Heather, 2:07 AM

You collapse out of Becky's soft arms in a lump, crashing on her velvety couch. Becky could be a total thot sometimes, but God is this bitches furniture comfortable. You scan the cozy darkness of her living room, the only light coming from the bathroom down the hall, likely left on as Becky rushed to pick you up earlier.

"Thaaaanks! Love youuu!" You incoherently manage to blurt out, being the drunk, sweaty mess you are. The whole room spins, taking several seconds to gain enough of your wits to flop over onto your belly.

You catch Becky rolling her eyes with a sort of endearment, "Love you too, Heath. Need any water?"

Thinking for a moment, you blurt out a clumsy but well-intentioned, “Nah!” Prompting Becky to move on towards her room. Waiting for the coast to be clear, you can't help but snicker as you roll up your dress. Lacey dark red undergarments cover only your most intimate parts, leaving the rest up to the imagination.

Attire landing on the floor, you reach a hand down the backside of the panties. It takes a bit of finagling; however, the lingerie is adequately fused to your rear. As careful as you can be in such a state, you start to fish the little one out of his reasonably damp prison.

Finally, with a bit of added effort, you're staring right into Chris' eyes for the first time in a few hours. You can't even imagine how miserable it must have been. Sure, you may keep clean, but that doesn't change the fact that he just spent all night pressed thoroughly against and inside your butt.

Pretty hot to mull over, but also somewhat gross. Still, you hope Chris enjoyed it to some degree. Although, a more twisted part of you hopes he hated every second.

Heather looks down at you with contempt as you lay in the palm of her hand, lip bit so hard in contemplation it looked like she may very well draw blood. After hours behind her, as she danced and mingled, you'd probably gotten enough ass for an entire lifetime.

Wordlessly, Heather lays back, popping off her bra with the only hand available. The plastic clasps practically explode off her chest. The noise is reminiscent of a souped-up explosion in a movie or video game. It’s downright startling to imagine how much force they have relative to you.

“Heyyyy! How was your evening, huuuh?" Smug alcohol-induced confidence pours out of her mouth, in tandem with her toxic liquor-laced breath.

"Um, *hic* I guess you're too small to ackshually fuck me." Her face curls in minor annoyance, her face pushed towards the side in contemplation. 

 "Betcha it would be kind of a fail to even try." Her brows narrow in thought, coming at this like it's a minor inconvenience to solve and not your life she’s currently holding in her palm.

Her last comment irks you, fists clenching instinctually. Not that you're in a position to do anything about it. But, how dare she! You weren't totally inept sexually. You'd clearly done a pretty bang-up job with Alexis, at the very least. Or was that entirely due to the size? The fantasy of it all? Maybe she’d only gotten off to the power trip…. Seeds of doubt start to fester.

Heather doesn't waste any more time, hurling you down towards the very base of her tit unprompted with a force that would make the god of thunder jealous.

You slap belly first, harshly into her tanned flesh. Moisture from the confined area under her absurdly large breasts permeates everything with light and sticky vapor. It's humid, but that doesn't distract from the impossibly large walls of flesh directly in your way.

For just a brief period, everything still, save for the subtle rising and falling of Heather's chest. Her mountains seem to tower endlessly into the air above you. With your eyes, you trace the delicate red lines across her flesh, induced from a night of wearing a bra one size too tight. Each streak is comparable to a small sports field, helping you finally grasp how tiny you genuinely are.

“Sooooo, here's the deal!” Heather pipes up.

“How about you…." She thinks for a moment, dragging her eyes upward in thought.

"…make a nipple hard!" Heather laughs. "If you can *hic* do that, then that'll work out just fine!” Her tone takes on something more primal in nature.

You take a shaky stand, her skin slick with sweat from a night of partying. No matter how you cut it, you can't help but feel disobeying her can only end badly on your end. So, without any further delays, you start the climb. 

Both of your hands begin by probing the area, feeling around for a grip. The flesh molds surprisingly well in your hands, the sheer size of your acquaintances bust making any attempt at analyzing the situation infinitely more intimidating.

Though, against the odds, you put one hand after the other, hoisting yourself up the massive and wobbly mountain of skin. Heather, for her part, remains worryingly slow. You'd been almost positive she'd be playing games by now. However, for the time being, it doesn't happen. 

