The pressure stopped.

When I opened my eyes again, her vast face loomed at me, her gaze trained on me with anticipation. I couldn’t turn my head; my temples began to ache in the clamp of her fingertips, which were still tight around my ears.

A long nail slid around my lips, trying to pry them apart.

“OPEN UP WIDE.”

I stared at her questioningly. Her bright green eyes ran over me with arrested longing.

“YOU WERE ADORABLE TONIGHT, JERRY, SO MUCH FUN. YOU CAN’T BLAME ME IF I WANT TO HAVE MY FUN WITH YOU IN PRIVATE AS WELL.”

“But we’re serious now,” I countered, “I mean, in addition to this.”

“MMM. I KNOW YOU ARE, SWEETIE. WE HAVE A NICE BALANCE GOING ON. YOU’RE A SOFTIE, AND I’M MORE…NOT.” She seemed about to say something more, but then tapped my lips with her nail and concluded: “NOW, OPEN. GIVE ME ROOM. A LITTLE TEETH IS OKAY, TOO – YOU’RE TOO TINY TO HURT ME.”

I obeyed and she steered my head onto her nipple. The tight red bunch passed my teeth, scraping the roof of my mouth, and finally lodging between my tonsils, sealing off my throat. I couldn’t bite her even if I wanted; the hinge of my jaw was stretched around her areola. Her scent filled up my head, pulling a chemical trigger inside my brain .

As she leaned back, I was left clinging to the underside of her breast like a baby, my legs stretched down, and the balls of my feet pushing against the ridge of her upper rib.

She drew my head back, the nipple escaped my throat. Her fingertips nudged in tighter as they framed my face, sharp nail tips digging into my brow and jaw. One nail slipped deep inside my mouth to keep it prised open. The underside was alkaline and slimy with soap. My throat quivered in disgust. I must have grimaced suddenly because she chuckled. My reactions of surprise or shock to her body always made her laugh, where it would have made other women self-conscious.

Her other hand cupped her breast, keeping the point of its swollen tip locked onto my mouth. She drove the hardened nipple back in, manipulating my head around the mass, encouraging me to suck deeply and stretch the nipple as she drew my head back, until she made a noise of frustrated arousal. When this wasn’t enough, she began to flick my head around with rough swipes of her thumb, grazing my face into her nipple over and over.

The nub slapped and poked at my face for a long while, growing faster and more insistent. Giving my head a rest, she adjusted her grip of me to sit upright against her fingers while making my stiffened dick do slow, circling laps around her areola, and playful flicks against the nipple until my butt was unconsciously bucking into her hand, straining to release the pressure in my balls. Her nipple probed and traced my shaft delicately with the firmness of a finger. It felt just as good for her, too; her head drove back into the pillow and her breath came out in trembling gushes as she directed my dick to flick at her boob, faster and faster. As the feeling built up to a dizzying height, I was switched to the other nipple, which paddled rapidly against and around my shaft. Then switched back.

As the point of the nipple teasingly ran up and down my shaft and stroked my glans, I gave a shiver and came in multiple rounds, and then, feeling totally drained, slackened in her grip. She let out a long sigh – not satisfied, but frustrated I was over before she was happy. The hot air of her fierce breath combed through my hair, as she stubbornly carried on drawing my penis back and forth over and around her breast, drawing rapid circles around the areola, which tightened before hitting the bullseye of the nipple. Then, cupping her free hand up under her breast and tensing the nipple between her forefinger and thumb like a pencil tip, she perched my groin on her nipple and began trying to work the hard nub up behind my balls, towards my butt. This was weird and nauseatingly erotic to me. Confusing even, as the nipple was so hard and thick compared to me, it felt like a phallus trying to batter into my ass from behind. I struggled and groaned, and she just giggled, loving my powerlessness, absolutely aware of the homoerotic suggestion of what she was doing.

Finally she let up, accepting that I was spent. My balls felt utterly wrung out, entire genitalia aching like an overworked muscle.

“What are you thinking about?” I said, more eager to sustain the break than anything.

“WEIRD QUESTION…” she said under her breath. “DO I HAVE TO BE THINKING OF ANYTHING?”

“I mean…you’re not fantasizing?”

“YEAH…” she answered, “I DON’T DO THAT. WHEN WE PLAY AROUND, MY BRAIN DOES THE OPPOSITE OF THINKING.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, TEENSY ONE. YES, MY BRAIN USED TO BE KIND OF A JUNGLE,” she admitted. “BUT I DON’T NEED CRAZY THOUGHTS TO GIVE ME A LADY BONER ANYMORE.”

She peered down at me for a second and then brushed my lips with a finger.

“ALL DRY?”

Next thing I knew my head was racing up through space before getting snagged into place between her parted lips like my head was the neck of a bottle she wanted to drink from.

Her tongue darted out and muscled around against my face, filming it over with a generous lather of her own brand of natural, orally-derived lubricant. The tongue summoned a seemingly endless supply of it from the depths of her oral cavern, and sending buckets of it bursting over my face, dumping me in warm slime, before the tongue brushed back and forth over my features with vigor, while scooping up more and more newly produced saliva to dump over my ensnared face, even as I tried to thrash my head away, but only getting an accidental mouthful of it for my effort.

Then my head was free again, cooling in the air, before being swirled around and around the aroused red bulb of her nipple, battering the nipple with a gentle swatting motion of my head, as I struggled to gargle on the saliva I’d accidentally swallowed.

She said breathlessly:

“EVER SINCE YOUR SHRINKING – WHATEVER – ACCIDENT THING, MY SEX LIFE HAS JUST GONE, LIKE ‘BOOM!’.”

“I can tell,” I gasped when her boob wasn’t mashed against my mouth.

