As the music wore on, giant legs started to hem me in from all sides. Oscillating body parts twisted and turned around past me, knocking into me, sending me spinning away again. Half the time the body parts didn’t belong to my fiancée. I bounced off foreign shoulders, breasts, stomachs and thighs.

Airborne fingers extended to poke me, sending me swinging around in mid-air. Jennifer’s irritation at the unwelcome attention peaked, and then we broke away from the ocean of bodies and were weaving through the crowd as she moved off the mosh to the seats at the side, and reclining in one, not resting but watchful.

My body came to rest on the brawny floor of her pressed-together thighs, but only for an instant as I was progressively winched up into the air as she wound the dangling strings tighter around her palm, until her palm hovered low overhead like a huge sunshade, leaving me very little dangle room.

She leaned forward in her seat. Suddenly I was diving through the air like a dying insect as she reached with both hands for her bag. My body careened into the side of the soft leather, lifted again for the bag to plop onto her lap.

I kicked and groaned as my tiny body dragged against the leather, feeling like an incidental accessory that happened to be attached to her hand, like some keys.

“PATIENCE, LITTLE LOVER,” she assured me.

Then I was thrust down into a dark cauldron suffused with creamy lotion smells. Plastic containers and tubes and packets slapped me in the face and jabbed into my torso as her hand searched around. With my arms stretched up over my head, my soft belly and sides were cruelly vulnerable to pounding by hard lid edges and pole-like depilatory wands and cosmetic instruments. Air leaked out of my lungs.

Suddenly I was soaring again, and stabilized in front of her face, and the dancing lime lasers lit up the whites of her eyes, which were widened in earnest surprise.

“SLIP OF THE HAND,” she said in an alcohol-smoothed tone. She hadn’t meant to thrust me into the bag, it had happened by instinct.

Then she noticed my hand at my side, rubbing gingerly. Her pinky finger raised and tenderly waved my hand away, giving my insulted stomach muscles a soft poke.

“LET ME TAKE A LITTLE LOOK, TOUGH GUY.”

“I’m okay.”

“WHAT IF I TAKE THE STRING OFF?” she offered.

She reached into her bag again (with her other hand) and held a shining steel pair of tiny scissors. My muscles stiffened in alarm, but presented my wrists to her to delicately snip the binds off.

Then her nails swept around to my back and began to scratch and pinch gently – the sharp edges prickling my shoulders – until the Velcro seam tore apart. Hooking a nail into the back to stretch it up, she lifted and pulled at the stretchy fabric to help me de-clothe. To stabilize me, two fingers and a thumb automatically tightened around my midsection, placing strain on my tender stomach. I winced and she loosened her grip.

Even with my chest exposed, she continued to tug, until the costume legs slipped free and I was left quivering and naked against her hand.

She directed a flick at the tip of my member.

“I WAS RIGHT – COMMANDO,” she said, and, not entirely seriously: “YOU’RE BRAVER THAN I AM.”

Then her soft fingertips were sweeping around my front, pushing in soft circular motions, testing for sensitivity. Wherever there was a sensitive spot, the muscles twitched and trembled, and it caused my back to arch in discomfort.

Keeping me still on her lap, her hand disappeared into her bag again. I wondered if she was retrieving me a painkiller, but instead she pulled out a tube of pink guava lip balm and, twisting the top off, ran it swiftly over her lips. I should have taken this as an ominous sign but I was too distracted figuring out how to get my costume back; it was balled up in the fist that poised the balm in front of her pursed lips.

Without warning, her ring hand lifted, yanking me up into the air, and with precision, directing my face to land on the tight moist bud of her puckered lips with a wet squish. At contact, her lips pulsed and contracted like flexing muscles, latching onto my face, pinching and smacking to test the balm, and probably also attempt to distract me from my stomach pain. I had only just enough time to shut my eyes before the monstrous sucking masses applied itself to my forehead and began sucking with enough force to scrunch my brow. It felt like some alien orifice had attached around my head and was trying to suck my brain out through my mouth.

