Samantha returned from the bar with two Manhattans, mine in a shot glass and another in a martini glass garnished with a black cherry, for her.

As I stood and tilted my drink to quaff it, Darcy talked about how she and Samantha met at a party and connected. My mind followed the upbeat sound of her voice even while my body stiffened at the familiar pressure of Samantha’s touch, which had subtly found its way over the table, back to me. As Darcy recounted funny anecdotes, two fingertips rested against the small of my back. Somewhat unnerving, not only because it reminded me of a gesture people did at parties with their partner – but at normal size, with their entire hand – but also because it was startlingly seductive. The whiskey was warming my insides while, at the same time, her insistent touch warmed my back. I pretended not to notice as the gentle pressure carried on with small rubbing motions.

Soon she was no longer rubbing my shoulders but actively probing around the musculature of my back and arms. Last time she’d seen me I’d been lean and somewhat wasted, and now I was even beefier than ever. Then the thumb tip was nudging around my ribcage with the insistence of a nuzzling animal.

With a straight face, Darcy insisted:

"NOW THAT SAM'S FOUND BUDDHISM IT'S CHANGED HER LIFE."

Samantha laughed, looking away as if embarrassed.

"IT WAS A SINGLE RETREAT, DARCY. ONE DOES NOT CONVERT SO EASILY."

“I TOLD HER TO QUIT MODELLING,” Darcy explained to me, “THAT WAS MY HUSTLE, TOO. YOU BECOME DISTANCED FROM YOUR BODY, OBSESSED WITH SIZE AND CONTROL, AND ALL THESE METRICS. IT SPIRALS INTO SOMETHING UNHEALTHY.”

Once the drinks were finished the women started talking of parting. Darcy called a cab for herself and then grinned down at me:

"IS IT WRONG TO SAY I WANT TO STUFF YOU IN MY POCKET AND SNEAK YOU HOME?” The volume of her tone now rose and fell exuberantly; unable to hide her tipsiness.

“You don’t have a pocket,” I pointed out.

“SHOOT! YOU’RE RIGHT!” she giggled, and began patting around the folds of her dress. “BUT I BET I COULD FIT YOU IN HERE SOMEWHERE…”

She shot Samantha an impish look.

“SORRY, SAM, BUT YOU KNOW I’M GOING TO KIDNAP HIM AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!”

For a moment, no one said anything. The vinyl banquette squeaked awkwardly and there was a rustling sound against the floor, like shoes grinding against the resin floor.

Darcy’s impish smile dropped.

“WHAT?”

Samantha’s fingers were tensing around my waist like a vice.

“I PROMISED,” she said gently. “THEREFORE HE IS WITH ME.”

Before I could react, I went shooting up into the air as she shifted out from the table. My waist was tightly kept between her middle finger and thumb, her forefinger pressed against my chest, incredibly assured that I was in place. However, I was not as assured, and wrapped my arms around her fingers in desperation.

She took my phone off the table, gave it the briefest amused glance, and without any fanfare, dropped it into her handbag. But I could only feel a stab of relief at not following it inside.

The giant hand adjusted its grip around my torso as it drew me up against her body, fanning the other hand around me protectively.

Outside the club, people were smoking and talking in the shady street,  orange in the street lights. The air was settled and cool. Down the street, people had spilled out of a lit bar and onto the sidewalk, drunken laughter echoing. It was very late now, and the streets were largely empty.

The cab pulled up, and Darcy gave her goodbyes, before the champagne-colored ruched wall covering her body closed in at me on its way to hug Samantha. As the two women embraced and kissed, I was on the verge of being sandwiched between the enclosing walls of their upper bodies this time, but at the last second found myself saved in the crevice of a few inches with an abdomen on either side, but so close the streetlight was filtered out and the combined radiation of warmth and perfume clouded my head for an instant.

Stepping back again, Darcy patted my head before jumping into her cab, and then it had pulled off the curb and insinuated itself into the intersecting car lights in the distance.