She went on, exhilarated:

“NONE OF MY VIBRATORS DO WHAT YOU DO.”

“I’m more than a vibrator,” I said, while slightly perturbed that her reference to vibrators was in plural.

“EXACTLY. YOU’RE A TALKING VIBRATOR. A SMART VIBRATOR. I DIRECT YOU, YOU WORK WITH ME, AND IT’S A DONE THING. LIKE YOU KNOW MY BODY – OR LIKE, YOU’RE BECOMING A LITTLE PART OF ME.”

Suddenly her attention was drawn to the bedside table. My phone made a sound and in a blink, she snatched it up, bringing the novelty-size phone right up to her face and was squinting, trying to make out the tiny screen.

My head jerked up. Her other hand still had me applied to her breast.

“Hey! That’s mine – you can’t just—!”

“OH, STOP. YOU’VE USED MY PHONE A MILLION TIMES.”

Either her face was screwed up from the effort of deciphering the tiny text, or she was displeased. Her eyes glued to the tiny screen, she remarked with a playful taunt:

“IS SOMEONE IS JEALOUS YOU MET ANYA?”

But – was I imagining it? – there was an understated bite in her tone, as if this ‘someone’ embarrassed her.

“You were,” I pointed out.

“DOES THIS SOUND LIKE ME: TVB…KISS KISS…” Her brow scrunched and she muttered to herself, “—WHO IS THIS…THAT NATALIE CHICK?”

My breath hitched. There were too many problematic texts on my phone. I needed to get it out of her hands.

Without another word I whipped the sheet over my head and pulling myself up the dark hill that was her torso and grabbing at every square inch of flesh within arm's reach.

Surmounting her abdomen, I began to scurry on hands and knees down her body, the silky flesh of her stomach dimpling lightly under the impact of my tiny hands and feet, heading towards the cleft between her legs, which were shifting restlessly in the dark. All I could think about was burying inside her and not stopping.

The sheets lifted way up over my head as a huge thumb scooped up just below my ribcage, fingers wrapping around my back, and with the smallest application of strength – as if I was light as a feather – separated me from the floor of her flesh. As the hand tilted, I moved backwards and my head was revolved around until I was on the other side of the sheet, hovering in the air upside down in front of her vast face, which watched me with calm puzzlement as I squirmed and yanked at the thumb like a safety bar pinning my stomach, and paddling my legs in the air, groaning.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" came a understated tremor, as if she'd caught me in some quirky but harmlessly fascinating task, whilst internally debating if she wanted the full story behind it.

“I’m trying to fuck you,” I grunted, irritated by her patience.

The other enormous hand shifted in front of my view as the tip of a finger extended, moving up my body and probed lazily around between my legs, before scooping up under my balls and lifting my dick onto the hard plate of a nail.

“WITH WHAT? YOU’RE NOT EVEN THAT HARD.”

“I would be if you stopped holding me back.”

She plucked at my member until it was long and hard and craving the pressure of her womanhood. It was shameful how quickly it perked at her touch, against my will.

“YOU’RE DOING IT ALL WRONG,” she said with mock pity. “YOU’VE GOT TO TALK A GAME FIRST. COME ONTO ME. GET ME INTERESTED.”

“Oh, fuck—!”

Suspended upside in the air, the blood was going to my head and making my brain sluggish.

“TRY HARDER.”

The pressure of her fingerpads was shifting all around my body as she idly turned me over between her hands, as if inspecting me from all angles, until I began to feel like a piece of dough being moulded. At the same time catching dim glimpses of the shadowy hills of her breasts and the extension of her lower body vaguely imprinted beneath the sheet, and the shapes of her legs – crossed over each other – and way down the other end of the mattress, her toes tenting up the sheet, curling and screwing the fabric up between them. All of this should have ramped up my lust but the constant shift of gravity kept tugging my blood flow away from my groin.

Her fingers seemed to shuffle down my spine as she rotated me head down, a thumb pushed against my forehead, then I was turned sideways, the fingers of one hand grasping my chest, the thumb buried just under my jaw, while my ribcage was held between the fingers of the other hand, and accidentally pressed down on my groin, smushing it for a second, before lifting and planting itself on one of my butt cheeks. It was perturbing how deftly she could juggle me around between the fingers of one hand, like I was ping pong ball.

My mouth was open but nothing came out. There were no words in my brain, just primal instincts.

She gracefully slid her feet over the mattress until her knees pointed up, legs open.

The rotation slowed until I was upside down again, staring straight ahead into her engorged lips, slightly parted and wet. She brought my face against the puffy ridge of a labial fold, and slid it down past the end of the slit. Suddenly everything went dark as a tight sleeve hugged around my head, which squished around, rubbing furiously. Fluid gushed over like a tide coming in, while my hands searched blindly for the mattress surface, or something firm to push against, but my palms kept connecting with a shifting landscape of slicked pulsating flesh. Before I could free myself, her hand spread over my back, two fingers sliding up my ribcage and hooking in beneath my armpits and holding, keeping me lodged in place. Once I was still, she drew me out of her vagina.

“You didn’t come,” I said once I caught my breath.

She gave me a subdued smile as she looked me over, observing my condition.

“IT’S A LITTLE WITHHOLDING THING I’M TRYING OUT. LET’S SEE HOW IT GOES.”

Scoops of fluid began pouring over my head. Even as I shook my head to throw the fluid off, sheet after sheet kept getting painted over.

"DON'T PANIC," she soothed, after I was half-drowned under the sticky deluge, "THIS NEXT ONE—” there was a small smile in her tone “—USE THAT BREATH CONTROL AND IT’LL BE A PIECE OF CAKE.”