Meanwhile, her head was tilting back, and back, jaw angling upwards, and I had no idea…

Suddenly the moist supple bulwarks weren’t there anymore. They parted like an air vent flipping open. I was poised over her face with my ankles clasped, hanging in mid-air. For an instant I was tipped down like this, my chin balanced delicately on the tip of her tongue, which flicked rapidly like a snake’s tongue against my throat, tickling mischievously. The balm oiled opening stretched wider. Then I was bob sledding down the chute of her curled tongue, pulled inexorably into the darkness. I let out a surprised squeak before her tongue pushed up into my stomach, clamping me against the soft, wet ridged palate, snuffing out my cry.

With her lips shut, it was pitch black inside her mouth, yet there was a paradoxical feeling of constant surveillance, a sense of all-seeing gaze that lay me out, totally exposed. Everything I came into contact with – from my palms, the soles of my feet, my butt – was sending her immediate signals of where I was, what I was doing, how my body was positioned inside her. There was nowhere I could go to escape her, and she enjoyed an omniscient awareness of every move I made. I was like a stone in her shoe; impossible for her to forget I'm there. Everything felt magnified, scandalous by the fact no one could see me. I was a plaything for her tongue, flipped over at whim, idly explored and enjoyed without apology.

The weight of the beefy wet muscle on me was sensual and hot as it traced all over my body. When it wanted access to anatomy out of reach, I was bucked and flipped over without warning, or scooped out of her cheek and swished about, head over feet, gargling a wave of thick saliva before hitting the opposite side of her mouth, and sticking in place behind the wall of molars.

For fun, she tried tucking me underneath her tongue, and then delicately holding me sideways in place between the row of her incisors, running the tip of her tongue from my temple, down my body to my foot.

She made great sucking motions as if to click her tongue, and the oral walls squeezed me in and out like a squishy toy, putting my muscular tension to the test, working my flexibility to the limit until joints creaked and my vertebrae strained. Then a wall of shadow fell over me as the oral entrance closed again, shutting me away in a dark, humid prison with no easy means of escape.

The internal heating system roared to life with her exhalations, warm air stirred up from her lungs and rushed at me, condensing over my flesh with clammy mist. Every time she exhaled it puffed my lungs up with her warm, second-hand air, and every time she inhaled, it felt like my airways were being pinched shut as the air was suctioned out again. It was as if she had taken control of my breathing, carrying the air in and out of my lungs.

The air in this hot confine became weighted with moisture as it collected saliva, and this airborne moisture was also packed inside my lungs, which I had to cough and spit up.

Then the enormous grainy mound of her tongue unexpectedly tensed, reaching up and easily batting me to one side of the mouth. My back hit the inside of a cheek, skin sticking with a small wet squelch. For a moment my soft bare body moulded to the inside of her cheek like a wet tissue, before sliding down. I curled into a ball as drops of saliva rained down the moist walls of her mouth, rolling over me in waves, conspiring to glue me in place.

She must have re-joined the dancing, I was stuck in place for some time, and it didn’t necessarily get any easier or more comfortable. She liked me to be packed in her cheek like a tight wad so her mouth was free for other things – drinking and making out with guys.

Her loud heavy breathing gusted around the inside of her mouth like a great wind preceding a storm. I soon grew very warm and wet, as my skin softened and wrinkled, which seemed to only mould me even more against the inside of her cheek. Unfortunately, this correspondingly made me even more comfortable for her to carry inside her mouth, slightly squishy and flexible. The tip of her tongue entertained itself by pushing against different parts of my body, satisfying itself with the give of my puny body to the strength of the oral muscle.

My brain tuned out while an unknown period of time passed. The monotony of my predicament was muted with some light sleep, distracted by a dream I was back in my bedroom, normal size. My carefree slumber was ripped apart by a groaning sound that tumbled out of the unseen throat somewhere behind me. I awoke with a snap, remembering where I was, and some dread washed over me again.