I was left bumping against Samantha’s torso again as her heels clapped over the pavement. I took sucking breaths of the mild night air, trying to think of something to say even though there was no urgency for conversation, my thoughts were racing and my brain needed focus. It was like I’d suddenly found myself in this position and had little memory of how I’d gotten into it, and even less plan of how to extricate myself from it.

On either side, the street inched by, paving lit by the cool streetlights as if washed by the moon, though the moon was invisible behind the cloudy dark sky. The smear of urban noise made the air buzz; car engines growled some blocks away, streetlamps hummed, a distant dog made an enquiring yap, which turned into a growl.

“HEY, GIRL,” a man’s voice rebounded across the empty street. There was no drop in the bumping pace, which continued with the steady clap of heels. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

The stride did not slow, but the arm holding me lowered all the way until I was parallel with her mound, while a big fold of the pleated skirt was bundled up with a discreet sweep of the other hand and dumped over my head like a curling wave, trapping me in its soft ruffled layers.

I spluttered, waved my arms, trying to free myself and clear my view, but to no avail. I was held tight in the pocket of fabric in her hand, bumping against her mound with her rolling saunter, like I was balled up underwear rocking around in the washing machine.

From behind, shoes scuffing rapidly over the road, and heavy, male breathing.

"TOO GOOD FOR ME, HUH? LISTEN WHEN I TALK TO YOU, MAMI."

Many things then happened all at once.

The world came to a jarring halt and whirled around. The man must have grabbed her and yanked her. The break of momentum caused me to briefly get crushed against her crotch as her hand tightened over me.

“GET OFF OF ME,” came Samantha’s voice, “DON’T YOU DAR—” a halting grunt that told me she was being restrained.

Her hand squeezed around me erratically, painfully, the dress folds rubbing all over my body. It felt like being trapped inside a sleeping bag that people were crawling over, and their arms and knees were digging into my body – except the arms and knees were her shifting fingers, struggling to keep me wrapped up.

Samantha screamed and there was a jolting shockwave sensation, though I was insulated by her palm and the pouch of dress fabric. The air thickened with the sound of grunts and heavy breathing. Her hand slackened for an instant, a gap of dim light appeared through the folds. I squirmed madly out between the vice of her fingers, moving like I’d been electrocuted.

Without warning I was falling free; my hands clawed and snatched up silky fabric and I was dangling from her skirt, clinging like a little monkey.

“JERRY—!” Samantha’s voice came for an instant before she was forcibly muffled.

“SHUT UP,” said the male voice. “NO ONE IS COMING.”

Adrenaline seemed to make time slow down and my brain put the scene together with lightning speed. He had corralled her into an alley and had her thrust up against the wall, his body pressed against hers, and hand covering her mouth. I leapt from the silky dress folds onto a sweatpant covered tree trunk and scrabbled up to the baggy juncture.

“Hey!” I yelled out. “Back off!”

“THE FUCK IS—?” the man’s voice thundered from above. The sweatpants rattled me as he jumped back and the shadow of a huge hand came swatting down while I leapt around the thigh to the outer hip—

A start ran through the man’s body as something, far above me, collided with a smack with his head. The swatting hand jerked away, lifting to shield the face. I looked up to see a leathery wrecking ball – a handbag – swinging away and then come flying back into man’s head, and connect with a crack. A million and one cosmetics rattled inside the floppy leather, as efficient as a sock filled with ball bearings. The thigh unbalanced and shook me as it stomped around to get out of the way.

“Get your hands off her!” I sought to get his attention back to me. “Hey, down here!”

For an instant his eyes burned into me with rage, and his hand was shooting down again, reaching around towards his outer hip where I clung, every intention of snuffing my life out—

There was a thump and his whole body tensed up while a whoosh of air rushed out of his lungs, followed by a groan. Samantha had expediently kneed him in the groin. He wheeled back and staggered, as the thigh I was clinging to started to collapse, the concrete was rising up to meet me, but before I could leap off, a hand wrapped around me and yanked me free.

Then I was flying through the air, the streets whipping past. The rapid steps didn’t clap sharply, the high heels now gripped from the other hand.

