So there we are, a man and woman in love, drifting off pleasantly to sleep in a hotel room, in each other's embrace. Romantic, no?

Well, that's one way to spin it. The other is that she's not embracing anything, and I'm almost entirely shoved up inside her rectum. My face and arms are sticking out like some undaunted weed in the crack of a sidewalk, and I'm peering out from between two massive round buttocks into the tent of bed sheets formed by  her tremendous and round hip. There's not much to see because the lights of the room are out as my Carlotta succumbs to sweet slumber.

As for being in love, well, I know I have some affection for this big hot mess, and I suspect there's some minuscule drop of fondness in Carlotta's heart for me, or else I wouldn't be alive as long as I am, not the way she takes care of me.

Otherwise, I can't explain it. I'm the one-man maintenance crew for Carlotta's poor, abused anus, but she could hire anyone she wants for this job. And by "hire" I mean "kidnap, shrink down in violation of known laws of physics, and yoke into servitude under duress of capital punishment".

I hear her breathing heavily. At least I think I do: that could just be an uncommon wave of late-night traffic, a couple dozen tires rolling slowly along the pavement some distance outside our window. I'm trying to gauge how long it takes for her to sleep. Usually it's not a pressing issue, as she just sticks me in the dirty bed beside this one, the bed where I mop her butthole down and scour every last fleck of filth and decadence away from every last crevice and fold of skin. I'm very good at this and, at my size, I have considerable resources to put to this task. I can make shreds of paper towels and dollops of water go much farther than a normal-sized person could, and I'm well positioned to pay close attention to fine detail.

That's detail into Carlotta's anus, mind you. Just have to be clear about that.

Is she breathing slower? It's so hard to tell, being almost entirely devoured by the powerful sphincter that usually holds back her solid waste from soiling her garments. A powerful goddamned sphincter, let me emphasize here: I think I broke my wrist on it, struggling for air a little bit ago. I'm glad I've got my arms stuck outside of it, or else I strongly suspect that otherwise cute and puckered little ring could seize up around my throat and, if not cut off my windpipe, snap my goddamn spine into two or more segments.

I just have to focus on breathing, that's all. Control my breathing. Not think about the tender, abused rectal tissues closed up all around me like an affection-starved octopus. Not think about the moistness of the lube I mostly wiped away, not think about the intense heat coming straight out of the core of this giantess' being. Definitely don't think about why it is doctors used to shove thermometers up babies' butts, way back in the day.

It's just that I don't wish to think I grew up solely to become a rectal thermometer. I had dreams, once, I had goals and aspirations. This wasn't one of them.

Not that Carlotta isn't beautiful, in her own way. She has thick, sensual lips and a dense mane of wild hair that drives me crazy. I can't see any of that right now, of course, just a shot of the backs of her thighs, one calf and one heel, which I can only dimly make out in the darkness. I know they're there, I assume that's what I'm looking at as I force cool night air into my lungs and force myself to hold it there, releasing it in a controlled hiss.

I can do this. I've been in worse situations, I bet.

Banking on the assumption that it's been enough time and she is, in fact, deep in sleep, I go ahead and start to take stock of my physics. That is, both my arms are sticking out of her hole, so that should give me some leverage. I spread my arms, or try to, and her asshole widens just enough for me to push my face through. Small victories! I take a deep breath, let it out, and in letting it out I strain to slip her sphincter down to my armpits.

This is successful. Now the top of my head slides out, and the wrinkled rim of her anus is just stroking my cheeks and settling below my jaw when I feel the giantess stir all around me. I freeze, waiting to see what comes next, if anything. But just when I think I’m clear, the gigantic cheek of ass lying upon me suddenly becomes weightless, lifts up and hovers above me.

“Cameron,” she moans quietly, sleepily.

“Yes, love.”

