found him on purpose.

Boom-boom! “Well, let’s see if you’re under here, now,” she said, her voice straining with squatting and bending.

He couldn’t look up right away, desperate to maintain the ruse of not existing: that is, screwing up his face and holding his breath, the best he could do under the circumstances. But when her thick, groping fingers didn’t pry him painfully from his narrow crack for a full minute, he ventured a peek.

Frighteningly close to him was an immense spill of thigh over a powerful, clenched calf. The lonely, crazed woman was sitting on her haunches, going through the drawer of her nightstand. “That’s not you,” she said, pulling out what looked like a pamphlet and setting it upon the nightstand. “And that’s not you… I wondered where that went… Where the hell did this come from?” Dotty was taking her time with a quick inventory of an apparently neglected junk drawer.

Not knowing when a better opportunity might arise, Simon decided to chance it. He expelled all the breath in his narrow chest, wrapped a fist around the thick acrylic ropes, and slowly, painfully pulled himself out from under the bookcase. If the giantess could stay busy a few seconds longer, he could zip right behind her and under the bed, which she had checked once, maybe twice by now. Never taking his eyes off the monstrous pile of feminine parts, he slithered clear and slowly rose to his feet, staring up the sphere of one immense buttock, up the steep hillside of her back, up to where her mop of dark hair shifted slightly as she reorganized on the spot.

“Oh, Pema Chodron! I‌ should get back into meditation.” Around her sloping shoulder he could see a blue-and-white paperback turning over slowly, before she riffled the pages and opened it at random. “Let’s see what Pema has for me today.”

Nearly laughing at his own good luck, the slender mousie tiptoed behind the colossal rump and picked his way across the carpet. Dotty’s toes lay in a near half-circle, rosy and round and almost cute for all that: large pink pearls that framed her wrinkled, callused pads and the hysterically wrinkled, pale span of her sole. Above them, completely covering her heels, Dotty’s vast derriere spread in all directions, shifting slightly as she placed things here and there or flexed her spine while she read.

“Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.” Dotty hummed for a moment, then tossed the book onto her bed. “Well, that was stupid.” She sucked in her breath and ducked.

Simon was directly behind her twin big toes, exactly between each humongous ass cheek when she discarded the book. Without pausing a step, he happened to be perfectly behind her ass, glimpsing where the teal thong ran down her pelvis and coccyx and disappeared most horrifically between the gargantuan cheeks. As Dotty bent over, her hips lifting as she peered beneath the bed, her vast buttocks spread and grew and widened. They nearly—almost, but not quite—exposed the abused thong: he could see where it dropped from her tailbone and stretched over the starburst wrinkles of her asshole, deep in the murky shadows. Just enough light hinted at the apple-seed divot deep in the trench of her ass crack, where the flesh parted to admit room for her puckered anal sphincter and what it had to share with the world. Below this, her buttocks greedily sealed back up and pinched, swallowing the teal thong for itself. And below that, below the rounded tuck of her flabby ass, between the bulging inner thighs, Simon could just make out the distended lips of her labia majora, densely coated in kinky fur.

“Let’s see if you’re under this side, meow-meow,” she purred. Her massy brown ringlets disappeared beyond the hills of her shoulders, and her spine lowered as much as her belly against her thighs would allow.

“I don’t fucking believe this.” His voice was dry and strangled as he found himself staring into the untamed thicket of Dotty’s feral pubic region. The portal of her pussy, flanked by thick sides of beef, seemed almost to puff up and swell as she bent, peering. The pubic hairs—coarse, robust, glistening with sexual dew—looked alive as they spread everywhere, encroached beyond their claimed hills of labia and into the territory of inner thighs and upper ass crack. His skin crawled at the sound they made, the bristling rasp of brittle cables grinding against each other, like a nest of asps wrapped in cellophane. And the way Dotty’s anal sphincter rose above it all, the way it puckered and protruded in its musty alcove, it almost appeared as though, crazy as it sounded, it could spy on him. He had the hideous thought that it could inform its mistress of his whereabouts, so with a sharp yelp he sprinted the final distance and dove under the dust ruffle…

…just at the moment Dotty lost interest in searching under the bed. “Dammit. Okay, li’l mousie, you’re making a good game of this, I’ll give you that. You’re not as stupid as you look!” She brayed her laughter, which chafed him because she sounded so abysmally stupid. “But don’t you worry: this hungry pussy’s going to eat her fill before time’s up!” She emitted that laugh again which did her no favors.

But no matter: in the lingering musk that spread from her crotch and followed him beneath the bed, Simon hoisted himself into the wooden bed frame and hid there until the massive thighs lifted and the fat, pudgy feet plodded away.

That was then. That was the start of the evening’s game, and now they were well into it. There had been a few near misses like this, some nearer than Simon was comfortable with, but for the time being he was holding his own against the gigantic, amorous ogress disguised as a kitty-cat.

The only thing that kept him from congratulating himself too soon was an unfolding development: Dotty was only getting hornier with the passage of time. Every time she thought she saw him, her arousal bumped up a few more points, and when she failed to lay her paws on him, it soured but did not diminish as far as he could tell. The longer he successfully vied for his survival, the more her libido whipped up.

“You little fuck,” she growled. The packed meat of her feet shifted as her dim brain cogitated far, far above, and then they padded off in another direction. They really could’ve been dainty, but for the property-destroying booming they emitted when she took her least step. The jostle of those chunky, blobby thighs that led up from the roast hams of her calves had nothing cute or graceful about them. Just seeing Dotty’s bare body walking around like that repulsed him on a deep level; being naked made it worse, as though something disgusting in her was being transmitted to him, like a virus. The fact that she wanted to find him, grab him, and use him was a nightmare scenario. If she couldn’t be talked to, reasoned with, at least he could play her stupid game and wait the clock out.

She was on the other side of the bed. He could just see her head of loose curls swinging around as she looked around herself. “Fuck! I mean, meow, dammit! Where are you?” Her head disappeared and there was some thumping around. “Dammit, it’s too cramped over here…” The entire bed frame rattled once,  eliciting a swear, and the drawers in her dresser clattered for another swear, and then Dotty’s head erupted, sans fuzzy ears. “Where are you, you little shit? I‌ swear, when I get my hands on you… fuck, my paws…” His blood chilled as he watched her thick fingers fight with the hairband, fumbling to set it facing frontward, struggling to lace it through her uncooperative hair, hissing through her teeth as she adjusted it. “One gigantic fucking cat is going to pounce the fuck out of some hapless goddamn mouse, I can tell you that,” she growled, stomping out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Simon stared at the door, mistrusting it. It could’ve been a trick. Not a clever trick, but some desperate stall tactic Dotty had come up with to lure her little mousie out into the open. Did she really think it would work?

Time passed and nothing changed. Simon’s head craned to pick out new noises from the other side of the door, all the way on the other side of the room, but there was nothing. No music, no thumping around, nothing. Slowly he pried himself out from behind the bookcase and stood before the nightstand, formerly filled with booklets and notes and postcards and whatnot. A single thin, brushed steel lamp stood upon it, obviously the light source for her late-night reading material. This made sense.

But where was she?

He damn sure wasn’t going to go looking for her. The last thing he needed was to get caught, exposed, in the hallway. He had a guess as to where her bathroom was, but he didn’t know what was across from that, and the hallway was just too long and too bare for him to leave to chance. It would’ve been smart, he thought, picking his way across the carpet fibers toward the foot of her bed, to simply stash himself behind the books and wait it out. Whatever arbitrary length of time she’d picked out, Dotty would have to give up at some point and announce that he’d won. Whether she was lying about that, he couldn’t help, but it could hedge his odds.

Then he envisioned a furious, dumpy, plain-looking cat toppling the bookcase with a roar, furious with having been outsmarted, apoplectic at the mess she caused him to make, and livid with arousal, pouncing on him with all the grace and delicacy of a volcano.

Should he surrender? Was he just postponing the inevitable? Was he even making it worse? Simon chewed the corner of his mouth and absently adjusted the broad, lacy ribbon that held his ears upon his head. If she was lying about doing whatever she wanted, about conceding victory to him, well, maybe it would be better just to get this ordeal over with. He could nearly die as her sexual plunger tonight, or he could nearly die tomorrow morning or over lunch or all evening long the next day, or the next. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen no matter what he did. Yes, maybe it would be best to just—

The image of her drooling vortex of flapping sheets of rubbery flesh and living, sprawling hairs shocked his consciousness, nearly knocking him off his feet. No. No way, no fucking way. He could not give himself to that gaping, prehistoric, alien mouth. He had to take his chances, hold her to her word. If she chose to violate that, why, it was no fault of his.

The moral victory would be his, he thought grimly, even as his entire body disappeared inside her gibbering, gushing orifice.

Thunderous footsteps echoed up the hallway, swiftly growing louder. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Simon crouched in a defensive posture and looked around him in alarm. Bookcase? Too far! Bed? She’d be expecting that! What else, what else?

When the doorknob turned and the bolt’s gears clacked into place, he sprinted for the nightstand. Not ideal, this spindly IKEA structure, but if he could hide behind one of its thin legs, it might give him a chance to plan his next move.

“Awright, li’l mousie! Your doom is nigh!” She brayed over the bedroom door slamming against the folding closet doors, a horrific collision at any scale. “I’m gonna fin’ you once and for all, if I‌ gotta tear my whole room apart to do it!”

Simon sucked in his breath. The big, fat cat went back for more wine! This wasn’t good, he was certain. While it might impair her ability to pick out details, it likely lifted all reservations against destroying her own property to find him. And it definitely meant disaster when she finally caught him.

He slapped himself. If! If she caught him!

She caromed against the folding closet doors, rattling on their rails. That made her giggle. “Jus’ a minute, jus’ a minute,” she said, gasping, and then the mattress cried out in an agony of stressed springs and support boards. “Jus’ gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

Unsure of where she was, exactly, Simon was unwilling to compromise his position and peek at whatever Dotty was up to. It sounded like she’d collapsed to the bed, and her back should’ve been to him, but who knew? It wasn’t until he heard her breath become labored, until she emitted her first timid squeaks that he realized she was distracted and he could snatch a glance. Sure enough, the mound of woman was piled on the foot of her bed, and by the way her hunched shoulders shook, she was fingering herself fiercely.

“Goddamn it… this’d be so much easier with a li’l wormy inside me… no, wait, a mousie. Yeah, mousie! Mousie want some cheese?” Dotty appeared to lift one hand and sniff at it. “Do mousies eat fish? Fuck if I know.” She resumed pleasuring herself, evidenced by the slow, labored squeals of her bed springs.

