“Mhmm…” You sit up, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth. Fuck, you smudged your makeup. Which is odd. Why did you go to bed without brushing off your foundation? Plus, your breath reeks. Did you even brush your teeth last night? You never forget to do that, even at your absolute drunkest.
It doesn’t take long for you to realize something is incredibly and unequivocally wrong. You’re just starting to sit up and stretch your weary body when a cruel and almost malicious sense of dread rockets through you. Where the hell are you? You look around; massive beige walls and a wooden ceiling stretch endlessly into the distance, replacing what should have been the white walls of your room. Wherever you were, it wasn’t home.
Your arm Brushes up against the milky-colored skin of your leg, and it dawns finally dawns on you. Your clothes are gone. The jeans and tank you had on last night seemingly vanished into thin air, poof. Nothing was adding up. You had far too many questions and no answers.
Perplexed, you start scouring the environment for any clues. You take a few steps forward, creeping closer to a gray blob nearby. It’s a little bigger than you, covered in lightly jagged edges with what looks like a cylindrical flat bottom. After far too long, you’re hungover brain finally connects the dots. It must be a statue of some sort!
You wager with a bit of upper arm strength; you could pull it upright again. It is a bit of a struggle; however, it doesn’t take long for you to stand the statue-like object back up.
It’s a 3D-printed dragon. It was the very same one you had modeled earlier in the week for the game last night. Your brain has to take time to process this development. If someone else were here with you, they’d probably see the rusty gears trying to turn in your head.
A thought finally gets through, and you reel backward in shock. The realization is finally hitting you like a sack of bricks.
“Oh no, no no, no! This can’t be happening.” The dragon was for D&D night. Which would mean you were on top of the campaign table. But that didn’t make sense for the simple fact that it was impossible.
You shake your head, “People don’t just, shrink. No way, no how.” You say the words out loud, but you have a hard time believing them yourself. How could it be possible? Looking around, you see all the character sheets, figurine models, and even the stash of dice—the same tabletop gear as always, except now, it all rivaled you in height. Further evidence that you had indeed shrunk.
It was all so hazy, probably because you drank way more than you should have. However, you knew most of what happened early on, even if the order of events were a bit foggy.
You and the regulars had started around DnD in Peters basement. Although, Pete had headed up early, which was no biggie. He had finals tomorrow, and people dropped in and out all the time. Peter never cared how late you all hung out down here either, so the game continued like always.
You, Dylan, and Derek stayed around, drinking and working on silly backstories. Though, with the finer details fuzzy, you wondered: Had something happened? You rack your brain for some possible explanation but come up frustratingly empty.
Either way, you’d ended up on the very table the group had been playing on earlier. That much was painfully clear. The question is, does that mean the others are somewhere among this mess as well? You needed more info to pull from, causing you to cast another look back towards the dragon.
You head back over and carefully climb up the gray figurine in an attempt to get a vantage point above the clutter strewn across the table.
The whole situation was interesting, at the very least. Nothing special, just more of what you already knew to be there. Although, at this size, it did look like some sort of battlefield. If somebody told you real soldiers had clashed in this very spot, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe.
Cupping your hands over your mouth, you yell out in some vain attempt to find someone, anyone who could help.
“Hellooooooo? Hellooo! Derek, Dylan, anyone?” You’re visibly upset, clothes gone, head foggy from the mother of all hangovers, and apparently, you were smaller than the four-centimeter D&D pieces you had printed off last night for the gang.
Suddenly, just as you’re about to climb down, you spot some movement in the distance. It’s too hard to make out who precisely, but towards the other end of the table, you see a figure jumping up and down, waving right at you. Relieved to find some sign of life, you hop down the figure and make your way towards the other end. Haphazardly, you shimmy over a pencil and onto the map board.
The board is relatively cluttered, covered in maps and figurines, though still relatively flat. Most importantly, it is nearly a straight across jog to the other side, where a potential friend awaits.