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” She releases her buttock and the massive tonnage of taut skin and bloated fat cells collapses upon me. Now, most of me is already stuffed into her anus, but my arms and my head feel the pressure as she lifts her ass cheek up, holds it, and sets it free, over and over again. When she lifts it up, her anus stretches ever so slightly, as though she’s really digging into it with her claws—I can’t see much, of course, between the darkness and the sheer massy buttock that sticks out and spreads in all directions—and hoisting it as high as she can tug it away from its sister buttock. Her anus stretches a little and I can pull a shoulder out, then the taut taint relaxes and her cheek comes crashing down once more. Again she grips her buttock, pulling it up and away, and in that tiny window of space I can shimmy my other shoulder out, and now my head and neck are free and clear before she can drop her butt cheek upon me again.

“Had enough?” she murmurs. I can hear her loud and clear, her voice booming across the mountainous ridge of her shoulder, waist and hip, booming through the sheets. I don’t respond, and I lie perfectly still as though dead. I wonder if she’d care whether I were dead.

She laughs and the titanic buttocks that sandwich me firmly in place heave and shudder with her mirth. “Poor little guy. All that work, for nothing.” Aw, dammit. Her garish goddamned fake claws come digging through the deep crack of her ass, seeking me out. One shoves my arms out of its way, she makes a noise of discovery, and then her fat fingertip plants itself on my skull, and she shoves me right back inside her anus. All gained ground is lost, the hapless little guy is lodged deep in her butt, for keeps this time.

That’s what I’ll let her believe. In actuality, she did a sloppy job of it, and I just tucked one arm inside her sphincter, giving her the illusion of having shoved more of me inside her. In fact, she gave up quickly and didn’t notice my arm and head still sticking out of her butt. She’s fucked herself so hard with that tremendous black dildo, her butthole has gained some resilience. When she tried to stuff me back into her rectum, all the skin around her asshole stretched and gave, and she thought she made much greater progress than she did.

So I celebrated my little victory in complete silence and stillness. No fucking around, boy-o, I’m seriously playing dead right now, and I keep it up for what has got to be an hour. Obviously I have no way of telling time, she didn’t jam her grandfather’s timepiece up into her colon (as far as I know), so I just have to bide my time, play songs in my head, try to remember as many jokes and poems as I can and recite them internally, and at the end of it I figure it’s gotta be an hour.

Once again, I take stock of my environment. The room’s still dark but my eyes are adjusting: ambient light from the street is making the bed sheets glow just a little. Somehow, snaking one arm back inside her anus and leaving the other one out next to my head took a lot of pressure off my chest. I’m almost comfortable in this position, and I’m pretty rested so my wrist’s not hurting too bad anymore. I’m in good shape, aside from renting the space like a living dingleberry.

Best of all, Carlotta’s snoring. I can hear her rumbling all the way across her hillside, and as she really gets into it I can feel the vibrations traveling all the way through her flesh and fat and bloodstream, to surround me in her ass. I’m so happy about this, I let her snore away for another five or ten minutes, just to make absolutely sure.

Now’s my second attempt at escape. The arm that’s inside her sphincter with me, I draw up very close to my belly and chest, bending it at the elbow, and I poke out my hand, my wrist, my forearm, and when the elbow clears the tight ring, it’s free. I hold still again.

The giantess is still snoring, undisturbed. Excellent. Pleasant dreams, Carlotta, you ass-greedy bitch.

I fold my arms down and rest my forearms upon the hundreds of skin folds that surround her anus. Taking a deep breath, I try to push off from my arms and haul my torso out of her clench. This is tremendously difficult, as now her anus is dry and sticking to me, sucking at me like some cocksucker that don’t wanna give up the cock. Carlotta’s ass ain’t done with me yet, is what it’s trying to say, and every time I pull my body up, her sphincter rises with me. I try twisting my chest back and forth, to try to free myself up from some of this clingy skin, but that entails some reflexive kicking of my legs, which I don’t even think about until Carlotta’s snoring halts with one loud burst, and then silence.

Shit-shit-shit! Did I wake her?

I freeze in place, waiting. Literally holding my breath for, like, a minute and a half, I bet. I freeze, my forearms and elbows still propped up on her anus, her puckered sphincter holding in mid-suck on my tiny little body. And when the rumbling resounds through the gigantic buttock upon which I lie and the voluminous buttock which holds me down, I know she’s back to sleep again. I let my arms relax and take it easy until I think she’s back in her deep sleep.