Simon crouched and peered under her bed. From dust ruffle to dust ruffle there was nothing but shadow, plus the potential to hide in the support boards. But if he trapped himself, any part of himself in those boards while she crawled into bed… he winced. That would result in crippling, dismemberment, or death. There should be a warning sticker on Dotty’s bed frame, he thought, smirking at what that could look like: a little black stick figure on a yellow background in one frame, standing under a bed, and then two enormous spheres crushing the bed into the floor, with jagged impact lines and everything. Translated into Spanish.

Regardless, he drew a deep breath and ran beneath the frame as fast as he could. The creaking mattress above him was thrilling and frightening, but Dotty seemed to be keeping to the foot of her bed. That was okay, then, as he closed in on the other nightstand. Hiding behind that would be pointless, he might as well have stayed back, but his destination was the structure opposite the bookcase, but just as solid and hopefully much heavier: the dresser. If he could park behind that, he figured the old woman would be much less willing to scatter her clothes all over the floor than her books. And if he made it to the dresser, he had his option of taking his chances in her walk-in closet or just cutting out into the hallway. More options, more possibilities.

No sooner did the thought form in his head than he looked up at the nightstand. Its twin on the other side of the bed-island held all the literature and notes. This one… that meant it… oh, holy fuck…

There was no lamp on this one to topple, which was fortunate because Dotty was careless and greedy about yanking its drawer open. Her feet planted solid as boulders on the floor scant yards away (by his perspective). Above him, a cacophony of solid objects banged against cheap blond wood in narrow confines. “The Gold Wand? Nah. Rabbit Bullet? Yeah! …dammit, batteries are out. Maybe I can get them outta the Tango or the G Spot Vibrator. This fucking Egg, I should toss that. Useless goddamn…” Chuckling. “Maybe I’ll make him use it on me. That’d be a crack-up.”

Simon’s tiny heart dropped into his tiny stomach. Dotty had a freakin’ treasure trove of devices up there. What the hell kind of monster was he pitted against? And if she got her hands on him, she could destroy him, with or without her implements of torture!

He eyed the distance to the dresser. It was nearly a clear sprint. There was plenty of room behind it, enough for him to dive into if he had to. He could even slide under it, with a running start. If he just walked right out there, would she even be able to see him, below her wide hips? Not likely, but the nerves up and down his limbs told him that something would go wrong if he tried to take an unnecessary chance. It had to be a sure thing or nothing at all. There was the bed, of course, but then she could find him under there… or he could retreat to the other end of the room… and find himself right back at square one.

He eyed the dresser, tantalizingly close, then glared resentfully at Dotty’s cankles, so thick and solid and large. And then one foot lifted and swung around the other, and the other shifted and twisted and slid to the side. What was going on? Was she leaving? Her feet were pointed away. Simon stepped out from behind the nightstand leg, ready to spring back, and looked up.

Dotty’s immense ass blotted out the ceiling, and it grew larger, inflating, as the shadows fell. What was happening? As he stared, Dotty grunted and sighed, lowered herself to her knees, and immediately began groping for her poor teal thong. What? She was going to fuck herself right here, in the narrowest part of her bedroom? Why couldn’t she crawl up to the bed? What was she thinking? Sure enough, she wedged herself between the furniture, without an inch of space on either side. Simon gawked at her broad hips, her spherical buttocks grinding against her mattress, running over the knobs of her dresser drawers. They disappeared within her flabby flesh, then emerged on top as her ass descended, and in a moment the ogress’s body filled seemingly every last space between the bed, the dresser, and the nightstand.

Her dusty soles peeked up as her toes gripped the carpet and she sat on her heels. One fat hand reached blindly backward, groping for the thin band of teal Lycra wedged deep in the chasm of her ass. Unable to apprehend it, she grunted gustily and swore. Her hand retreated, only to return with a bulbous, vinyl shaft, capped in chrome. Gripping the chrome end, she stabbed haphazardly at the crack of her ass, jabbing and prodding as though feeling her way around. When the blunt tip nudged against her labia, she let out a cry of victory and began stabbing at herself with vigor. At first the vibrator shoved her thong inside the coarse black forest and thick, moist lips, but after a couple thrusts it snapped back into position, shoved aside for the assault.

Now, Simon told himself, as he stared at the gory scene above him. Now’s the time to do this! Cautiously he stepped out from behind the nightstand, into the bare swatch of carpet in the corner of the room, framed by furniture. It was thrilling, in a way, to be standing out in the open like this, with his lurid oppressor so nearby. But she couldn’t see him, it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t peek over her shoulder, and she definitely couldn’t turn around! Dotty was practically stuck. Simon smirked at the idea, watching the immense woman shuddering within the confines of her own furniture. She could die like that, he thought, and they’d find her almost completely nude, bent over and pinned here. I‌ wonder how they’d haul her out?

Obviously, they’d push the bed away and roll her onto a stretcher. Duh. Dumb question. But he stared at the spectacle of the gigantic woman fucking herself with a tremendous purple log, mesmerized by the sheer power that went into jamming the object into her hips. It nearly completely disappeared inside her, and then her sausage fingers fumbled at the chrome cap, increasingly slippery, to pull it back out. Her juices were really going now, pouring over the already-soaked triangle of her thong, dribbling over her inner thighs, trickling down her ankles and arches. She was sloshing, she was everywhere. It was nearly supernatural to watch her crotch gush so copiously like that, and it made her task that much harder. In the moment she couldn’t grab her wand, it looked for all the world like her cunt was actually chewing the damned thing. Simon shuddered violently at that, at the thought of drowning in those goopy juices while the old woman’s pussy gnawed on him like a strip of jerky, when her hips gave an odd twitch.

“Oops,”‌ Dotty said, all the lust abandoning her voice.

“What?” Out of reflex, Simon spoke, but it was far too quiet for Dotty to hear him.

Dotty relinquished the purple wand to her pussy and thrust her arms upon her knees, almost sitting upright. Unimpeded by the thong, her puckered anus flexed and pushed and sucked back in and opened its moaning, anguished mouth. Simon couldn’t see this, of course, as her anus was buried good and deep between her flabby, floppy buttocks, regardless of the purple log jutting from the southerly neighborhood. All he saw was a slight, rapid vibration as the narrowest corners of her butt cheeks trembled against each other. They slapped crisply, due to the moisture that had somehow crept up into her crack from her gushing slit. The applause was immediately followed by a warm gust of wind that picked up in velocity and washed around him, and then his throat closed up.

Simon stared up into Dotty’s tremendous rump as she cut loose a huge one. He could practically see the cartoon winds blasting at him, a noxious jade cloud that shot at him like a cannon, then immediately billowed and flooded his little corner of the room. She filled it completely: there wasn’t a thread of anything resembling clean air. Gagging and dazed, Simon staggered backward, instinctively stumbling toward the corner of the two walls, the furthest point from her butt. It was no good: he could feel the coolness of the walls, in contrast to the steamy heat of the ogress’s flatulence, but all the oxygen had been converted to the foul exhaust that had been building up in her guts.

“Oopsie!” Dotty said on the other side of the mountain of herself. “Kitty tooted! I hope li’l mousie didn’t hear that, wherever he is.”

Simon collapsed to his hands and knees, couched in the carpet fibers. He didn’t want to puke, he didn’t want to puke, but good lord he was coming close. Where could he go? Through stinging eyes he perceived Dotty’s bare feet, pale and stretched taut as they flexed beneath her rump. That was stupid, that was chaotic… but she wouldn’t expect it. Could he sprint between her thighs? His lungs ached and insisted he could. She’d never see him under her ass, she’d never see him under her thighs, bloated and mashed together as they were. If he could dart through there…

Before he knew what was happening, his legs acted and he found himself running beneath the monstrous ass that hung in the narrow passageway. The ridges on her callused heels came into sharp focus as he approached her feet. He was really doing it, this was crazy, wasn’t there another way… but it was so hard to think, with Dotty’s gas burning in his lungs. Anything was better than this, anything.

The ogress flapped her thick palm in front of her face, hooting and laughing, and Simon took the opportunity. She was upright, she wasn’t looking. He balled his fists and pumped his legs and charged between her huge bare feet.

No sooner did he hear his own steps sloshing through the puddle of her abundant lubrication, accumulated in the nonabsorbent synthetic pile carpeting, than one overeager leg shot out in front of him. His rear leg couldn’t compensate: his knee bent and his foot groped, but it slipped to the side immediately, heaving him slightly into the air before he splatted upon his back.

The swamp of carpet and Dotty’s fluids was sticky, warm, cool, musky, and everywhere. There was a literal splash as he executed his reverse belly flop. At least it didn’t hurt when he banged his head into the carpet: instead, juices lapped at his ears and cheeks. He found himself staring straight up into the ursine hairiness of Dotty’s bulging labia, directly overhead and far, far too close for comfort. The shriek set itself off in his own chest, and he listened to himself like he might listen to a car alarm.

Almost instantly, a pudgy hand descended from the heavens and slammed into him with the delicacy of a meteorite.

“Gotcha!”

“Faster, faster,” Dotty gasped, slamming harder. “Faster, faster! Oh God, more, more!” Impatiently she yanked the cat-ears hairband from her tangled hair, threw it away, and clutched her knees. By coincidence, the hairband landed on her teal thong, near the door.

The immense slabs of feminine flab that served for her ass rose, paused, then drove harder onto a bench she hauled in from her garage. The wicker chair in the corner of her bedroom would never do: the bench was solid Canadian oak, painted and repainted until smooth. It was meant to decorate the corner of a garden, perhaps, but now it had two very different jobs. It was slick enough to hold a suction cup, like the chair couldn’t, and it was solid enough to receive all of Dotty’s considerable weight at high velocity, over and over. Not much of her furniture could say the same; maybe the granite countertops could withstand her, but they wouldn’t work. They were too high up. Dotty needed something low that she could straddle, something that would fit between her bloated thighs, something that could hold one simple prop while she aimed her prodigious rump at it and impaled herself repeatedly.

Her cute little feet and the stout legs of the bench formed the corners of a square or an X-shape on her bedroom carpet. Her knees were burning but not aching, as she spread them, leaned forward, and heaved her profound weight up one more time. “Closer, closer,” she panted, peeking down between her thighs at her target. On the bench, a suction cup held like a champ, coated in a river of the older woman’s abundant fluids. If the bench was smooth before, it was positively glassy now, an obscene mirror reflecting the twin planets of Dotty’s buttocks and the unruly bulge of fur between them. “Getting so close, goddamn it!” Her thick hands groped at her breasts, both to massage them into greater passion and to part them so she could see the suction cup, the bulging prosthetic testicles mounted on it, what remained of the rubber dildo she crudely carved down into a stout spine, to which was tied the last component of her desire.