Eager for another friendly face, you continue at a relatively quick pace. The brief period of downtime gives your mind time to wander, and an increasingly pressing concern crosses your mind. How long had you been out?
Suddenly the lights flick on. It’s blinding, and in your hungover stupor, it may as well have been a flashbang to the face. Disorientation stops you dead in your tracks, and it takes a second for you to get back into a stride. You made a bitter mental note to drink more water next time. Maybe throw back a few Advil beforehand.
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud
Two pairs of footsteps come pounding down the stairs. One set is heavier than the other. You could hear them from around the corner, giggling about something. They had a slowed tempo to their voices, and you guess that they’re at least mildly intoxicated. Were they day drinking, or had you been out cold almost a whole day?
“So this is the basement I keep hearing all about?” You’d heard her before. The voice was girlish in tone and cadence, slightly flirtatious, maybe even borderline seductive. However, your alcohol-deprived brain just can’t match the sound with a face.
Peter and another girl come into view after turning the corner from the stairs. The voice and the face finally click, Amy. Peter had just started seeing someone, and while you hadn’t met in person, you had chatted with her a few times over discord with the rest of the usual crew.
You get your first good look at Amy, and begrudgingly, you have to admit she looks pretty great. Short brunette with glasses, definitely Peters type. And admittedly, rather pleasant body. She wasn't wearing anything overtly sexy, just some relatively hip and butt accentuating jeans with a cute minty green blouse to tie it all together. Her outfit is excellent, and you remark at how well it succeeds in making her come off as more intelligent, despite her drunken demeanor.
Peter, on the other hand, was wearing the same old get-up. Red polo and cargo shorts. Nothing fancy, but you always thought he looked pretty cute in them. Though, you suppose he was fit enough to make almost anything work. He was in pretty good shape from his construction work and keeping up with the gym. You had always admired the dedication.
“Yeah, this is it. Hopefully, it’s everything you dreamed of and more!” He spoke in a pseudo-grandiose tone, gesturing towards the wide-open space that formed the bulk of the finished basement.
“Mmm, I guess so. I’m not very focused on the basement right now.” Amy quickly presses into him. Their lips lock moments after, emitting a sickeningly long series of smacking noises from between the two.
You can’t help but roll your eyes, making sure you’re still keeping a steady pace towards the far end of the table. The honeymoon phase of relationships is always so gross to observe as an outsider.
It’s not much longer before you reach your destination. Standing against a long empty dark blue popcorn bowl, Derek approaches you excitedly. Your eyes start to well up, the stress of everything abruptly catching up to you. The two of you embrace in a deep heartfelt hug. However, the more expressive portion of your reunion is short-lived. The two of you shuffle away from each other awkwardly once you feel something brush against your leg.
“Right, no clothes.” You see Derek physically cringe as he puts it together.
“I’m so sorry, Miranda, I seriously wasn’t thinking…” He trails off, feeling so awkward he doesn’t even know where to put his hands. You can’t help but laugh.
“No worries, just glad I found someone else.” You look around, hoping to spot a high place to get the couple’s attention possibly. No luck on that front, however. The only object high enough is the empty bowl, and you weren’t about to try and climb up such a slick surface.
“Any idea where Dylan ended up?” His expression immediately turns sour, which gives you your answer. he knows about as much as you. Fantastic. Noticeably, you deflate. Realizing you’re both are in the same boat.
With a heavy sigh, you look back towards the skyscraper-sized lovebirds. Peter has Amy against the wall, still eating face like it was going out of style. You physically recoil at the insane amount of sloppy affection on display.
Now it’s Derek’s turn to laugh, “What’s wrong Mira; little too much for you?”
You shoot him the bitchiest glare you can muster, “It’s just gross. I don’t want to see one of my best friends fuck, okay?” You cross your arms, “How the hell do you figure we can get their attention anyway?”
“Don’t have the faintest idea, and hey, it isn’t fucking. It’s making love!” He chuckles. You simply flip him off. Your head hurts too much to argue with him right now.