You continue an exhausting descent, the upper muscles of your body not used to such an extraneous workout. After a few minutes of climbing, your arm nearly slips from a particularly damp pocket of flesh.

You eventually take a break, resting the weary muscles of your upper arms. With nothing much to do, your eyes wander downwards and find you’ve made a surprising amount of headway. The jello-like exterior of the brunette's tits makes for a relatively easy climb so far.

But your physical feat wouldn't be without challenges for any longer; your entire world begins to shake. Heather's chest jerks back and forth as she lets out a loud giggle. 

“Shit, you're so fucking small I can’t even see where you are! Fuck, I can barely even feel you!” Her voice is breathy, almost excitable.

Something about it doesn't sit right with you, the tone of her voice implying the very insignificance of you is getting her off. She's painfully correct, though, as much as it hurts to acknowledge. The size Lexy had left you at is wildly inconsequential to the rest of the world.

You continue the ascent, each and every grasp into another doughy portion of flesh weighing on you more and more.  But you're so close! Pushing all your muscles into overdrive, you throw yourself up with a massive heave, grunting as you flop roughly onto the edge of her areola. Heaving while laying across the squishy pink floor, Heather pipes up, mildly frustrated.

“What the fuck are you standing around for?” The comment snaps you back to reality, and the goal comes into focus. Looking at the soft pink, you approach it slowly, running a hand along with one of many small bumps outside the pink ring. It's soft and tender yet distinctly rubbery. There isn't an immediate response from Heather, meaning you'd likely have to put far more effort into this for her to get much out of it.

 Desperately you work your entire body into it, muscles still aching from your climb. Gradually watching the nipple respond to the stimulation, starting to rise. It's incredibly demoralizing that it took minutes for you to do what an average man's hand could do in a matter of seconds. It isn't lost on the owner of the nipple either.

“God, you're pathetic.” Heather chimes in, the flakey face of foundation long since dried out still coated thoroughly across her face. Her eyeliner accentuates the curves and outlines perfectly. It's several levels beyond unnerving. The scale alone gives you a flashback to the very first time you saw a harvest moon grace the night sky.

From your new view atop Heather's erect nipple, you watch her right hand work its way down beneath the tight waistband and into her panties. It bulges out as she pushes her hand flat, the dainty fingers pushing and stretching the compressed material as she works an organ entirely unseen.

“You don’t even… mmmmh… deserve to play with my tits. I mean, you're kind of cute, but… mmm, fuck! You're, um, you.” Heather's right-hand works her vulva, while you're left to watch in both awe and horror as her left hand comes crashing in, deciding to start on its assault just across the way.

She grabs at the hardened nipple, pinching the sensitive parts of the areola and occasionally grinding into them harshly with her painted index finger. It's utterly terrifying to imagine being on the receiving end, and you momentarily stop your massage, frozen in terror.

Suddenly, there's shaking more ferocious than you've encountered previously. It's all you can do to just hold onto Heather's jiggling mass. You can see one hand grasping the mountain of jello opposite from you while her other hand works furiously below. 

Heather's every movement is erratic, slick sweat dripping down her face positioned high above. With each and every stroke and gesture of her right hand, she creeps closer and closer to a satisfying climax. You both hear and feel the moan escaping the college girl's lips from high above.

“This is so fucking hot! Just picturing how much of a dust mite you are, mmm. Just really does it for me.” Feeling herself on the verge of cumming, Heather just can’t help herself as she reaches a finger over her nipple.

The shadow of it hovered above you, and before you realize what's happening, it's far too late to react. You take a few steps back just before the impact.

WHAM

A cacophony of flesh slaps together as Heather's finger smashes into the nipple you'd been working so hard on keeping busy. All of your backbreaking efforts were invalidated by one girl's finger. The force of her pressing into the skin creates a bend in the flesh, threatening to drag you towards the divot where her finger relentlessly attacked her sensitive spot. Knowing there isn't a chance in hell you'll survive the flurry of activity, you go for the next best option. Escape.

Thinking fast, you dive off the side, hurling yourself a long way down. It's a gamble, but one that pays off as you smack hard into the squishy skin of her lower chest. With a groan, you pick up your head and simply observe the apocalyptic levels of chaos further down, across the bend of her stomach.