Arms and legs lashed securely to the sacrificial pole of the dildo, Simon sagged against his bonds and coughed up another stream of Dotty’s juices. They dribbled over the threads that bit into his chest and belly; they ran around the nagging erection that would never get what it needed and would never go away; they pooled around his bare feet, smacking against the suction cup/scrotum base in a pool of twisted, coarse hairs and milky glue.

“No more.” His throat was raw from coughing, crying, and screaming. “No more, please. I can’t take it.” And the wide, gibbering flaps of pussy meat descended and swallowed him up once again.

“Fu-u-u-u-uck!” Dotty screamed at the ceiling. Her intimate fluids spattered against her thighs, seeped into the crack of her ass, and rained upon the floor; damp pile carpet sucked at her heels as her hips twisted upon the bench. One massive buttock rolled off the side like a garbage sack full of Jell-o, while the other impossibly climbed the other side. She could feel the rounded edges of the bench digging into her butt crack with every grind, feel how her cheeks spread to admit an entire goddamn bench, but she just needed more. Feeling little Simon, little Mousie, her living sex-toy squirming inside her was tantalizing, and it was great for the first eight inches of her… but she needed more! She whimpered, digging her nails into her tits, as she rocked forward and back, trying to dig that little man just one more inch deeper.

Groaning like a drowning victim, she slapped her palms upon sticky thighs and launched another assault upon the bench. Little hops, bouncing up and down as fast as she could. If she couldn’t go deeper, she could rub that little fucker all over her insides as fast as she could. She gulped in great lungfuls of air, rolled her shoulders, and set to work.

The joints of the bench creaked and complained with every thrust. Dotty had no reservations about throwing her full weight upon that poor little bench, mindless of anything but getting another orgasm tonight. Her thighs burned and her calves threatened to knot as she lifted and slammed, lifted and slammed, lifted and slammed onto the tiny man. Faster she went, biting her lip, holding her breath as she tried to picture that cute little face, those handsome little shoulders grinding against her precious and darling insides. She saw her vaginal canal like a cartoon, with lots of red and pink, lots of jolly mounds and nodes that squirmed delightedly around Simon, who was not animated. She pictured the layers of bumpy tissues swarming around him, rubbing his bare chest, nuzzling his cheeks affectionately. That is what lovemaking looked like to her, a sensual, candy-coated playground of eroticism, a joy to all.

Simon didn’t fear the dark as much as everything else that came with it. The monstrous woman’s cunt crushed his shoulders and ribs until he coughed up what little air he was able to steal. The fluids… the fluids! They never seemed to end! How could one woman produce so much fucking fluid? Dotty was a flagrant violation of Lavoisier’s Law of Conservation of Mass; she was the perpetual motion machine of pussy juices. He’d hoped to wait until she ran dry or collapsed from exhaustion, because there was no way a person could store that much fat with this much physical output over so long a time, but from what he could tell deep inside her thick, greedy hips, Dotty showed no signs of slowing down in the least.

The only break he received was when she lodged him deeply inside her pussy and the thrusting ended. He lay within, lodged in complete silence, couched claustrophobically within her iron-bound vulvic grip, which only squirmed and squeezed slightly for several minutes. He wondered what the hell could be going on outside of the large woman, as the seconds ticked away on his held breath. There was no way for him to know she’d broken the suction on the bench and carried him, securely sucked up inside her pussy, to the kitchen to slam down a pint of water, a small carton of orange juice, and the last half of a bottle of wine. Sated, she toddled back to the bedroom, relishing the solid lump of an entire living adult man jammed deeply into her cooch. What amazing days these were!

Harder and harder she thrust, grunting with each blow. She could feel the violent earthquakes in each buttock, momentarily impressed with her own massiveness. She must’ve seemed like a goddess to little Simon. She knew she was undramatic at Overmedia, easily looked past, not much to talk to. But just as well she knew what treasures she held in secret, in waiting, for the right man. She’d dated, but they were never quite right, they never lasted long. She would show this one her trick with her fists and olive oil; she showed that one how deeply she could hold a cock in her throat and still perform an aria; and with the next one, she would bring him quickly, abruptly to orgasm with a finger like a homing missile up his butt, unerringly locating his prostate. These were all neat tricks, but they weren’t enough to keep the guys around.

But this one, this little guy dancing deep in her pussy, he was a keeper. He’d be around for a long, long time. Dotty smiled to herself as her ass rumbled against the bench with each collision, thinking about her long future with Simon, with Mousie, with the living fuck-toy. All the things she wanted to do with him… The dildo was a stroke of genius, no pun intended. She already had the craft tools from scrapbooking and a brief stint with building miniatures. It was nothing to strip away large hanks of rubber from one of her older dildos. She took her time to do a reasonable job, keeping Simon pinned beneath her huge, heavy ass cheeks. She loved the way he feebly struggled beneath her, despite being covered entirely with nothing showing. At first she wasn’t sure the remaining core of dildo would hold, watching how it flopped around like Simon did after the first couple rounds of fucking him silly. Yet the two combined, tied to each other, somehow summoned a new strength to keep them standing on that sturdy little bench. She admired her ingenuity, even as she thought about new modifications to make.

I could shave him down, she thought. I’ve got those nice German shears, I could clip most of his hair pretty close to the skin. Have to be careful with his li’l pee-pee! Don’t want to snip that off, I’ll never hear the end of it. She pinched her nipples, left then right, and pounded her fists into her thighs to keep pumping. What else… I could get some latex paint, coat him nice and thick. Aw, but then he’d be deprived of feeling my love all over his body! I couldn’t do that to him. I mean, I could, because this isn’t about him, but Mommy wants her little man to enjoy himself too. Great thing about this suction cup, I could mount him to the bathtub or on the wall of the shower. Mmm, that’d be nice! Her pussy clenched at the thought of hot water spraying over her soapy ass while she backed into her lover. That’d thrill him! I could take him up my butterhole and clean him off immediately. He couldn’t complain about that. What else…

Dotty took a moment to sit down and think. The bench was clammy and gummy with her copious juices, but she hardly noticed. She drew her knees together, as though to crush the bench between them, and rhythmically clenched her thighs while she mused. She knew that her little man needed to feel loved inside her, and so she practiced her Kegels on him, even if it momentarily slipped his mind that he needed to breathe.

I could mount him on the coffee table while I watch my soaps. Set up a TV tray with a lot of little snacks, bounce on him once in a while. Oh, that sounds lovely! But there’s got to be something done about his body, the way it is. She rubbed her cheek thoughtfully, twisting her hips on the bench to make sure Simon was still awake. The dildo pole was a good idea, and I like the idea of coating him in latex, but wouldn’t it be better to glue his arms to his sides, his legs together? That might stiffen him up. Ooh, stiffer! Her pussy gooshed and drooled over the edges of the bench. She jammed one fat hand between her thighs to grind her clit into submission. I’ve got to tie him to something harder, but what? I don’t want to jam a metal ruler inside me. I wonder if something could be installed in him… That’s brilliant! I’ve got those thin metal rods from jewelry-making, but one of those is too week. I’d have to use several to really hold him up. He might not like that, but I bet he heals quickly. I’ll sterilize it with vodka, it’ll be fine. What to do about those limbs, though? Glue will work for a while… stitching them down would last longer… And then there was the small matter, the teeny-tiny matter, a technicality, really, of how she would get Simon to agree to all this.

Inside her, the little man really started kicking and bucking. “Oh, are you cumming already, dear? Mommy wants to see!” She stood beyond thought and Simon slurped out of her pussy, leaving it aching with emptiness. She knelt by the bench and studied him. “Why, you don’t look excited at all! Your little pee-pee’s just dangling like a ramen noodle, and you’re blue in the face and not even looking at me.” Pouting, she pinched the shaft of the dildo with one hand and thwapped her middle nail into his abdomen.

Simon’s head felt wrapped in gauze, robed in darkness, when suddenly someone drove a car into his stomach. Most of the viscous juices flooding his lungs and throat shot out, and he heard increasing laughter as his body mechanically sucked in clean air.

“You led me on, you little fibber!  I thought you were going to cum all over Mommy’s sweet lips.” She puckered up for him, thick red lips that pulsed threateningly at his cock, as though they would tear it off and suck it down. “Don’t you have anything for Mommy, after all that?” Her lips parted and out slithered her thick tongue, flickering at his cock, flapping it up and down.

“Stop, please stop,” he gasped. She didn’t hear him, and after a violent coughing fit he called out louder. “I can’t take any more, I need a break.”

“Ooh, we don’t have time for a break,” she cooed, wedging the tip of her tongue between his thighs, unconscious of how brutally it shoved against his tender ball sack. “We gotta keep going, yes, we do. I’ve got two more good orgasms coming up, and then one cool-down before I slip you inside me for beddy-bye.”

The slender pole of rubber dildo shuddered comically as Simon sobbed. “You’re going to kill me!”

“I would never. I learned so much after the last one.” Her tastebuds rasped over his thighs, dragging his cock and taunting it painfully into hardness once more.

“I can’t breathe inside you! There’s no air!”

“You’re getting better at holding your breath, I can tell.” She smirked at him and planted her hands on the edge of the bench, sucking in a preparatory breath.

“I don’t have any strength left! I can’t keep fighting, I’m exhausted!”

“Then stop fighting me, you silly little boy! Give yourself over to Mommy’s sweet caresses.” With a grunt she heaved herself up, dragging one leg up, then the other, and stood in the cooling slop of cum-drenched carpet.

Simon tried to lock her gaze but only found himself peering up into her thicket. “No, really, I can’t do this again. I need a break, please, give me a rest.”

“No rest for the wickedly charming,” she said, dimples forming around her grin. She threw one massive leg over the bench and positioned her colossal ass above him like the last second before an avalanche. She heard him scream between her thighs and called him dramatic, and her broad hips began their descent.

“Stop! Please! I’m begging you!”

“Beg all you want, my little lover, but in you go!” Dotty licked her lips and closed her eyes, betting she could find him and guide him by touch alone.

“Dotty! You’re going to kill me!”

“What a way to go, then, eh?” Something bumped against her thick, hanging labia. She couldn’t tell whether it was the end of the dildo or Simon’s lovely little head. “Surrounded by the loving embrace of Mommy’s sweet pussy. Here I come!” She bent her knees a little, and the light, teasing bumps against her vulva became an insistent nudge. She smiled broadly, shifted her hips, and slowly led the solid mass inside.