Turning your attention back to Pete and Amy, you watch them fully embrace, unable to keep their hands off each other—both in a lust-fueled brain fog. In an instant, everything starts to heat up for the horny couple. Peter removes Amy’s glasses, tossing them onto a beanbag nearby. From there, it all starts moving fast. They waste no time undressing each other, shirts, pants, and a bra flying through the air, landing all across the room.
“Shit, that’s hot! Go Pete!” Derek watches with amusement, eliciting a scoff from you in utter disgust. Derek was always such a tool.
Peter picks her high over his shoulders, much to Amy’s glee. Her bubbly giggling turns into half moans as he handles her whole body with ease.
At first, you figured they’d probably fuck on the floor; gross, but whatever; You’ve done weirder yourself after all. However, your blood runs cold when you see the giant take several steps towards the table. Without even considering the pieces on the board, Peter hoists his girlfriend up.
You scream, too startled to think clearly, as two titanic globes hurtle towards you with intent to kill. You try to get up but trip, falling flat on your face. Not that it would have mattered anyway, the giants covered far too much distance, much too quickly.
In all honesty, you never had a chance. You nearly utter one final scream, but the sound never leaves your mouth.
Amy’s bare ass smashes into the table with a meaty slap. Without any time to think, you’re sandwiched between the table and her milky white glutes with several tones of force, obliterating you instantly. Your entire body liquefies on impact; Amy’s ass is far too much for your fragile body ever to handle. Your bones are subsequently ground to powder, mixing with all that remains of you: a barely noticeable stain on some drunk bitches pale ass.
You’re nearly brought to your knees by a cataclysmic event; Created entirely by Amy’s doughy thighs as the flesh slaps hard against the table. Pieces, maps, and character sheets are swept towards the side to make room—total and complete disregard of the in-progress campaign. The pair are far too gone to care, though. Blinders manifested from concerted lust are on and in full effect. To Peter and Amy, all that mattered right now was getting each other off.
You see Miranda disappear underneath Amy within only a matter of seconds. Her life snuffed in an instant; everything she was, taken away more effortlessly than blowing out a candle. All you can do is choke out a half sob as it occurs, knowing the only way you’ll be seeing her again is as a gooey stain on Amy’s ass.
It feels apocalyptic, like your entire world is ending in front of your very eyes—all of this caused by Amy’s doughy butt. Pieces, maps, and character sheets are all swept off the table to make room—total disregard of the in-progress campaign. The two were far too gone to care, though. Blinders were on and in full effect. All that mattered right now was the act itself.
You’re joints lock up in fear. No matter how hard you try, the feet under you refuse to work. It was nearly too much for you to handle all at once and you would have long since collapsed on the ground a sobbing mess if you weren’t so wholly terrified of the gods above.
Fortunately, you’d gotten lucky. In the ensuing chaos, Amy had come only inches from crushing you with her gigantic body. Had she landed a few more meters closer to the edge, you’d have met precisely the same fate as Miranda had. Instead, you now reside between two massive thighs, her giant doughy pillows of flesh flanking both sides.
Musk. It’s something that manages to cut through your panic and heartbreak cleanly, like a knife to butter. The smell of it invaded your nostrils and assaulted your senses. You turn around, taking in the sight of it all. In full view is Amy’s perfectly pristine pussy. You look on in awe at its imposing size and already shimmering folds. Yet, you can’t decide whether it’s terrifying or exciting. Something about the air is making it hard to think.
All of a sudden, hazy fog of arousal flashes over you, though it’s quickly fading, replaced with unadulterated fear.
The most massive face you’ve ever seen drops directly in front of you without any prompt and circumstance, blocking your only escape route out from between the thighs.
From this close, every little detail is noticeable. From the blood rushing to Pete’s face, spurred on by the alcohol, to the nearly microscopic hairs around Amy’s recently shaved pussy.
You stand in place, almost defiant of the two gods above. Slowly and teasingly, the face inches closer. Peter runs his tongue along the outer edges of her folds, peppering it with occasional kisses as he avoids every area except for the one that truly needs attention.