A block down, the building silhouettes cleared and expanded out onto the charcoal field of the outdoor carpark next to a glowing gas station, a couple of SUVs lined up, and people working the pumps, filling up. The pace slowed, I was smushed up securely against the soft wall just beneath her bust as the bumping motion steadied.

There was pressure around my temples as my head was given a quick rub.

“GRAZIE,” she intoned softly.

“I didn’t do anything,” I muttered, feeling like a liability, while fear and anger burned through my bloodstream.

“YOU GAVE ME A FRIGHT,” she countered, as if that was enough.

I went silent, thinking about the desperate way she’d called my name earlier. I had only heard that startling, jagged emotion in her usually composed tone once before.

It had been back when the investigators had stormed her house to take her into custody and bust me out of her lingerie drawer. It had sounded like she’d gotten enraged at them for finding her out and detaining her. But maybe that hadn’t been the true source of her anger. Maybe it hadn’t been outrage at getting caught.

Maybe it had been outrage at being separated from me.

Motion ceased in front of a black Lexus coupé with tinted black windows. She swung the car door open and slid into the driver seat, shutting the door and engaging the lock. Only now my racing heartbeat began to stabilize again.

She didn’t put me between her legs, as Jen would have done, but kept me in her hand, held up just under her face, which searched the black interior before glancing down at me, nonplussed. Her respiration was still elevated, breath hitting me with a repeated warm push.

“WHERE IS IT YOU WOULD NORMALLY PERCH?”

The last time she had driven me anywhere had been from the inside of her handbag.

I explained:

“A special seat in my driver’s car.”

Of course, her car did not have the booster seat. She inquired:

“AND WHEN YOU’RE NOT COMMUTING…?”

I looked down, beginning to blush.

“Between my fiancée’s legs.”

She hesitated, her eye contact held on me, dark and intensely scrutinizing. I struggled to return it. It made my stomach flutter helplessly.

“THAT DOESN’T SIT WITH ME,” she murmured, “AND I MUST THINK YOU ARE FED UP WITH MY LOWER PELVIS.”

Then she was silent for a moment, thinking.

“I HAVE AN IDEA, IF YOU WOULDN’T MIND…”

“Yes…?” I said, thinking she was going to suggest the handbag express. But instead she answered:

“INSIDE MY BRA CUP. IT WOULD KEEP YOU RESTRAINED AGAINST MY CHEST. I UNDERSTAND IF IT WOULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT WE’RE NOT FLUSH WITH OPTIONS.”

“I’ll take it,” I shrugged, too tired to argue.

She paused to glance around the windows to make sure that no one was passing. Satisfied, she pulled the top of the dress bodice away from her bust and pulled out a silicone cup, one half of a stick-on bra, or basically a pair of inserts.

Holding the cup concave up in her palm, her other hand began to slide me into the cup, arranged so my back was against the concave insert. The bust was opened again, the cup carefully slid back in, with my feet first. As she eased the cup down into position, the soft curve of her breast slid up my front, and as it rolled up towards my head, seeming weightier and weightier.

Just before the warm weight of her breast covered my face, she stopped to grasp my head between her thumb and fingers, and gently tug me upwards, and holding me like that as she shifted the dress back into position.

With the fabric released, the top of the dress drew in tight against the back of my neck, keeping me pinned in position on the protruding gentle slope of her chest wall, with my body hugging the smooth, creamy flesh of her right breast.

The dress bust was designed to be incredibly close fitting, and each time she took in a breath, the mammary expanded against me, squashing me against the silicone cup. At the very height of inhalation, the pressure was near intolerable, but this was only for a fraction of a second, before the mammary shrunk down again with every exhalation, giving me a burst of relief before the next hit of building pressure.

Her heartbeat pattered against my ribs, which became calming, while her perfume clouded my brain and started to make my thinking sluggish.

“IS YOUR SEATBELT ON?” she said wryly.