Simon, finding a fifth wind, struggled against his bonds, deep in the shadow of the valley of Dotty. Her scraggly hairs scraped against his face, then his neck and shoulders; the engorged, slavering alien lips of her monstrous cunt seemed to spread of their own accord, parting to reveal rings and layers of livid tissue, practically steaming with searing juices that dribbled over her vulva and slobbered all around him. “Dotty, stop, please! I’m begging you!”

He only heard her girlish giggle, far off in the distance, as the heavy curtains of meat draped over his ears and widened to swallow his shoulders. “I’ll do anything!”

The toothless maw paused around his head. Slowly the eager tissues withdrew, reluctantly, deprived. Thick erotic drool flowed down his shivering chest as the light returned and Dotty’s face descended from the heavens to hover above him.

“Anything, huh?”

As happy as he was to breathe another second, as relieved as he was to postpone the bone-crushing grind of her pussy, something told him that he should have chosen to snap his neck against the middle-aged research analyst’s cervix.

*   *   *

SIX MONTHS LATER

Dotty adjusted her hair in the “lobby” of Zoom, fixed the lighting on her desk to remove the shadow under her chin, gave her girls a little adjustment where they piled before her keyboard, then clicked to join the online meeting.

After a musical tone, Lynn’s voice chimed. “Dorothy, hi! So nice to see you! How’ve you been?” The young blonde wore a gray sports shirt beneath a prim black blazer; behind her was a rustic-looking bookshelf with artistically arrayed hardcovers and objets d’art like a brass globe and a conch.

Dotty grinned and waggled her fingers at the camera, watching the version of herself. Lynn saw her thick arm thrust at the camera, and then the entire view jerked lower incrementally. “Good evening, Lynn! Remember, it’s Dotty now. Gosh, I haven’t heard anyone use my old name in a long time.”

Lynn’s face froze for a moment, likely in response to Dotty’s presentation of her spreading bosom. “Oh, uh, right. Dotty. We miss you at Overmedia! Did you know we still haven’t found anyone to replace you?”

Dotty’s body rumbled in the camera as she chuckled. “That can’t be true. It couldn’t be so hard to find someone to push a pen around a desk.”

“Such modesty! You really had your fingers in a lot of pies, didn’t you, girl? It seems like every week, we discover some new department that fed you information or relied on you for a report, and we scramble all over again to figure out what was going on and what they need. It’s getting harder to find qualified applicants, the more we uncover!”

“Well, you stick around one place for as long as I’ve been there, I guess you’re bound to make a few connections.” She grinned, clenching her biceps to her sides to make her boobs really bulge out of the delicate, lacy nightgown she favored lately. She was pleased with how they looked on camera, abundant and heavy and ripe.

Lynn’s surprise melted into a knowing grin. “Yes, Dotty, I can see them. Is it gauche of me to say you seem to be filling out… in the best way possible?”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. So it’s not just me? I don’t look too dumpy or anything?”

“Not at all, Dotty. You’re looking incredible! The last half-year’s been good to you, apparently.”

“You’re very kind, Lynn. You’ve always been so kind to me. And you look beautiful, the very flower of youth. So trim and slender… lissome, my generation used to say. Lean as a whip.”

Lynn glanced down at herself and looked away. “Anyway, I bet Simon’s pleased as Punch to be living with a big, voluptuous goddess like yourself, huh? Has he been behaving himself?”

“Oh, he’s fantastic! He’s better than I could’ve ever dreamed! We’re part-star-crossed lovers, part-well-oiled machine.” She burst into laughter, and her breasts rumbled. “No pun intended! Oh my gosh, he’s just fantastic. We’ve grown closer and closer together. He’s so smart! He learns everything I throw at him, and after a short refractory period, he’s ready for action once again. I wonder if I’ve ever been so happy in my life! He really is a trooper.”

Lynn’s eyebrows screwed up as she listened. “That’s… that’s great, then. I’m so happy he’s been working out for you! But if he’s been doing everything you wanted, how come you haven’t contacted me before this?”

“What do you mean?”

“The contract, when we were in Jubilee Manor. Remember? You said that if he fulfilled his duties, you’d have him restored back to normal. I just thought—”

“Well. Do you know how to do that yet?”

“Uh, no. I don’t know how I even shrink ‘em down in the first place. I’m guessing growing him back up would be kind of the same thing? Like I have to feel very generous or affectionate toward him or something. I could probably fake it, but this is all theoretical. I’ve never been in a situation where I had to enlarge someone. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to practice with Simon, if it came to that.”

“Ah, his name’s not Simon anymore. And yes, he’s doing everything I could’ve asked for—and much, much more, believe me—so there’s really no way I could possibly live without him now. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to leave, anyway. How could he do without his loving Mama to take care of him? Why, it’d break his little heart to spend one second away from me, I just know it. Fortunately, we are never separated! And anyway, he’s really not fit to mingle with a less-than-understanding public. He’s gone through a lot of changes, he has. I don’t want to say ‘growth,’ obviously, but he’s a very different man now.”

“His name’s not Simon? What are you calling him now?”

“His professional name is Meep, and we’re very professional now so that’s all anyone needs to call him.” Dotty shifted in her seat, her long raven locks spilling over her hillsides of flesh as she shoved one pudgy hand into her cleavage.

Lynn’s image blinked for a moment. “What kind of name is Meep? Why do you call him that?”

“That’s all he can say.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s hard for him to pronounce many words with his teeth missing.”

“What?!”

“And his jaw broke once, just slightly, but that wasn’t related to his teeth.”

“Dorothy! Is he okay? Has he been to the hospital?”

The heavy, older woman looked into the tiny glistening disc of her laptop camera. “It’s Dotty, Lynn, please try to respect my decisions. And why on earth would I bring little Meep to a stupid ol’ hospital? They wouldn’t know the first thing to do with him! They might even try to take my little miracle-man away from me, after all the work I’ve done on him. Where are you, you squirmy little scamp…”

“Dotty, what’s going on? Is everything okay over there? Do you need me to come over?”

“Ah, there we go.” Dotty’s sausage-fingers wrapped around her prize, carefully extracting a long lump of flesh from her abundant breasts. From her fist thrust a shaft of human flesh, at first resembling a detailed dildo carved and molded by a designer with a sick sense of humor. It flopped and jerked around at first, creating blurry, pixelated streaks across Lynn’s screen as it caught the glaring light and lunged at the camera. Dotty gently pinched an area near one end while grasping the other end in her fist and managed to hold it still, turning it slowly to really show it off.

“Holy fucking shit…”

“Oh, pick your jaw up off the floor. He’s beautiful! Please say hello to Meep, the star of our little nightly shows. Meep, you’ll remember Lynn from way back, don’t you? Back in the dark ages, before you fell into a land of kisses and hugs and cuddles and Mama’s special deep embrace?” Dotty’s teeth flashed in the camera before she pasted the side of the fleshy shaft in dark raspberry smooches. “Why don’t you say hello to Lynn?”

The laptop microphone barely caught a strained “meep?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to, I permit it. After all, she’s the wonderful woman who brought us together! Remember? She shrunk you down so you could come live with me. You should thank her for her amazing powers and her generosity, handing you over to me! Wasn’t that lovely of her? Whoa, there.”

The fleshy shaft shook, folded, writhed violently between Dotty’s hands. It shrieked “Meep! Meep! Meep-meep!” in a hideous, strangled cry, contorting itself to thrust one end of it to the camera.

Lynn covered her mouth, eyes wide in terror as she watched the face of the long-forgotten intern bobbing around on her screen. He was barely recognizable now, like the memory of a bad dream. He was entirely hairless: bald scalp, no eyebrows or eyelashes around crazed, hateful eyes that tried to reach through the fiber optic network. As Dorothy had said, his jaws were robbed of any teeth. Empty, reddened gums mashed sickeningly over her screen as “meep meep meep meep” squawked balefully over her speakers. One fat finger slithered like an anaconda beneath his jaw and hooked his neck back violently.

“He’s a live one, as you can see! Easy there, Meep, save your energy for the show!” Dotty laughed to herself, reining the sickly rod back and forcing it to lie stretched across one boob. “There, there. She knows you’re grateful. If you really have that much energy, maybe we should burn it off before tonight’s performance. Would you like that?”

The fleshy shaft shuddered visibly, struggling to relax into a dormant state.

“I can see he still remembers you, Lynn! I’m not sure how to feel about that, to be honest. I thought I’d massaged all his old ways of thinking out of him. I guess it’ll take longer than I thought.” She shrugged and grinned at the image of her former coworker. “Now, here, let me show him off. As you can see, we got rid of all that pesky hair on him. That’s what Olympic swimmers call a drag-coefficient, I think. It just helps him really slide around without anything getting in the way, and that’s so important for a little lover like him.”

“I don’t…” Lynn looked aghast, floating on the laptop screen like a ghost.

“But you see up here, on the top of his head?” Dotty double-fisted her tiny lover to turn his head into view. “I found a very understanding, very open-minded tattoo artist who does lots of odd jobs. I guess it doesn’t hurt that he’s on… what do you kids call them? Shrooms? When he does his work. He’s very affordable, too! Extremely affordable: all I had to do was sit on his face until he fell asleep. But look, you see that little line running over his head? What does that remind you of?”

Lynn was profoundly unwilling to look at her screen, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I don’t know… I don’t know. Is that a slit? Was he cut there?”

Dotty beamed at her. “See what precise work that was? No, it’s not a real slit, but doesn’t it look exactly like the urethra on the tip of a penis?” Her dark eyebrows waggled playfully.

“Oh, my God.”

“Now, this part I’m proud of. This part I did myself. There was a problem with how flippy-floppy Meep was being, back in the beginning. I could hardly…” Dotty tried to look shy though she couldn’t force herself to blush. “You know, without him bending in half or getting his leg jammed or whatnot. I started with cleverly carving an old dildo to help support him, and that worked great for a while. But…” Again she tried to appear demure, yet her chest swelled alarmingly as she inhaled with pride. “I’m afraid Mama’s appetites only grew with every application. My little man and I, we’ve made love in every room in this house, I don’t mind telling you. We’ve destroyed furniture, we’ve left stains on all sorts of surfaces, and with me quitting my job to spend more time with him, how was I supposed to earn any money to replace this stuff? But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

The long tube of little man shuddered upon her breast, as though he were sobbing. He made no noise, however, and no tears formed.