The groan was not her voice, but something else, not so friendly…

It came again: a rumbling, bestial growl and the air at my back seemed to flare and sizzle as if a furnace door had opened up. In a span of nanoseconds a burst of gaseous pressure pumped into my sinuses and the airspaces in my head, like my head was swelling and going to explode, leaving my temples throbbing.

“Whoa,” I gasped, holding my head between my hands, giving myself my crushing massage. “Don’t do that again.”

The rows of teeth divided as she spoke, letting in flashes of laser beamed dancing body parts.

“AW, DID I MAKE YOU JUMP?” she said, treating me to disappointingly brief views of the outside world from between her two rows of teeth as she uttered words. “JUST THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING A LITTLE COLD IN THERE.”

 “Well, that was a whole blowtorch of heat.”

Refreshingly cool air rushed in as the lips parted to speak again. The movement of her jaws as she spoke was unnerving, as it simulated a munching motion. I pulled my body tighter to ensure I was all clear of her snapping molars.

“ACTUALLY, I WAS TRYING TO PUFF YOU UP AND POP YOU; BECAUSE, SEE, FOR A SECOND I CONFUSED YOU FOR A TINY HUNK OF BUBBLEGUM. YOU’RE SO TIGHT JAMMED IN THERE.”

“Yeah, tight,” I scoffed. “I’m clapped up in a brazen bull. And you’re cooking me alive even before I hit your stomach juices.”

Her tongue swung at me, accidentally battering my head into her rubbery cheek pouch and causing it to rebound, as the wet muscular mass tried to drape itself across my shoulders in a consoling way.

“OH, LIGHTEN UP. IT WAS JUST A LITTLE HICCUP. SIT BACK AND LET ME STROKE ALL YOUR PROBLEMS AWAY...”

I grimaced. That was bullshit. It was a burp.

“If that was a hiccup, then I—mmf.”

The tip of her tongue flattened itself over my face and pressed hard, squashing my head against her inside cheek, extinguishing my voice. Once satisfied I’d abandoned my argument, the tongue retracted again, settling back in the center of the cavernous mouth.

But the sudden aromatic airbursts happened several other times, particularly as she continued to ingest the alcohol and spill back more fuel onto the metaphorical fire. And every time caused a small gaseous explosion of rapid air compression behind my eyeballs, causing them to water. The hot fizzling air didn’t just light up the sensitive nerve pathways in my nasal cavities, but rapidly expanded my windpipe and lungs to painful capacity, until my whole body seemed to be stinging. It was the sharp pain of carbonated bubbles shooting up the nostrils, but across my entire body. If she’d just opened her mouth, it would have prevented the explosive, rapid-fire compression that tore through my body tissues. But every time, she held her closed mouth against her hand. Her desire for discretion trumped my comfort and caused me major, literal headaches.

“Open your mouth!” I screamed in pain, after the fourth time in fifteen minutes.

“WHO DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?” she shot back, oblivious to my suffering. “SOME KIND OF BOORISH INBRED?”

I groaned in defeat, just as another burst rattled through my head, making my ears pop

“Why is this happening?”

She mistook it for a non-rhetorical question.

“IT’S A THING THAT HAPPENS IF I DRINK AFTER EATING LACTOSE,” she answered in a low, somewhat bothered voice, as if self-conscious. “NOW GET OVER IT.”

“Well, make it stop, I—ulfff!” my voice squeaked and died beneath the stampeding grumble of another wave of hot air, drowned out by the sharp wet popping sound in my ears as my head fought to equalize the intolerable pressure. My eyeballs itched painfully, feeling like they had been on the verge of exploding.

Now so much air had built up inside the airspaces of my thoracic cavity that my torso felt stiff and wooden. I thumped my fist into my stomach, trying to deflate myself, until I made myself burp.