In a mixture of lust and sexual frustration, Amy moans out, “Pete, come on! Don’t tease me so hard.” She looks down at him from above, a smug smirk gradually forming over her lips, “You know I want you, baby. Don’t pretend you can’t see how wet I am.”
Her comment is enough to convince the giant, and he directs his tongue to some of her more sensitive areas. Amy gasps from the sudden burst of pleasure; His red muscle traces her clit, driving her wild from the very start.
“Oooooh, god! That’s incredible, baby.” She coos, putting a bit of pressure on his head, pushing his face further into her. The giant girl bucks her hips carelessly as her boyfriend’s tongue invades every sensitive area it can.
All you can do is watch helplessly as the giants fuck above you. You’re petrified, and you physically recoil as wetness starts pelting you like a shower of rain. It’s sticky and quickly grows cold on your bare skin.
Each movement Amy makes threatens to smear you into a paste. Several of her thrusts get far too close for comfort, and your rapidly increasing anxiety starts to grab at you, feeding off your fear.
Her thighs start to tremble, pounds of flesh shake around you, each minor adjustment in position getting wilder and all the closer to potentially ending your life. Finally, it’s just too much for you to take. A panic attack grips you, and before long, you're on your knees, sobbing hysterically.
What the fuck was going on? You questioned everything, life as you knew it was wrong. Miranda was dead; Everything is fucked beyond belief.
More than anything right now, you wished for this to all be some kind of sick nightmare, hoping against all odds to suddenly wake up.
“I’m s-so close, babe. M-maybe do that thing I love? T-the one you did the last t-time.” Amy’s tense, her voice breathy and dripping with unchecked lust, possibly a hint of anticipation. Wordlessly, Peter obliges. Moving down, he secures a thumb over her pulsating clit. Using his entire mouth, he starts to work at the outside of her asshole with his jaw.
“Oh fuck, that’s perfect Pete!” Amy’s mouth remains wide open as she lets the sensations take her. Each stroke against her clit is an explosion of excitement.
It doesn’t take her long to finish. A metaphorical dam breaks, pelting you in very literal lady cum. Gravity takes most of Amy’s wetness and brings it down upon you with the force of gods. It hurts at such a tiny size, like hail beating down on you, over and over again.
Peter heads back up, still unaware of your plight. They lock lips, just a quick peck, but the smacking noise is nearly deafening for your tiny ears. Amy stares into her love’s eyes in a post-orgasm daze.
Pete smiles with unbridled confidence, “My turn?”
Amy’s eyes meet his, still half-lidded and content.
“Mhm, of course, baby. Let me just get comfy.”
The giant girl rears back, and an inescapable torrent of violence overtakes the table as Amy lays on her stomach. Figures, maps, and character sheets all plummet off the table in utter disrespect to everything the group had done together. All carelessly disregarded so the two could fuck on a whim.
Eventually, it all settles down. Amy crosses her arms over her tits and lays her head down gently on the cold hardwood. She knows what her boyfriend wants and opens her mouth, wide in wait.
Peter steps forward, dick in hand, “God baby, you always know exactly how to get me going.”
Your ears ring, and you howl in pain from the previous cacophony of noise. The giants speak above you, but it’s too hard to make out what they’re saying.
However, despite it all, you’re alive. You count it as a miracle, and it spurs a sort of second wind deep within you. The future is foggy, rescue is uncertain, but you knew as of this moment you needed to run.
Shakily, you rise to your legs, Amy’s massive face encompassing most of your view. You’d have to run arou-
Your thoughts are interrupted as a dick the size of a train slams into you. Your whole body screams from the sheer amount of force you’re hit with, momentum alone carrying you straight into Amy’s waiting mouth.
You land onto the pink muscle with a sticky plop. Every single part of your body is in agony, but a more startling discovery rises to the top of your mind: you can’t move your left arm correctly. You scream out in a mix of abject horror and pain; yet, you can’t even hear your voice over Amy’s breathe. Her whole mouth reeks of tequila, burning your eyes and nose.