“So I got a little crafty, and I augmented my little lover in a couple interesting ways. I used to do beadwork, I don’t know if you knew that. I made necklaces and jewelry, I showed them off on the Midwest circuit, conventions in Iowa and Nebraska. I outgrew it but I never got rid of my equipment. I don’t know why. But I’m glad I didn’t, because then I had all these little metal rods that I used to use for earrings and bent metal art.”

“Holy fuck. Dorothy… Dotty, you didn’t.”

“Now, hold on. I don’t want you thinking I was irresponsible or cruel! I sterilized each piece in a candle flame and with rubbing alcohol before I inserted it into him.” Dotty turned the little man over to observe his backside. It was speckled with little red dots. “I strengthened his knees—one rod wasn’t strong enough to support him, I found that out the hard way—by inserting three or four little rods into his heel, up through his calf, and into his thigh, trying to stay as close to the bone as possible.”

Lynn was a frozen image of horror, hands clasped over her face.

“And because that went so well, I felt confident about reinforcing his spine the same way. I tried shoving some up his little butt,” she said, smiling cutely at the camera, “but honestly the best work was when I drove it into his shoulders and down his ribs. Now he hardly moves at all—I mean, come on. Mama likes a little bit of squirming inside her! If I wanted a stiff rod, I’d’ve stuck him in the freezer!”

“Dotty, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“I’m kidding, of course.”

Lynn’s hands slipped a little. “This isn’t funny…”

“We did try the freezer, it didn’t work at all. I mean, I didn’t feel any cold up inside my cooch—pardon my language—but he was hard to hold onto.”

“Dotty!”

“Now, if you had a squirmy little guy who liked making it difficult for you when you tried to slide him inside your, you know, your place, how would you fix that?”

Lynn looked on the verge of hysterical laughter. “What? I wouldn’t! I would never! I—” Her gaze drifted upward as she recalled Derek, the mad scramble around the meeting room, the tiny man treading water in the toilet, how she stashed him on Dorothy’s chair for an entire afternoon. “Oh, my God.”

“It’s a tricky problem, right? You might think the easiest thing would be to clip those little arms off as a warning—”

“What?!”

“—and then work on his toes if he’s still being a pill. But no, I found a more elegant solution.” Dotty grinned primly, smugly at the camera, straightening her posture. “At first, tying his limbs down worked out well, but those little threads are so fiddly, and there’s such a fine line between securing him snugly and applying a tourniquet. I thought of tape, of course, but some brands were scratchy inside me and the others just… dissolved!” She laughed at the memory, stroking the human dildo on her chest.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Lynn hazarded a guess. “You could just use a condom, couldn’t you? Oh, wait, he wouldn’t breathe.”

Dotty nodded slowly, enjoying the younger woman’s thought process.

“You could clip a hole at the end, an air hole for him. Then he wouldn’t suffocate.” Her face fell. “Except he’s going somewhere there’s no air. He’s going to drown regardless.”

Dotty laughed gently. “You’re missing the point, Lynn, you’ve gotten way off track. The issue is those little arms that could get broken because he’s fighting you and acting like he doesn’t want to go in, in the first place. What do you do?”

Lynn reared from the camera, alarmed that an answer came out of her. “You could glue his arms down. Super Glue, I guess.”

“Ah, great minds think alike! That worked fine for about a week, but between my juices and the sweat and oils from Meep’s body, there just wasn’t an adhesive strong enough to stay for very long. So I’ll tell you, this is something I’d always wondered about. If you cut off the tips of each of your fingertips, and if you could hold your fingers together, end to end, long enough to heal, would they grow together?”

Lynn’s eyes flickered up and down, looking at the mangled tiny man and the proud expression of his owner. “You wouldn’t…”

“I just used one of my old emery boards to abrade the skin under his arms and down his sides, and then I sealed that up with Super Glue, and then I socked him in a condom with a hole in the end and tied him up with baker’s twine, just to be sure. I really needed him to hold still long enough for his body to heal.” Dotty’s dark lips pursed to one side. “Took a lot longer than I figured, actually. He was a hot little rod for a while, burning with fever. I could hardly jam enough aspirin down his toothless throat.” She paused, then burst out with laughter. “Hot Rod! Oh, I should’ve called you that.”

Lynn looked as though she were about to vomit.

Dotty apparently didn’t notice. “And then I did the same thing to his legs, too. Because why not? I opened him up just a little with careful little slits with an X-acto knife. Go figure, Dumb Dotty forgot to sterilize that blade! But he’s all better now, and he looks amazing, don’t you agree?”

The hairless cylinder of white flesh only shuddered upon her boob; her large breast shuddered sympathetically with his vibration. His arms lay flat against his sides, and Lynn detected fewer shadows between them than there should’ve been. The line of demarcation was very weak indeed, as though the skin were… She looked away from the screen, gasping.

“Lynn? Lynn, look here, you’re missing the best part.”

When Lynn looked back, she saw a gleaming metal appliance she couldn’t recognize.

“This really was a stroke of genius, too. I was at an estate sale when I found this Russian bayonet, and it clipped onto the rifle in the most cunning way. See here? You press this button on the side, and these little claws retract, so they can lock on to this little bit at the end of an AK-47… this is all boring technical talk, but long story short, that tattoo artist apparently knows someone with a metal shop, and—how lucky is this?—they’re both into getting face-sat until they pass out. He was kind of a fighter, but I stuck with it until he stopped moving. But he’s the one who designed this!”

Dotty thrust a small metal cavity at the camera. Lynn had no idea what all the right angles and grooves meant, and the interpretation didn’t clear up even when the older woman pulled it back. All she saw was what looked like the head of a disposable cigarette lighter sitting in a flesh-colored disk with a large pair of fake testicles attached. It was bizarre and surreal and she said so.

“Well, sure, it doesn’t make sense until you see this,” Dotty said, setting the testicles on her other boob. She adjusted her grip on Meep, picked him up, and carefully set him into the metal cavity with the silicone ball sack. There was a loud click, and now Meep stood firmly in the base, hiding his face from the camera. “And there he is! There’s a suction cup on the bottom, so I can stick him anywhere! Now he stays in place and doesn’t slip or get dislodged. I tell you, I used to have a real problem of bouncing down on him, getting more and more excited, and then I didn’t even realize he’d come free and was just floating around inside me. That gave us a good scare about fifteen or twenty times before I dreamed this up.”

“Doesn’t that hurt his feet?” Lynn asked without thinking.

Dotty snorted derisively. “I really doubt it. I had them removed. Hold on a moment, I see that it’s time for dinner.”

Lynn watched the immense woman rise, hot-air-balloon-like, from her computer chair and drift away, receding into the distance like a spherical, wobbly ghost. Two spheres, more accurately, set in the middle of her body, chewing up the dressy nightgown, grinding against each other in a Sisyphean king-of-the-hill between two planets. The blonde was nearly hypnotized by the motion of Dotty’s immense ass, all but exposed beneath the sheer fabric. Her mind worked hard to shut down and not process everything else she’d learned, grabbing onto the almost comical sight of Dotty’s big round rump and doing whatever she could to ignore the sobbing, squealing shaft in the corner of her screen, the fleshy shaft that barely resembled a young man she handed over to this gross, gluttonous, clearly insane woman. “I’m so sorry, Simon,” she whispered, turning down her computer’s speakers.

She turned them back up when Dotty returned, holding a small plate with two picture-perfect sandwich halves. “I got his favorite: egg salad! Chock-full of nourishing proteins and fats, just the thing he’s going to need for tonight’s show. Did you know that we have a rather popular little web show now?”

Lynn shook her head, unable to imagine what was coming next.

“We have an Only Fans account, and we’re building a respectable library on Clips4Sale, if I’m allowed to brag.” Dotty took a large bite from a sharp corner of one sandwich, chewed it for a moment, then spoke around it. “We’re attracting quite the fan base, too. There are a lot of people who share our vision, aren’t there?” She raked her nails lightly up Meep’s melded legs, over the graft of his arm to his ribs. “Remember when I told you about the problem I had with all the furniture I ruined? Our little show… excuse me.”

Lynn watched Dotty dislodge Meep from the computer desk and lie him down in front of the keyboard. “Open wide,” she heard the large woman mutter, before she opened her jaws and let loose a sizable glob that buried the helpless little man’s entire head in masticated matter.

“Like I was saying, our little show—Mama and Meep—is getting more and more popular all the time. I’ve upgraded all my dingy old furniture and next week I’m getting the carpets torn up and replaced. Can you believe, over 30 years at Overmedia (and the company Overmedia bought, before that), and I was basically living hand-to-mouth the entire time. Now? I’m making more money than I’ve ever seen in my life! I really don’t need a larger house than this old thing, but I’m converting the spare bedroom from crafts storage into a full-blown video production studio!” She laughed and picked up the sickly struggling little man, and she lapped off the chunks of chewed food from around his face.

“What are you complaining for?” she asked him. “Egg salad’s your favorite, you know it. Anyway, yeah, everything’s coming up Dotty lately. And Meep’s not going anywhere, I think that’s apparent. I mean, there are probably plenty of fans who’d be happy to watch me shove that little camera up my… you know, my place, or watch me smash vegetables and eggs under my big, lovely butt.” She rested the messy little man upon her breasts once more. Idly her thumb and forefinger played with his minuscule cock, pinching and twisting it until it stood on its own. “They’ve said so. These fans have such wild imaginations, you know, and seemingly limitless amounts of money to share. Where does it all come from? Who cares, as long as they keep paying to see Mama and Meep do the things they love to do! Here, I’ll send you an invite to tonight’s show, if you’re curious to learn what all the fuss is about.”

Dotty smirked and licked her purplish lips at the camera. “Are you still at your same old Overmedia address?”

Lynn hadn’t felt quite so thin, so young, or even so blonde in a long time as when she returned from the kitchen with a more-or-less correct Cosmopolitan and sat down to fire up her laptop. She sipped her drink and tried to soak the bright citrus into her cells and tissues, storing its chemical happiness there, while the loading screen labored through its processes. Her ribs popped in a couple places with her deep breath, and she realized she’d been holding her breath for quite some time tonight, maybe even since she closed the video chat with her former coworker.

The screen lit up with her desktop, a portrait of rolling, grassy fields coruscant with wildflowers; icons and symbols and shortcuts erupted on the edges. Her antivirus program popped up, and she logged in with one password; her browser required a different password for its password locker; her VPN fired up without needing any attention. She took another pull off her drink and opened her work email. “I really don’t want to do this,” she breathed, clicking on the link to the porn channel. She had to create an Only Fans account, switching to an incognito window to do so, then approved her antivirus, browser, and VPN dialogues to store her password, though she hoped to God she would never have reason to come back here after tonight.