It goes on like this for another hour, maybe. Small victories in which I creep out by inches, her anus reluctantly giving me up as I slip out into the warm air trapped between Carlotta’s buttocks, and then all action stops when she sounds disturbed. Over and over again, and it takes a long time but I’m encouraged.

In fact, my abs have just hit freedom and her sphincter is locked around my pelvis when I’m frozen in place by a thought. Carlotta stuffed me here to keep me in place all night. What happens when she wakes up and I’m no longer imprisoned within the depths of her fat ass?

Silently I curse. As unpleasant as it might be to be lodged in the shithole of a beautiful and possibly psychotic goddess, it would still be much worse for said goddess to discover me missing, or even lying next to her, unconscious and vulnerable, expecting her to accept and agree with my freedom. Wow, that would just be the end of me. I bet she’d pop my empty little skull right off with the garish plastic talon of her thumb.

So I can’t free myself, after all this work. Goddamn it anyway. Well, fine, then. I’ll leave my legs inside her butthole, but I’m not crawling back in there, not after all this.

My legs are snug and warm, anyway. I position my arms to wedge open a little space between Carlotta’s titanic buttocks, and then I wedge myself into that space. My stomach and chest lie flat against her taint, and I daringly slip the whole of my face into the corner of her pussy.

Yes, a faceful of pussy, while she sleeps. A thief in the temple of the goddess.

I stretch up my arms overhead and gently, very gently begin to stroke her labia. They are thick and plush where I am, with a few deep folds for me to slip my fingers into. Only a little stubble scrapes at my forearms as I work at her. And I’m not trying to wake her up: this is partly to arouse her in the middle of her night’s sleep, and partly to amuse myself if I’ve gotta spend the night in the crack of her ass.

As I lie there, massaging her pussy, rubbing my cheek against her smooth and warm orifice, I wonder why life can’t be like this all the time. You know? There’s a lot to love about Carlotta, all bullying and taunting aside. I even think, if I were normal-sized and we knew each other through friends or work or something, we might get along. We’d take shots at each other, joke around, take a couple digs at each other’s expense, but I think there’s some real affection there. I like the sweetness that lies beneath her tough exterior, and I like the toughness that protects that sweetness. I don’t know, maybe I’m stupid, but… yeah, I have some affection for my jailer. I’d probably even clean her asshole out just because I wanted to, not because my life’s being threatened.

Carlotta moans. My hands go dormant, deep in her pussy’s folds. I turn my head so one ear is clear to hear anything going on (but the rest of my face is surrounded by her vagina). She’s stopped snoring. Then there’s a horrible scraping noise right next to me, right fucking next to me! It scares the shit out of me until I realize it’s just the big-ass woman scratching her big ass, with those god-awful fake nails she so favors. I wonder if I could date a woman who insists on wearing those expensive, trashy things. That depends on how much time she spends sitting on my face, I guess.

When she’s slaughtered the offending itch through her advanced warfare, her arm slides noisily beneath the sheets to rest once more. But she doesn’t snore yet. Carlotta draws in a long, deep breath, grunts, and then my world spins all around me, slowly but inexorably. I try to hold perfectly still, relying on the clench of her buttocks to hold me in place, but her cheeks spread for a moment, and then I’m lying on the one that was above me, and the one that I once lay upon now weighs me down irresistibly.

She just rolled over. That’s all. The noise from the street is slightly louder, so I figure she’s turned away from the window and the dirty bed beneath it, and her ass is now pointing at it and—therefore—so am I.

While she’s rolling over, I let one of my arms slip inside her vagina, where it lies moist and hot. I run my hand pleasantly inside the tissues of her pussy, a rare indulgence for me. I’ve worked many hours right next to her pussy and never been allowed in, but here we are: one arm and one face buried in Carlotta’s cavernous vagina.

I let myself revel in my delight for maybe ten more minutes before I pass out from exhaustion.