“D-Duval?” Sierra stammered. She peeked past the arm she had risen to defend herself, but still remained coiled on the desk. It was of little assurance that Duval’s expression had softened to that of sympathy. The wine bottle was still there, present in the corner of Sierra’s vision as tall as a telephone pole. She couldn’t ignore it, nor could she forget how Duval had so casually helped herself to it.

In a fluster, Duval slid the wine aside to the opposite end of the desk, as though relocating it so little would take it out of mind. “Sierra, I-I am so sorry,” she rambled with a twisted tongue, her nervous giggles making talking that much harder to do. Her hands were raised in defense, but there wasn’t an argument stowed away in her thoughts. “The meeting happened, and, err-- I just… forgot.” She shook her head and giggled more openly, her fingers stretching outward in a symbolic flash, “I forgot. Completely.”

Still imbalanced, Sierra struggled to say something in return. There was relief that she had been noticed and remembered, but the atmosphere surrounding Duval was uneasy. Gradually, Sierra accepted the explanation that had been given -- at least, what amount of it had been hinted at. She found herself fumbling an apology, “It’s my fault! I-I’m the one taking up your schedule!”

“No, don’t say that!” Duval whined, stroking her own cheek in distress. Her volume wasn’t as considerate as Sierra knew it to be, instead being as loud as though she were speaking to someone of the same size. “How could it be your fault? I left you here all day, oh god,” she took her head into her hands and sighed between them, “something could have happened! To you!”

Sierra swallowed, forfeiting the reply she had originally planned. Duval’s frustration at herself was seemingly genuine, and her concern for Sierra’s safety was uplifting. Where a moment ago, Sierra was tripped over with fear of the massive person, she now leaned in with a desire to comfort her.

“L-Luckily, nothing happened,” Sierra explained, timidly walking forward. “I was more worried about you, a-actually. You’re never late. I thought that something could have happened to you.” She chuckled, but only to herself. It was difficult to conceive anything troubling a woman so incredibly strong, before remembering how it was Duval that lived a normal life between them.

“Ohh, I’m fine! But now I feel worse!” Duval laughed, sparking out of the dismay she was hunched in just before. “All this time left alone here, a-and you were thinking about… something happening to me.” She sighed again, her hand naturally reaching but falling short of where the wine bottle was. “I wasn’t in any, well, real trouble. As you… might have noticed by now. The director was really unhappy, and a couple of the girls-- er, colleagues, wanted to get something to drink, and… I suppose I lost track of time with them…”

“It sounds like you were having fun,” Sierra said, her eyes faltering to the wayside. She knew it was unintentional, but Duval’s explanation stabbed into her. She was an afterthought, so it seemed, and worse yet was that she was interfering with more enjoyable plans. “You sound busy… P-Perhaps we can do this tomorrow. It can wait, I don’t want--”

“No no no,” Duval hurriedly argued, trampling over whatever Sierra had left to say. “I can do it now. We can do it! L-Let’s just get it out of the way!”

Sierra shivered -- never before had she been wary of Duval’s enthusiasm. “Um… Are you sure…?” She chuckled, glancing at the wine bottle and the hand that was close to it. “If you’ve been… drinking, err…”

“I’m not drunk, Sierra,” Duval giggled, “it was just a few drinks! Wine, of all things. Look,” and as a display of her sincerity, she claimed the wine bottle and swiftly deposited it back into the fridge. “Gone! I can’t be tempted if I can’t see it! So, don’t worry about that, let’s focus on that check up. If it’s not done today, it would hold me up tomorrow, realistically…”

“Oh-- um, well…” Sierra’s feet froze her in place. The last thing she wanted to be was a bother, but it seemed no matter what angle she approached the problem, she would be interfering with Duval’s schedule. Sierra’s conclusion came with a shrug, “Yeah, we can get it done now, if you’re feeling confident.”

“Absolutely~” Duval hummed as she moved her arms over her desk, organizing the items she would need for the check up. Among the most necessary items was the microscope, a modified version of the normal tool specially equipped to study shrunken subjects. Despite Duval’s efforts to move it delicately onto the desk’s middle, it was released from her grip to produce an audible thud. “Don’t do that,” Duval groaned at the technology. As she twisted away, she spoke back to Sierra, “Go ahead and, uh, get under. I’m not... forgetting something, am I?”