The oral cavern thrummed with her laughter.

“You’re doing this!” I said, trying to burp again to relax the strain in my abdomen.

“ANY MORE TALK AND YOU’RE A HYPOCRITE,” she said smugly, before giving my face a flick with the tip of her tongue. Then stopped, thinking, and the tongue dropped into my lap and began massaging my belly as she did so, unconsciously or not. I secretly wished it would press harder to help deflate me, but then it slipped away again so she could conclude:

“WHERE’S THE WATER…?”

Sizzling gas or frigid liquid? I couldn’t decide which was worse. But with all my facial features ringing in pain, I doubted anything could be worse than another infernal alcoholic belch. And I thought the water would extinguish what felt like bubbles crackling inside my brain.

“Please, yes. Anything.”

Her voice rang through the dark chamber of her mouth as she conveyed her order over the bar, and giving me a surreal view of the bartender’s face appearing and disappearing repeatedly between the frame of her top and bottom teeth as she spoke, awash in the vivid lights and flickering shadows.

Everything went black.

Again, her upper and lower incisors, like silhouettes of castle battlements, parted, not to speak, but to admit the glassy edge of a tumbler to protrude in. As it tilted, its clear contents curled over the edge like an ocean wave breaking into her mouth. With a good mouthful sucked in, the glass edge tilted away as the upper and lower teeth drew together, blinding me again.

There was an ominous hissing sound as a river surged in over the tongue, and as the ocean tide of water rolled over my body, I sucked in my breath a fraction too late and got a nose full of freezing liquid down my throat. There was only an instant to register I’d made a horrible mistake before my head exploded in agony.

It was carbonated water – explaining the hissing – and the hateful cold did not merely pierce but snapped and bit like teeth as the bubbles burst inside my body. The shock of the sudden temperature shift shook up my delicate epithelial tissue into inflamed overdrive.

“Aaaargh!”

It felt like I was being immersed in liquid nitrogen. My stomach began to convulse in a mime of regurgitation. The icy wave lapped down my face, swishing sideways, the immense pull of the wave threatening to wrench me sideways with it, but instead I was hugged against the slick rock of molar wall, keeping me in place. I spluttered underwater, then, as soon as my head was exposed again, I let out a scream:

“Stop—!” then the wave of bubbling frosty drink reversed direction, slapped down over my head, dumping me under another dizzying world of mind-numbing ache. Then flipped away, before crashing in over my head, smacking the inside cheek wall, the flipping to the other side with a wet slapping sound, before careening back into my face. Again, and again.

She must have been swishing the water around, I thought dismally. Maybe she thought it was helping me, but it was making things worse. Each cold wet slap to the face thrust my head under a wall of frigid bubbles that sluiced up my raw, sensitively enervated nasal passages, tearing them open with pain.

Finally the torrent drained back towards the void at the back of the cavern, and the throat muscles squeezed to pull the water down. The rapid compression caused by her vacuuming swallow delivered me a walloping climax of facial nerve pain.

The tongue searched for me in the dark, probing tip slipping under my jaw and affectionately stroking my neck, or checking my pulse, or both.

As stars seemed to fly around my eyes in the dark, her lips parted again, exposing a panoramic disco lit view of the outside world, framed above and below by the dark, crenulated ridges of teeth. At the same time, the neck of an open bottle was pointing in at me and—

“No, no, no!” I yelled.

--the cavern tilted back, the bottle neck tilted down, and a pressure hose of cooled fizzling water came spilling in at me again, dunking my head under a . It felt like I was made of ice and someone was trying to carve me up; my head was clanging like the worst dental surgery in the world.

I must have passed out for an instant. When I awoke my cheek was sliding and squeaking down the inside wall of her cheek, while something like a huge fish was flicking in my face. It was no fish, but the tip of her tongue, probing around my neck for my pulse again. The tongue disappeared and then there was a bass rumbling in my bones; her voice, and as commanding as if it was booming out of the nightclub’s sound system.