The humidity of the environment hits you through the shock of your injuries, saliva drips from the ceiling, and a massive shaft of meat rests idly on the tongue, waiting. However, it doesn’t remain idle for long.
The wall of pink rises, throwing you violently against the throbbing shaft, working you into it as Amy explored every bit of Peters’s rigid member. Your already weak body is assaulted by both the muscle and the cock, but you continue to flail in utter futility and panic as the attack ramps up in speed and coordination.
“Mmmm, you can ‘hrus’ a lil, baby.”
Amy’s voice radiated all around you, unable to pronounce all her syllables with a mouth full of cock. You don’t have time to decipher what she is saying; you are far too busy fighting for your life.
The dick mercifully slides out of the mouth with a powerful burst of suction, leaving you a panting sticky mess on Amy’s tongue. You dry heave, exhaustion, and physical exertion catching up to you.
Unfortunately, your break from the couple’s merciless acts is short-lived. The dick reenters with a furious amount of strength, just narrowly avoiding a direct impact with your body. The second thrust comes towards you not even seconds later. This time, you aren’t so lucky.
His cock smashes into you, throwing you violently around Amy’s mouth like a human pinball. The dick slides in and out of her lips, briefly disappearing only to come back with more force than before. Over and over again, the skyscraper-sized member pounds you into submission, breaking nearly all that’s left of you. Physically, your body is in tatters. Mentally, you aren’t fairing much better.
Peters’s cock twitches. He’s close, and Amy knows it. She looks up at him knowingly, a smug look of satisfaction smeared across her face. He sees that look in her eyes, and it’s almost enough for him alone.
Amy takes it a step further. Bobbing her head in rhythm to Pete’s thrusts, she reaches out gingerly touches the very bottom of his balls. She strokes, rubs, and cups his sack with a familiar skill, giving him the last push he needs to clear the edge.
Peter explodes in her mouth, pumping two or three solid ropey strands onto her tongue and towards the back of her throat. She moans in obvious arousal of the action, taking it all and promptly swallowing.
Pete reels back in astonishment, “That was incredible!”
“Mhm, It always is, baby.”
Amy flops to her side lazily as Peter starts tracking down the articles of clothing in a half-drunken stupor. The couple makes small talk and giggles about the night in a carefree bliss.
Tonight had been fun. It was pretty rare that Amy got this wasted, but she’d finished her thesis, so just this once, she consented when Pete had asked her to go out drinking. Even she deserved to enjoy herself every once in a while.
Amy sighed content and satisfied with how the night had progressed. Indifferent, she glanced at the nerdy game pieces in front of her, quickly noticing something peculiar right under her nose.
Some pretty erratic movement had been occurring directly under her. Could it be a bug? Amy got her face as close as possible, trying to discern any standout features from it. However, the alcohol coursing through her system made her vision a little less than clear. It had to be, what was the alternative, tiny people? The thought made her crack a smile.
The bug flew backward, and a surprised Amy burst out laughing at the pathetic sight. She hadn’t meant to knock the poor guy on his ass. Hell, she didn’t even know a burp was coming.
“Oops, sorry, dude. Guess I drank too fast.” She shot Peter a wink, who was shaking his head from across the room.
“You’re sick Amy, just smash the poor little thing.”
“Fiiiiine~” Amy responded in a sing-song voice, lifting a finger. Its shadow is looming over the unidentified bug, shaky and unsteady. She never outright took joy in killing bugs, but it had to happen. Bugs didn’t belong inside, and she wasn’t about to spend the time and energy to take a worthless bug all the way upstairs and back outside.
“Sorry, but no bugs allowed in here. It isn’t anything personal. You’re all just kind of gross, you know?”
She casually brought her index finger down, unknowingly snuffing out Dylan's life with the tiniest of pops, and a quick twist of her finger, before sitting up with a yawn and a long well-needed stretch.
“Think we can cuddle for a while before we pass out?”
“Of course, babe.”