Dotty was moving around in a room Lynn didn’t recognize. This must’ve been the studio she was talking about. It looked like a bedroom, except the bed was too frilly and ornate, which stood in contrast to the utilitarian design of the rest of it. The walls were bare, except for bright green drapery against the left wall. Lynn recognized it as a green-screen background. What looked like a workout bench and frame peeked from the right edge of the screen, and she stopped herself from wondering what that could be for. The enormous woman was still wearing the smoky black sheer lingerie she had earlier this evening, during their social call, and now she was arranging the sheets on the bed, reaching past the webcam to clear off her desk, and moving something heavy, off-camera. Her hips rolled and her tremendous buttocks jiggled as she futzed and preened and made arrangements. Lynn wondered if this was part of the show, a voyeuristic pre-show as she set the stage and incidentally showed off her body to a very particular audience. This wasn’t a world Lynn wanted to know anything about but she sensed tonight would be very educational.

Dotty’s face swung into view, pale in the glow of her monitor. “Oh, look at you all! You couldn’t wait for tonight’s performance, could you?” Blue arcs shown in the lenses of her eyes as she read the tally of visitors. “We’ve got quite the turnout already. How flattering! I’m so happy to see all of you again… oh, and it looks like we have a few newcomers!” She winked lasciviously at the camera, and Lynn’s skin crawled with the knowledge of who that was for. “Well, you’re in for a treat. I’m just getting everything ready, because once the action starts, I don’t want to stop for anything. You know what I mean?” Incessant beeps and blips went off in Lynn’s speakers, and she interpreted this was notification of viewers chatting Dotty. It sounded like this was going to be a popular show, and despite her dread, she checked to see the list of attendees. There were already over a hundred, and the performance hadn’t even begun. For one fleeting moment, she wondered whether she were in the wrong business.

The planet of Dotty’s body rotated slowly in the camera: a tremendous hip spun away and a huge boob wheeled into view, bouncing as she sat down and got comfortable. “There we are, I think everything’s ready! Am I forgetting anything?” Dotty’s voice was bright, more cheerful than Lynn had ever heard come out of her in her years at Overmedia. She truly was transformed, from a bland, lifeless workhorse in corporate media to a vivacious, sexually charged porn-queen.

Dotty had ceased bouncing in her seat, but her breasts continued to bobble and heave. “What’s this? Oh, I’m forgetting my co-star!” Simpering into the camera, she pawed at her own boobs, appearing to struggle with heaving them aside, until Simon’s bald head emerged from her depths. His eyes rolled and his upper body squirmed like an eel suffocating on dry land as his mangled mouth gaped for air. “Look at how excited he is to be here! Everybody, say hello to Meep, because you’re not going to be seeing much of him for the rest of the night!” She even laughed in a new way, Lynn noted, a full-bodied laugh that rocked her shoulders and set her boobs to shimmying on the desk. “And he’s just as excited to see all of you, isn’t he? Look at how he’s greeting you!”

Meep was not greeting anyone. The hairless, scarred cylinder of a man writhed at the webcam, crying out his piteous eponym, pleading in his incoherent way to a large audience that could not give a shit what he was going through. Lynn covered her mouth and looked away, repulsed by what he’d been shaped into. To connect that mutilated degenerate with the friendly, naive coworker from her office was too heartbreaking to bear.

Dotty had reined him back in. She cradled him tenderly in her palms and dipped her head to coat him in thick, noisy smooches. “I know, I know, baby. It’s going to be another big night for you, I know. It’s hard work for such a wretched little thing like you, isn’t it? After all, your Mama’s such a big woman, and you’re just a pathetic little shaft of a person.” Her thick lips pulsed around his cock as though she were sucking the blood right out of his body. “But you’ve got to look at it this way: Mama’s got needs! Mama’s finally got what she wants, and the more she gets, the more she needs. And you, you’re designed to give Mama everything she needs, aren’t you? That’s right. You’re good for nothing else but satisfying the deep ache you’ve created in Mama.”

Dotty’s eyes flickered up once to check her position in the laptop monitor, then her jaws unhinged and she draped her thick, glistening tongue over Simon’s welded body, dragging it up from his hips to slather over his chest and face. He effectively disappeared beneath the spread of her tongue. “And because you’re not good for anything else, that means you have to work hard at the one thing you’re good at, doesn’t it? Yes, it does, yes, it does. The one thing you’re good at and the only thing you’re meant for.” Her voice dropped to a breathy moan. “You’ve got to give Mama her cookie, little Meep, yes, you do. Because you’re only good at one thing, and you’ve got to earn your keep around here, yes, you do. You know how Mama feels about freeloaders, don’t you? No such thing as a free lunch, Mama always says. Mmm, baby, stop your fussing. You stop that right now. You should feel proud to do such a wonderful thing for your Mama. Nobody else is built like you. You were made for this, weren’t you?” The tip of her tongue batted his erect cock around; Simon sobbed and turned away from the camera. “Yes, you were. Nobody else can satisfy Mama like you can, and Mama needs you so badly right now. Mama needs you so fucking much right now, little Meep, you don’t even know. Oh God, I could just eat you up!” Her teeth snapped at his penis with a loud clack.

Lynn jumped in alarm and screamed, then hastily checked to confirm her microphone was muted. She knocked back her drink so as not to spill it if anything like that happened again. “I had no idea you were so fucked up, Dorothy,” she muttered. “Poor Simon. I don’t think I would’ve handed him over if I’d known about this… mother-shit.” She drew up her knees and hugged them, wincing as she returned to the action.

In the fake bedroom, Dotty had gotten up from her chair and pulled the heavy object back from off-camera: it couldn’t be seen where she’d stored it on the right, and now it was too low for the camera to pick up. Whatever it was, it was strong enough for the heavy woman to prop one foot upon, exposing her frighteningly hairy crotch to the audience. “Yo-ho-ho, motherfuckers!” she chirped. “Let’s get on with the show!”

Simon’s head and chest stuck out of her fist, with Dotty’s thumb curled around his ribs; the silicone scrotum assembly bloomed from the other end, bouncing against her pinky. She waggled it playfully for the camera, turning it back and forth to show him off for the audience. Some sounded like Lynn felt, but many fully approved of the biomodifications she’d made to her possession, and others simply directed fury and resentment at the tiny man who got to enjoy this ample woman’s playground like they wished they could. Dotty clucked and reminded everyone to be nice, then made a show of lowering her Meep past her belly and into the chasm of her thighs.

“Some of you are so jealous, and I know I shouldn’t encourage that, but it is kind of flattering.” Dotty blushed cutely and licked her lips. She reached up to bend the laptop camera down and clicked to focus on her labia, hanging beyond the fringe of coarse hair and glistening with droplets of her intimate fluids. “Is this what you all want?” she asked, dragging the tiny man’s head between her curtains of flesh. His face completely disappeared, swallowed by her flapping lips.

Her broad hips began to roll, grinding in the camera’s view. “Does this look good to you? Do some of you wish Mama could do this to you?” She rubbed her Meep into her deep cleft, creating loud clicks and sloshing for everyone to appreciate. Simon appeared to jerk away, retracting his skull from inside her when he slipped inside, but Dotty’s reaction was to cup his head and shoulders in one fleshy palm and rub him irresistibly into her vulval. “Oh, my God, this is going to be so good,” she purred as juices dripped in long strands from her shaky fingers. Simon slurped up and down her slit, wriggling but unable to avoid her treatment. Her thick labia spread like the maw of a living beast to wrap around his chest. Stout, scraggly hairs abraded his cheeks and neck as she plowed his face across her clit and into the underbrush. Her vaginal juices flowed around his jaw and over his shoulders, in a perverse demonstration of waterboarding.

Without another word, Dotty bit her lip and stabbed herself with the diminutive man, thrusting him violently inside her vagina.

Lynn flinched at the force. Surely she must’ve broken something in his little body with that movement. Clearly she was aroused, as her broad inner thighs glistened on the monitor, but even so, she had been fierce with the frail little man. Her gesture was the opposite of tender, an adolescent’s parody of lovemaking, just grabbing the dildo and ramming it inside with as little consideration for her sensitive insides as for the fragility of the shrunken man in her grip.

Dotty threw her head back and cried out in theatrical pleasure. Her throat writhed sensually within her neck and her lips parted as though she were receiving a penis descending from the ceiling. “Oh, that always feels so fucking good!” she cried, as her fist began to churn the little man inside her. “Meep belongs in me! He belongs in there! Why do I ever take him out? Oh, my fucking God, he feels so good inside me! How many of you want to be him?” The bleeps and blips rang out, and Dotty reached for the webcam, her breasts hanging heavily in view as she adjusted it to tighten up on her crotch. The heavy woman disappeared down to two immense, damp thighs and a perilous forest of dark pubic hairs, with a struggling little man vanishing inside her with every thrust. Dotty fucked herself hard with his entire body, knuckles whitening as she clamped down on his knees and jammed him into her clenching pussy, harder and faster all the time. Glistening juices flowed without cease, coating her thighs, coating her fist, and drowning Meep in fresh layers of her lubrication. Only occasionally could he be heard to cry out, a sickening screech that cut off abruptly as her cunt gobbled him up.

The speakers of Lynn’s laptop rang out with a new sound, the chimes of tips coming in. Unlike other porn shows where a dollar amount had to be reached before the nasty happened, Dotty left her show open to all comers and relied on their generosity when she gave them what they wanted. It seemed this system was quite lucrative and Dotty’s trust was not misplaced. The screams of the little man and the gory slurping of his owner’s pussy competed with the jackpot-like music of money coming in.

Now Dotty began to growl, and her crimson lips sneered and her brow furrowed. Her thrusts became sharper and shorter: where before she’d been enjoying the sensation of his head and shoulders and ribs and hips running over her seizing vulvic muscles, now it looked like she was using him to scratch an itch deep inside her. The heavy woman’s sweet voice was reduced to hungry, frustrated grunting as she jammed him into the inner recesses, pursuing something that was just out of reach. “Come on, come on you little fucker,” she snarled off-camera. Her monitor glowed upon her damp fist, pounding into her own hairy pussy like she hated it. Very little of Simon could be seen now, just the occasional flash of his bare butt, as Dotty pounded him harder and harder inside her. “So close, you little piece of shit… give it to me… you fucker…”

Suddenly her fingers flared and she released Simon’s legs. The tendons on the backs of his knees and thighs stood out as his tiny legs strained to support the weight of the silicone ball sack and steel mounting assembly. Viewers only glimpsed this before Dotty’s palm mounted on the suction cup beneath the fake scrotum, and her fingers straightened his legs out, and within a second she savagely shoved the entire little man deep inside her cunt. There for a moment, and then entirely swallowed and gone.