“—TO PLAY THAT GAME?” her voice segued back mid-speech, “WELL, I CAN PLAY, TOO.”

She thought I’d gone silent on her.

As soon as she finished speaking, the mass of her tongue curled around and the wet tip mashed into my face, poking me in the eye.

I wrenched my head away, and the tip ran down my chest, brushing my groin briefly as it identified my waist. Each stretch of my anatomy was pinpointed and palpated by the dribbling bulk of spongy muscle. I imagined her visualizing my anatomy as she probed me, using her ultra-sensitive tongue as the interfacing medium to maintain a 3D map of my body in her head, a tiny model of male anatomy, helpless but to lend itself uncomplainingly to her infelicitous exploration and manipulation, and delight in its automatic biological responses; a quickening heartbeat, softening, stretching muscles, and stiffening organ.

The massive tongue touched to my hipbone and stopped. It began trying to rock my hips, sliding beneath my butt and cantilevering my body side to side, half smushing me into her cheek. As her tongue ran loosely around my pelvis, thrusting me, using force to buck and bounce me, it accidentally slipped down my lower belly and squashed my penis, sending barbs of twinging sensitivity up the shaft. I yelped.

Suddenly the tongue was battering all around me as if in a panic, practically smothering me. It seemed to be trying to vigorously dislodge me from her cheek, hooking under my arms to lift me, poking my hips back and forth, but also in effect, ramming me further into the cheek. It's was like her tongue was trying to poke me to death. It made scooping motions up under my butt, causing me to bounce wildly and painfully, head whipping and teeth and eyeballs rattling inside my skull.

I felt like a little kid being bounced on his parent’s knee, but this wasn’t fun; it was out of control and humiliating. My joints ached as they were jolted and jarred together with the stress of vigorous bumping.

A pathetic wail issued from my throat:

“S-s-s-stop-p-p i-t-t-t J-J-J-en-n-i-if-f-fer-r-r-r-r-r!” But my voice clacked into incoherence. A strange rumbling squeak trickled out from the invisible gullet. She was trying not to laugh at the silly sounds I’d made. I must have sounded like I was yelling into fan blades.

Disoriented, I fought against the tongue, until it occurred to me my bobbing motions were timed to the loud music throbbing outside her mouth. She was trying to bounce me with her tongue to make me 'dance' in time to the music.

The paddling of her tongue caught my erection numerous times, flicking and bouncing it with solid strikes. It was caught and stretched by the gluey, saliva-soaked tongue muscle, and battered to and fro like a tennis ball. Every stroke sent an aggressive, striking pounding sensation from the tip of my penis into my balls. My body was filling up with hot blood.

One of these strokes sent my dick beyond the limit, and my balls screwed up so tight I thought they’d explode. My load burst forth, splashing indivisibly into great bubbling globs of saliva, and I fell into a relieved slump. The tongue continued to bump and grind against me, trying to make me buck to the music, but eventually she seemed to get the idea I’d become an exhausted, leaden wad, and her tongue departed again.

I scooted my butt into the cheek wall, hugging my knees up to my chest as my stomach somersaulted giddily.

Outside, the song was winding down to a crossfade into a new piece of music.

To get my attention, the tip of the tongue clambered over and performed a manic drumroll against the tiny drum of my ribcage. I groaned in utter dismay at this new, painful subjugation. My torso was so sensitive and raw from the slightly acidic saliva, my flesh and muscle quivering from all the exertion, that my body felt paper fragile against the energetic spearing of her tongue tip, like it could have popped my abdomen like a balloon.

The new song was starting to climb to the first chorus and the ravers were ready to erupt at the beat drop. The tongue swept away for an instant so she could breathlessly exclaim:

“I LOVE THIS SONG – READY…?!”

My eyes shut and I let out a small sigh, muscles quivering in anticipation for the next round of tongue hammering invisible nails into my body.