Her hands are like powerful machinery waiting to rip anything nearby to shreds. By far, it's the most impressive display of sexuality you have ever seen. You aren't able to see it as masturbation any longer, the part of your brain pushing survival instead of choosing to present it as something more akin to a guillotine. It's startling, your heart about ready to beat out of your chest as Heather continues to demolish the nipple behind you.

Vision and thoughts foggy and diluted from alcohol, you rub at the dulled but still arousing feeling at the tip of your fingertips. You couldn't take the tiny teasing on your nipple any longer, your hand forced by an invisible fire permeating your core.

You don't give a single fuck where he is or how your actions affect him. There's only one goal on your mind. And you're nearing the finish line.

All bets are off, your mind one track. You couldn't give less of a shit about him right now, but just the thought that he's on your body right now, subject to every whim and trivial movement you make, it's intoxicating!

The whole situation is hotter than any hook-up or fantasy you'd ever been privy to. At least a few times earlier in the night, you had wondered why out of everything Alexis could supposedly do with her powers, why she'd chosen something so… mundane? But you fully understand now. The strength, sense of importance, it's unlike anything you've ever experienced!

You're a true goddess right now, worthy of being worshipped and catered to. Your every breath is causing Chris possible complications!

The last thought finally pushes you over, burying your hand into the gooey pocket situated between your legs. It's an absolute ride, one you thoroughly enjoy letting go on.

You lay outstretched, lightly panting for several seconds before shakily standing up. You head off to the bathroom without a second thought, eager to get cleaned up and finally pass out.

You bounce off Heather's toned stomach as the massive girl gets up with no regard for you. It's almost like a switch flipped in her dumb drunken brain, your very existence becoming a blip in her mind.

Roughly slamming into the spongy couch below. Immediately, you feel vile, landing in a damp patch that adheres to you like some kind of organic glue. The musk of arousal pours into your nose, and it's not hard to discern what you've just landed in. Likely some dribbles of run-off from whatever that was. You are hesitant to call it sex, as that would imply you made an impact.

The patch itself is relatively small. Just a few dribbles that slipped through to the surface below Heather's tanned thighs. Even being a few fractions of an inch larger, you probably never would have even paid them any mind. But as it stands, even a few stray droplets could muck you up entirely.

You rise to your feet, pulling against the gross texture of Heather's juices. They weigh you down, but it's not enough to keep you permanently pinned. Disgusted, but still strangely hard, you decide now's as good of a time as any to take stock of the situation. Scrying the dark living room for any kind of salvation. The room stretches endlessly for what seems like miles upon miles of desolate space with absolutely nothing in sight.

You get the urge to look over the edge, but something tells you that wouldn't be the best idea. How would falling that high even work from this height? It's something you really don't want to find out, assuming it can be helped.

With that settled, you're practically out of options. You start to shiver, teeth chattering as the droplets of cum still glued to your body begin to dry and harden. You imagine what this might look like to the casual observer. A tiny speck trapped in the mess of a girl's stress relief upon an impossibly big sofa.

You regret everything, torn between wanting to cry, kick, or scream till your lungs explode. Then, a calm hits you as a chilling thought shoots through your head. What if she forgot about you? A brief lapse in judgment would mean tonnes of force upon your frame. Even with the plush cushion, would you survive that? This entire girl's weight?

The pace of your respirations picks up, and you feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart. What if you fell down the sides of the cushion? Would you just be lost forever amidst crumbs and loose change? You'd be doomed to wander the filthy pit of Becky's couch, trapped until somebody sat just right, popping you like a grape.

Vibrations rattle you from a distance, the soft cushion you are resting on not enough to thoroughly dampen the footfalls. Heather casually strides back into the room. Momentarily stretching her calves before letting out a yawn. She blinks a couple times before seemingly remembering your existence. Glancing down at you, she squints, the darkness muddying her already compromised vision.

"Ew, why are you playing in my cum?" She says with thick sarcasm. A slight smirk creeps across her face, and she rolls her eyes at the gross yet comical display.

"Anyway, I need to get some sleep. You can hang out in my purse and jerk yourself off or something. I don't really care." She shrugs and grabs her purse, holding it up towards the edge of the couch. Like you were a crumb of food on a messy bed, Heather effortlessly brushes you off, sending you tumbling with an absurd amount of force. 

You careen off the side and into the dark depths of Heather's three-hundred dollar accessory.