He was a shrunken little man, to be sure, but he was still quite long, Lynn noted. He was a little shorter than an entire foot, but that still seemed like quite a lot to stuff inside a woman’s vagina. She slipped one hand over her own pussy, beneath her jeans, out of sympathy.

Gargling, and then strangled swearing, and then Dotty was gasping for breath, nearly weeping. Viewers saw the dense underbrush of her pussy hairs shuddering as though something large were emerging from within. They watched each of her thighs, one propped up in a Captain Morgan pose, the other solely supporting the entire overweight structure of this middle-aged sex worker, shuddering in their own separate earthquakes. They witnessed the gushing fluids spraying from between Dotty’s thick fingers as her palm held her little lover imprisoned within her hips. “Oh God, oh God,” she sobbed. Her forearm strained to hold him inside her, just a little bit longer, just one more minute, please, until her thighs gave a few last mighty shudders. The view on the monitors canted wildly back to display Dotty’s huge, thick arm thrusting over the camera, her ponderous breasts swaying threateningly, and a weak grin crawling across her face. “Holy fuck, that was a good one! Goddamn it, this little guy just gets better and better. Or I do, I don’t even know anymore. Did you all enjoy that?” A stream of bleeps and bloops erupted. “And lucky me, I get to live like this all the time. I’ve got my own little man who wants nothing better than to please his sweet, loving Mama and do everything he can to make her cum as hard as she can.” Her bosom swelled with a deep breath, which she let out with a whoop. “Oh, if only I were 20 years younger… Meep’s really taking a toll on this old body! I’ve gotta fuck him as hard as I can while I still can. But I swear, even when I looked my best, sex at its best was never as good as it is with my little Meep-baby, not even close!” She shook her head, grinning broadly and leering at the camera. “Not even close, I swear. And as good as it gets, I’m so happy to know there’s always more where that came from. Speaking of, you wanna see how our little hero’s doing?” Her fingers toyed with the fake balls jutting incongruously from her pussy.

Lynn didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath, until the limp body of the shrunken intern flopped out of Dotty’s vagina. She inhaled fiercely as soon as he was free. Dotty dangled him before the camera: there was hardly anything recognizably human to him. He looked like a piece of meat she’d been storing inside her for some unknown reason. With his legs fused together, his arms fused to his sides, he more closely resembled some hideous dildo, or else another unidentifiable organ. His pale skin was thickly slathered in a milky film of Dotty’s thickening juices, further occluding any familiar features. Coarse, scraggly hairs adhered to him, like carpet fibers and cat fur lining a piece of candy that had fallen to the ground. Their blackness stood out crisply against his pallid, hypoxic flesh. He hung there on display, motionless and twisted and glistening with cum.

Still clutching the prosthetic balls, Dotty’s thick hand gave him a hard shake. His entire body flopped, almost bonelessly, all the way down to the sharp snap of his head. On cue, the mangled little man’s head jerked back and coughed, and an impressive stream of womanly fluids sprang in a jet from his throat. Little Meep jerked and seized, coughing violently, wheezing to get enough air in order to puke up more and more of Dotty’s vasocongestion. Her voice chuckled in the background of the sickening display, but the bleeps and blips indicated the audience was into this, even complimenting Meep’s performance.

Loath as she was to do it, Lynn briefly read what people were saying. “They want to be him? What sick, perverted fucks…” She was learning a lot about people this night.

“That’s right, baby, let it all out. Get it all out of your lungs, you’re gonna need your breath.” Dotty’s voice was cloying, if not exactly soothing. Her face emerged into the camera, and Meep’s body jerked and slapped against her cheek as she addressed her audience. “What do you think, everyone out there in Mama-and-Meep-Land? Was I too hard on the little guy? Look at how sad he looks.” Her smile was anything but apologetic. “It’s kind of a waste, isn’t it? Here’s Meep, spitting up all that precious, delicious, nourishing fluid Mama produces just for him, for free, and you’d pay oh-so-much money just to have a taste! Pearls before swine, am I right?”

She tsk-tsked the struggling, vomiting figure dangling in her grasp, then lowered him out of sight. “Mama can be kinda rough on Meep, but Mama’s got these big, important needs, and Meep understands that. But Mama knows how much it can take out of the little guy, truly, I do. Maybe he was doing too much of the work. Maybe he needs to take it easy… in a different position.” She grinned wolfishly at the camera. “Are you ready for the next act in tonight’s performance? Pardon me while I get set up.”

“What the fuck else can there possibly be?” Lynn shuddered, glancing around her room for the comfort of the familiar. It looked like Dotty was digging around in a box of cords, so she darted off to the kitchen to fix a quick drink: a tall shot of Patrón Silver. She felt she was going to need it.

The screen had changed when she returned. Now it was divided into fourths, with every window showing something similar but slightly different. Lynn frowned and, reflexively, pulled an extra widescreen monitor out of her desk. She plugged it in and expanded the display before she realized what was going on. But she’d done it, so she left it alone and feared for the worst.

Dotty had plugged in three extra cameras, positioning these around herself at different angles. Each one featured the broad, dimpled landscape of her heavy thighs and hips, and each one showed off how her great cakes of flesh rumbled and shuddered with her slightest movements. She had shed the sheer open chemise and now stood completely nude within the triangular field of vision: three cameras focusing behind her, beside her, and in front of her, with the laptop gazing down at her hips from a 45° angle to her rear. Now it was revealed what she’d been lugging around: a sturdy bench, thickly lacquered to a glass-like sheen, and obviously built to withstand three or four Dotties.

In the center of the bench Meep stood, if it could be called “standing.” The suction cup, useless until this moment, held the silicone testicles firmly mounted onto the smooth surface. Meep faced away from the laptop camera and the rear camera; his lean body stood uncomfortably in profile for the side camera. Only the front camera captured the hollow, haunted eyes, the sickening way his tiny jaw worked to emit those feeble, pleading meeps.

“Oh, Simon, I’m so sorry.” Lynn forced herself to look at him, told herself that he couldn’t see her through the camera. It still felt as though he were accusing her directly, addressing her. Then an immense, rippling thigh swung into view and eclipsed everything.

“We’re all set up and ready to go!” Dotty sang, far above the camera’s view. Each screen showed one or both of her heavy thighs and dimpled knees. She almost looked like a giantess striding through a city, too large for any news crew to fully encapsulate. All but the side-angle cameras showed one massive leg swinging around the bench, and suddenly the sturdy construction looked questionable as her knees bumped against its sides. “It’s time for round two—Mama needs another cookie! How about all of you watching, are you into this? You got some love for Mama?” Donations chimed over the speakers, continuing as the rear and front cameras showed Dotty’s fat hand descending from above to wrap pudgy fingers around Meep’s thin body as he shivered in terror. The side camera only displayed one bloated thigh, and the laptop camera showed how Dotty’s broad hips spread as she began to squat. The front camera featured a thick forearm blocking the impenetrable forest of pubic hair and her hand scooping copious fluid from her own crotch to smear over the horrified little man, freshening up his liquid coating.

In the rear camera, viewers saw Dotty’s thick fingers running up and down his legs, fondly rubbing his little butt, beneath the spreading canopy of two impossibly enormous planets of creamy flesh. Two fat fingers locked around Meep’s shins, holding him steady, as the planets started their descent. A deep and plunging crevasse emerged into view as Dotty’s buttcheeks lowered. The moment her gibbering, drooling labia brushed against his bald head, Meep began to scream, a thin, piercing wail. Viewers complained about the noise, how it was harshing their buzz, and couldn’t Mama slit his throat or something so they didn’t have to hear it.

Lynn was as horrified by the shriek as she was by the paying audience’s responses to it. Yet her arm wouldn’t reach out to shut off her speakers. She had to experience all of this, to fully understand what she’d done.

More and more of the swelling buttocks filled the rear camera, casting Meep’s legs and the mounting bracket in shadow. Mama pulled her hand away, in the front camera, where viewers saw the thicket of coarse hairs hovering over Meep’s plaintive cries. Mama’s rubbery labia hung around his ears, rested on his shoulders. His ribs pumped rhythmically as he gulped air to scream and scream and scream, as the heavy pussy lips slithered over his skull and around his jaws. Her pussy sucked at his head, kissed him, sucked some more, and suddenly there was silence. Meep’s upper body was disappearing behind the unruly mass of black and kinky hairs. Engorged labia rolled around as his shoulders jerked. With the supporting rods lining his spine and legs, there was no opportunity for Meep to simply bend his body and pull himself out of Mama’s devouring cunt, not to free himself, certainly not for one last gasp of air. He jerked and twisted and the labia stretched around his shoulders and slid down his arms. His hips thrust, his legs twitched, and Mama’s moist, reddening labia glided easily around them as well. Soon his shins vanished from the front camera’s view; in the rear camera, nothing was left but a pair of artificial balls that disappeared beneath the ponderous and irresistible mass of two nearly spherical butt cheeks.

Mama turned to sigh pleasantly at the laptop. “Oh, that’s the stuff. Mama likey! Mama likey so much.” She squirmed on the bench, shimmying her shoulders as her ample hips rocked and throbbed beneath her. “It’s getting to where I don’t even feel complete unless I’ve got my Meep-baby inside me again. Like my poor pussy is missing something, aching with missing him. But when I’ve got him inside me… really deep inside me…” She sighed again, draping one hand tenderly over her heart. “Oh, I wish it could be all of you. I do! I wish I could shrink all of you down and store all of you inside me. Would you like that?” Bleep-bleep! Bloop-bloop! “Would you like it if I kept you all inside me? Do you all want to live inside your sweet Mama’s pussy for the rest of your lives?” Bleep-blip! Ding-ding-ding! “I wish you all could, I really mean that! But for now, you’ll just have to watch little Meep getting the best of it and pretend it was you.”