Assured with my positioning, my apartment address was input into the GPS and then the car was rolling down the streets. With the engine running and the car wheels spinning over the road, minute vibrations ran up through the seat, and through her bust as a medium, sending vibrations through my body like my flesh was shivering. Without thinking, I squirmed against her breast, trying to stretch my arms and legs, and release a little of the pressure digging into the back of my neck. As soon as I moved, there was an interruption in the rhythm of her breathing as her chest wall seemed to stiffen.

I froze.

A hand drifted away from the steering wheel to give my head a forgiving squeeze. I turned my head to the side, resting it on the plush surface of her chest, feeling her heart beating into my ear. To the side, glowing car lights flashed past the window.

The outside lights started to burn against my eyes, and they began to close in protest. Her chest continued to expand into my diaphragm as she breathed, which became less uncomfortable as I learned to time my breathing so that we were not inhaling at the same time, otherwise her substantially larger chest would squeeze my lungs empty like tiny sponges.

“THANK YOU FOR NOT MAKING A FUSS TONIGHT,” she said in a quiet voice.

I blinked, managing to catch myself before I stretched or shifted around. Outside, long strips of lit apartment windows flashed past, punctuated by glowing traffic lights, and street signs too dark and blurred to read.

“I’m onto other things in my life now.”

“SÌ – I’M VERY AWARE OF THAT.”

“And I wasn’t in court, so…whatever the outcome was…I just—”

“IT’S COMPLICATED AND TEDIOUS,” she carried on smoothly, even with an air of disinterest, “BUT MY LAWYER EXPLAINED THERE WAS A LEGAL TECHNICALITY. YOUR SIZE CREATED SOME SUGGESTION THAT MY CONDUCT WAS INTENDED TO PROTECT YOU. SO THE SENTENCE WAS RELAXED.”

“I don’t understand…”

“IT WAS UNUSUAL,” she admitted. “MY ADVOCATE WAS GIVEN THE MOST PREPOSTEROUS REASON FOR YOUR ABSENCE.”

It struck me as unfair for her to decide to canvass this solemn subject when I was helplessly draped over her left breast, and with the skin-tight bustline biting into the back of my neck, unable to free myself.

“BUT MAYBE FOR THE BETTTER,” she mused. “COURT IS NOT THE MOST PLEASANT PASTIME…”

“It’s forgotten," I insisted, if only because the subject made me so uncomfortable. But she seemed keen to go on:

“OUR TIME TOGETHER WAS NOT WELL SPENT, AND I…I WAS…I NEVER…IT WASN’T APPROPRIATE.”

Her voice was cracking now. She took a deep breath – in doing so, her bust applied a sharp pinch of pressure to my body. Her rapid heartbeat throbbed into my spine.

Painfully embarrassed, I said:

“You were going through some stuff. I was too.”

There was a long moment of quiet. I assumed the conversation had ended. But then, in a calmer, more agreeable voice, she said:

"THE TRIAL GAVE ME A NEW PERSPECTIVE…I AM DESPERATELY EAGER NOT TO REPEAT IT.”

She went on meditatively, but at some point during the ride I entered the ‘Kolade crash’; the rapid downward rush of energy after the stimulant spike. My eyes drifted shut to the smell of car leather and her rolling accent, which seemed to carry on unconcerned that I was no longer replying.

“SHE IS QUITE TAKEN WITH YOU,” she was saying, referring to Darcy, “AND IN MY OPINION, YOU LOOK ENTIRELY AT HOME IN THE PALM OF HER HAND. IF WE HAD NOT LEFT WHEN WE DID, SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN KEEN TO MAKE THAT FUZZY LITTLE TUMMY OF YOURS THE BENEFICIARY OF A SOFT RUB.”

I got the sense she was teasing me, but as she said this in a straight tone, it was hard to tell. If she ever made a joke she made it in her regular speaking voice, and didn’t intend anyone to laugh.

When my eyes opened again, the engine was off and the car still, and her dark eyes were fixed on me.