Abruptly the massive cheeks lifted out of the rear camera, then slammed down again. Had the camera not been braced with a C-clamp, it surely would’ve been sent flying across the room. The side camera showed the true, ferocious power of Dotty’s thighs as she heaved her bulk up, slapping her flabby ass onto the bench over and over. It showed off the outrageous curvature of her buttock, how it rose and slammed onto the stiff figure fixed onto the bench, and how he disappeared when that obese buttock descended again. The front and rear cameras only showed the briefest glimpses of anything human standing on the bench, before that insatiable pussy swallowed him up again. The bench showed the fidelity of his heavy construction, creaking only slightly as Dotty punished it with blow after thundering blow. She scrupled naught, but released her full poundage with every thrust, lifting her feet from the floor and throwing her hips onto her diminutive lover without restraint, every single time.

Lynn watched the abuse through her fingers, shuddering with every impact. Surely this would kill him, surely no one could tolerate the forces this hideous woman was unleashing upon him. It was a gory, gruesome way to go, but at least his suffering would be at an end.

Dotty threw herself down, then ground her hips insistently into the stout bench. The side camera caught her churning hips and how her thighs jiggled with powerful muscles working beneath layers of fat and flesh. The laptop showed the graceful curve of her spine, the shadowy arcs beneath each roll of creamy flesh on her sides. The front camera’s view was framed by her wrists and forearms, as Dotty gripped the bench to enable her grinding. The rear camera, perhaps the best seat in the house, showed only a long, dark seam swaying back and forth, back and forth, as her gigantic ass cheeks predominated and stretched out of the camera’s view, leaving only her perilous ass crack to dance for the camera.

Groaning was heard—deep, resonant, feminine groaning. Bleeps from the audience and dinging from their donations trickled intermittently, but the groaning was steady and constant and rising. The front camera caught how her forearms tensed, the tendons rising on the backs of her hands; her crotch was lost in deep shadows, beneath her pendulous breasts and the valley of her thighs. The dense nest of pussy hair was nothing more than an inky void somewhere in the background. In the rear camera the vast buttocks shuddered, twitched, trembled as deep within their mass another orgasm formed. There was no camera to show this one. The four cameras around her could only hint at the violence rumbling within, the tension building up as she clamped onto the beleaguered bench with hands and thighs. Her ass throbbed and threatened to shove the rear camera aside as Dotty bounced in her seat, struggling to wedge her beloved little man deeper, ever deeper inside her, as her hips shuddered and her belly tightened and her breath caught and her pussy clamped down hard, harder than before, harder still until…

The rear camera went hazy in a spray of cum. Juices flashed out of the crack of her ass and coated it immediately. The front camera saw her inner thighs shudder violently and caught the flood of juices pooling over the glossy bench, trickling over the sides like a broken dam, until the second wave of orgasm hit and Dotty’s fluids needed a new path to escape, spraying over her clit like a firehose and taking out the forward view. Two windows were reduced to blurry, dripping images of pale flesh and indistinct shadows.

Lynn’s speakers crackled with Dotty’s scream when she came. The side camera showed her bulging hip, the side of one huge buttock twitching and bouncing in place on the bench. The laptop camera documented all the muscles seizing in Dotty’s body, rippling up and down her spine, how her arm strained to hold the bench and how her legs danced fitfully in place as her body dumped all energy into cumming as hard as it could.

Dotty’s head canted back hard and her arms shook. She didn’t breathe: the laptop showed her contorted expression, lips pulled back, eyes clenched shut, until the viewers didn’t know if she was being stabbed or electrocuted. After a long minute, her eyes flew open and she sucked down seemingly all the air in the room. “Oh, holy fucking fuck,” she growled between ragged breaths. “Better and better every time, I swear. What did you think, my lovely audience? How did that look to you?” The responses bleeped incessantly as Dotty regained her breath, flexed her fingers, and rubbed her thighs. “It’s amazing to think that something so small can take so much out of me. And that means the part of the night I hate the most…” Casting a sad glance over her shoulder, Dotty grabbed her knees and rolled forward. Her calves stood out as they strained against another taxing, full-bodied orgasm to heave her significant bulk upward. Slowly and shakily she stood, copious fluids running down her thighs to long strands on the bench, and in the center of a pool of her love-juices stood little Meep.

He sagged, as much as he could, and his head lolled as a quantity of milky fluid dribbled from his hanging jaws. The front camera showed his expression, somewhere between exhaustion and anguish, and how the light caught along a wild, scraggly pubic hair that wound over his cheek and nose, springing out to reach into space. His facial features were washed out in the thick layers of goop his mistress produced, so that he looked like a wax figurine left in the summer sun. Sausage-like fingers wrapped around his body and pulsed into his abdomen, and he vomited a stream of Dotty’s pussy juices at the camera. “There you go, little man, that’s the way,” Dotty cooed in the distance, as her fingers milked him. “Oh, you were wonderful tonight. Did you hear me tell everyone how you get better and better every time? I never know if you can hear me when you’re inside me. I don’t know whether you can’t hear anything because I’m so big and healthy, or if I’m louder because the sound travels inside me. I wish you could tell me, but all you ever say is that stupid ‘meep’!” Her thumb rubbed into his back as he puked strands of her fluid over her knuckles.

Lynn sighed with relief when Dotty announced that was the end of their show. “It’s time to say goodnight to our lovely audience, Meep!” she said, grinning broadly into the laptop camera. The front camera showed how her thick thumb and forefinger were now rolling Simon’s penis between them. Unknowingly, she rolled her fingertips too far, twisting and wrenching his cock well beyond what was comfortable; nonetheless, it obediently stiffened and she patted it with approval. “Yes, it’s time to say goodnight, and it’s time for everyone to crawl into bed, and you know what that means.”

Abruptly Simon came back to life, eyes wild, body twisting against his hips. “Meep! Meep! Meep!” he cried, coughing through remnants of Dotty’s cum. Her hands left him for a moment, and his erect cock bounced comically from side to side.

“Why do you act like that, Meep?” Dotty asked him. She unplugged the three extra cameras and reached for something beyond the laptop. One heavy breast swung like a wrecking ball into the laptop’s camera, briefly blacking out her entire audience. “You know you love this,” she continued, “and you know Mama loves it. And you know you love it because Mama loves it!” She shoved the bench aside with one leg and pulled her desk chair in front of the laptop again, seating herself and holding up her prize. “And all of you out there know what this lovely thing is, right?”

Lynn sure didn’t. It started to look like a harness, but too thin and spindly for a dog, and incomplete in the middle. Two thongs hung down from the harness, one in a loop and one in a metal clip. Her curiosity overrode her dread.

“Here you go, here you go,” Dotty cooed. Her fingers pinched something on the base of the silicone testicles, something clicked, and Simon was lifted free of the suction cup. She showed him off to the audience: beyond the disgusting layer of cum drying all over him, and beyond the horrifying limbs welded into one long mass, there was the bizarre nightmare of his legs, which ended in a heavy metal brace too small to contain feet even at his new size. Dotty rested Meep upon one vast boob and, singing to herself, she looped one thong around his neck and shoulders. When she held the harness up now, it looked more recognizable.

“Oh, no,” said Lynn. “You wouldn’t. Dorothy, you wouldn’t do this to him, after everything else…”

But Dotty only grinned at the camera, scooted out of her seat, and carefully slipped her feet into the largest loop of the harness, what turned out to be the waistband. This she tugged up over her immense thighs, as Meep entirely disappeared around her hip. The shiny clip of the thong ricocheted between her thighs like a pinball, unable to settle, charged with erotic tension. Her hand disappeared in her crotch, fishing around until it returned with the steel brace within which Simon’s ankles were mounted, and she quickly connected this with the shiny clip of the front thong.

Simon had been converted into the living crotch of a G-string. His body stretched painfully from her pussy into the depths of her ass. “Now for the detailed work. I really wish I had one of you guys to help me out with this!” Turning her vast posterior toward the camera, Dotty giggled girlishly and hauled one massive buttock away, nesting the length of his body deep into the crevice of her ass. Mountainous buttocks trembled on either side of him, and once she let go, he would be lost to the world. Fat fingers fiddled with Simon’s little cock, futzing insistently with some unclear goal, shoving and sliding and nudging until she popped his erection into the epicenter of her anal sphincter, like threading a needle.

“There you go, all set!” Dotty straightened up and turned to smile winningly at her audience. “Now we’re ready to call it a—” Her eyes went wide with surprise as an explosion of three or four angry tubas roared over everyone’s computer speakers.

Lynn stared in disbelief at her monitor. “You did not just…” But the scrolling chat box showed that everyone knew what this was and, worse, that they loved it.

On screen, Dotty fanned herself and blushed prettily. “Oh no, did anyone hear that?” Bleep-bleep! She rolled her eyes coquettishly, then bent slightly to address her crotch. “Oh, calm down there, Meep! It wasn’t that bad, it was just a little toot. You’ve seen much worse than that!” Dotty winked at the camera and reached down to type something.

Lynn logged out. She sat in her chair for a moment, glancing at the empty shot glass she didn’t remember drinking. “Oh, my God, Simon, you poor, stupid fucker. What have I done?” she moaned, rocking slightly as she hugged her legs. “You can’t go on like this. It’s horrible, what she’s doing to you. Simon, I had no idea, I didn’t know…” Her chest shuddered as she drew a deep breath. She looked around the room, at her bookcase, her kitchenette, the couch in front of the TV, trying to reassure herself with their stability, but she couldn’t help thinking of what Simon had lost. She had taken him away from his own life, his own crappy apartment, his relationships and his family, and thrust him into…

She shuddered at the choice of words. Would she be able to get any sleep tonight? She wanted to sit beneath a scalding shower, as if that would scour the filth she felt coated in. For that matter, she wanted to vomit, but then that made her think of the gnarled, mutilated man who could only puke out a giant woman’s pussy juices.

The whole thing was so bizarre. Even watching it, her brain could scarcely accept it. But how was what Dorothy was doing to Simon more believable than what she’d done to him? Who else had the power to shrink a person down? What was that about? At first, it was a useful tool for getting revenge, but now… she never wanted to use it again. Not if this was going to be the result.

This decision came far too late for Simon, however. What could she do about him? She knew where Dorothy lived, she could drive out there and steal him back. Dorothy couldn’t possibly report it, or Lynn would show the cops what she’d done to Simon. The blood drained out of her face when she realized the “she” in that sentence was unclear. And even if she did rescue him, what then? Lynn didn’t know if she had the power to grow anybody back up, and if she did, what then? What would the world do with a regular-size Simon with his teeth knocked out, steel rods shoved down his spine, and his arms and legs scarred and burned and welded into one obscene shaft? What kind of life would he have?

Lynn picked up the shot glass and sniffed it, got up from her chair. “I’m sorry, Simon. I’ll pray that you die soon.” She turned her laptop off and closed it, and went to get another drink.