“WHAT ARE YOU DREAMING ABOUT, LITTLE ONE?” she said, with a half-smile. “HOW VERY WARM AND SNUG THERE YOU LOOK. I’M SORRY TO HAVE TO BRING AN END TO YOUR NAP…”

Still cradled in her bra, she took me into the building, and to my door, where I gave her the door code and we went inside. The walls of my apartment passed by dimly and then I was placed on my bed.

She was silent for a moment as she watched over me, as if to satisfy herself that I was going to be alright on my own. I expected her to leave then, but instead, she slipped out of her shoes and then slid down gracefully until she was kneeling at the bedside, bringing her face down to my level.

Fixing me a tender look as a lover would, she brought her hand against my face and began brushing her thumb against my cheek, and then my lips and brow. Inwardly burning with discomfort, I wrapped my hand around her thumb and stroked it awkwardly, waiting for the moment to pass.

“I ACTUALLY DO CARE FOR YOU.”

When I didn’t reply she lowered her hand to the mattress, and began idly prodding at my feet with her ring finger, went on:

“BUT I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU’RE KEEN TO MOVE ON AFTER WHAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US. SO AM I.”

“I’m not going to go sell my story to the magazines, if that’s what you mean.”

As if for some distraction, she was now trying to scoop up my toes onto the white overhanging edge of her thumbnail, not playfully but absent-mindedly, as if my foot wasn’t attached me. 

“It’s over,” I said, trying to slide my foot away from her grasp. “If you say it’s over, it’s over.”

She paused and lifted her eyes back to my face.

“BUT IT’S NOT WHAT I SAY. IT’S WHAT YOU SAY.”

She pushed against my bicep with a finger, the white tip of her nail causing the muscle to dimple inward.

“IS THIS OBSESSION COME ABOUT BECAUSE OF ME?”

“It’s not an obsession!” I said, pulling my arm away. “It’s just a hobby.” Then I quickly corrected myself, “Actually, it’s not a hobby. It’s a side-effect of working out. That’s all.”

She was quiet for a long time, but her eyes didn’t leave me, like she was weighing the plausibility of my words.

“THAT IS ALL,” she repeated to herself. Then: “I HAVE YOUR TRUST AGAIN?”

It was unclear whether this was a question or not. I answered anyway.

“I…guess so.”

She responded forthrightly:

“THEN IT WOULD BE ALRIGHT WITH YOU IF WE WERE TO END THE NIGHT ON A KISS?”

I stared up at her, frowning, thinking I must have misunderstood, but her face was impassive.

“A GOODNIGHT KISS,” she clarified.

She hadn’t said it with any inkling of flirtation, so I shrugged and mumbled:

“I guess it is.”

Deep down, I was grateful for her looking out for me and driving me home, and not sure how to say ‘no’ without ruining the nice vibes.

Before I could muse on this, she pinched my chin delicately between fore finger and thumb to keep my head still as she considered my face for a moment. Then, her thick black lashes lowered demurely over her dark brown eyes, while the shiny Alizarin reddened lips pouted with anticipation.

My stomach flipped around as the bright red puckered lips expanded rapidly before my eyes, coming straight for my defenceless face. There was no feasible way the sheer mass of her enormous lips could aim anywhere on my face with precision, without capturing a whole lot else besides.

At the last moment the fingertips steered my head to the side before a puff of breath warmed my cheek, an instant before the thick plush lips made contact, painting the side of my face in liquid velvet lipstick.

My cheek seemed to be stuck in place against her mouth for a moment longer, suctioned gently as she puckered, while her breath beating into the top of my head from her nostrils, before she drew back again.

Her thumb slid under my chin, lifting my head and keeping it balanced on her nail as she appraised me.

“MMM, WHAT A DIVINELY SOFT, KISSABLE FACE.”

“I use moisturizers,” I said, blushing. And then added, “Well, my fiancée springs them on me.”

“SHE MUST LOVE YOU DEEPLY. I KNOW YOU’LL MAKE A GALLANT LITTLE GROOM. HAVE YOU CONTEMPLATED A WEDDING DATE?”

“No. it’s probably premature, but…” I had to pause, trying to get my throat to work against the subtle pressure of her thumbnail, pushing against it, as she still hadn’t let go of my head, “…I’d be okay with you coming. And Darcy, if you want to bring her as a guest.”

Her thumbnail began to rub back and forth against my neck with gentle affection.

“I WOULD BE HONORED IF YOU WERE TO INVITE US TO ATTEND YOUR WEDDING, JERRY.”

“Well...okay. No date yet, but I’ll keep you both in mind.”

Her thumbnail finally slid away. But now she had noticed by the way the crotch of my pants was beginning to point up, which in turn, made me intensely aware of it, and my blush deepened.

“THIS IS ABOUT THE TIME I MUST BE LEAVING YOU,” she said, adding with a coy smile, “AND LET YOU ACHIEVE SOME QUALITY OF SLEEP.”

She paused, looking away for a moment, becoming distracted by her white-tipped nails. She might have been smirking but it was hard to tell.

“BUT…I WONDER IF YOU’D BE GENEROUS ENOUGH TO LET ME GET AWAY WITH ONE LAST KISS.”

I shifted in place as I contemplated this. My balls were starting to really ache.

But she didn’t wait for an answer. She bent low over me, and bracing the back of my head with two fingertips, this time not bothering to aim for my cheek, just going straight in for my lips. My face was entirely engulfed in the soft, waxy masses of her lips, my eyes squashed shut by the powerful flexion of her puckering kiss, my nose flattened, my lips crushed, while her breath beat against the top of my head from out of her nostrils, blowing my hair around hotly.

The soft flesh of my face was gripped slightly by the suction of her lips, and gently pulled at my cheeks and mouth. A couple of fingertips came up from behind and supported the back of my head, but also working to push my head deeper against her.

Her lips parted briefly as the tip of her tongue probed my face, sponging it over in warm film of saliva. With her lips parted the suction became so great that for one terrifying second I was convinced my whole head was about to be slurped up.

But then the giant lips sprung free with a small wet smack, gratefully relinquishing their domination over my head, leaving me shaky and panting, and my face painted bright red and lined with lip crease marks.

Without saying anything, she withdrew a make-up wet wipe from her handbag and used it to gently dab at my face to clear away the lipstick. I closed my eyes. The soft massaging pressure of her thumb against the wipe, running around my face startled me and started making the fork of my pants even tighter.

Examining my arousal coolly, she gave my bulge a gentle nudge with the tip of a finger. Then shifted, preparing to stand.

“FAR TOO LATE FOR ME,” she muttered.

I cleared my throat.

“You don’t have to drive tonight,” I offered. “I don’t use this bed. It’s practically yours…” I wrung my hands as she surveyed me, pondering my suggestion impassively. “…if you want.”

“YOU TEMPT ME AND I SHOULDN’T,” she murmured, turning away. Then, regaining her full height, she left the bedside and went as if to leave the room, switching of the light.

Returning to sit on the bedside, she removed her heels, peeled the sheets back and slid her long smooth legs in. As she rested her head on the pillow, her hand swept around me, gently lifting me from the mattress and sliding me up onto the pillow towards her face, allowing dusky eyes to effortlessly drink in my miniature features.

“THE FLOOR IS COLD…IF WE HAD THE TIME, I WOULD SOAK YOU IN HOT WATER AND SCULPT YOU INTO MY TOES,” she said softly but without a trace of self-consciousness, while her thumb traced its way around the perimeter of my head.

I was then flipped over and her thumbpad came to a rest pressed between my shoulder blades, and other finger pads are secured against my front, including my groin, ignoring the fact my semi-hard member is buried beneath one of them.

“SLEEP NOW, LITTLE ONE,” her throaty intonation throbbed in my ears. Warm air ruffled through my hair as she kissed the back of my head, and then kept me held there against her lips, with her breath buffeting down from her nostrils onto the top of my head and over my face. Warmed by the palm of her hand curled around my body, I went to sleep.

When I woke up, it was daytime and she was gone and the sheets were pulled up like she’d never been there.