Sierra warily approached the microscope like an eerie house, one that had just been erected there by a tipsy god. The thought truly did amuse Sierra, even against the flow of stresses. She never imagined she could catch Duval like this, so unlike her usual self. The cautious way she moved was only vaguely present, the professionalism left behind back where the lab coat had been discarded. As Sierra took her position on the cold table of the microscope, she thought of these differences, but acknowledged that these were not two separate people. This was not Overseer Duval, but Ophelia Duval.

The lens hanging above Sierra blinked several times as Duval situated herself to use it. “There you are,” the scientist playfully remarked, earning a jitter out of Sierra. “Hi, Sierra.”

A blush bloomed across Sierra’s cheeks. “Err… Hello, Duval,” she muttered, waving up at the lens meekly. Her other arm, being the target of interest, was spread out to her side. She intended to follow the usual procedure, but right away, Duval was treading off course. Riddled with nervousness, Sierra tugged at the edges of her gown to as far as they could cover, hoping to survive the check up with minimal embarrassment.

The process never moved faster than a drag. Every step of the procedure was fumbled in some way due to Duval’s negligence. Documents were closed without saving and other programs were mismanaged, resulting in more than one vocalized curse from the scientist. Sierra also endured from her point of view, dealing with Duval’s mishaps as they came up; a blinding light was spontaneously turned on, the bed’s angle was adjusted back and forth while she laid on it, and multiple attempts were had at successfully obtaining an x-ray of Sierra’s arm. While Duval toiled through her work, Sierra remained patience, at a minimum grateful that thus far, she hadn’t been accidentally hurt.

There was a long pause where Duval was absorbed into her monitor, long enough that Sierra nearly commented on it. An abrupt sigh of frustration escaped Duval, “Why doesn’t it want to add up?” She huffed again, then heard a little series of coughs from under her. She curiously peeked back into the microscope, confirming that it was Sierra making such a noise. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

Sierra turned redder than she had been. She blocked her lips with a fist, “I-I’m alright,” she said, her breath being held. Finally, another cough escaped her, and with it she was able to admit, “Your breath… smells like the wine.”

“Oh… Oh!” Duval lifted away from the microscope and leaned back from the desk. She breathed into her hand so that she could smell it herself, and she giggled in agreement. “Well. I suppose there’s no easy way to tell someone that. Sorry, Sierra.” She was about to sigh again, but at the last moment, withheld it. “I’ve… never thought too much about how I smell to you, o-or any of the others. Never crossed my mind…”

Sierra allowed herself to take small breaths, but it was hard to not bust into a laugh at what Duval fretted over. “It’s never an issue,” she assured her, “sometimes we can smell your shampoo or your soap, that’s it. Oh, and your morning coffee, sometimes…”

“Even my coffee?” Duval complained. “I just can’t hide anything from you little people, can I? Go ahead and step back out.”

“I guess not,” Sierra teasingly replied, giggling alongside the overseer as she maneuvered out from under the microscope. It was a second after that Sierra dwelled on how Duval referred to her test subjects, but the emotion she felt left her without a comment. Yet, the conversation itself felt wonderful -- the two had just laughed in sync, and Sierra wouldn’t let the mood slip away. Her tongue dashed into talking once standing on the desk, “You couldn’t hide your drinking habits, either. I never expected the overseer to keep alcohol in the office.”

“Mhmm, how reckless of her,” Duval hummed, skimming through notes on her computer rather than looking to Sierra. She laughed and shook her head, “Now you’ve got me scared that you think I’m some sort of alcoholic. You don’t think that, do you…?”

Sierra’s smile was unmoving as she looked up at Duval and her pleading expression. It was a face she never before witnessed from the overseer, like a new painting that deserved to be treasured. “O-Of course I don’t, I’m just playing,” she replied after Duval’s words thawed through her. “I’m not trying to judge anyone. I’m sure it gets stressful around here.”

Before replying, Duval took to her keyboard and progressed with some of her work. “It… can be,” she said, nodding her head in agreement. “It usually is, now that I think about it. That all comes with the territory, I suppose. We are shrinking people, after all, and then keeping them for research…”

Sierra kept her hands together, patiently waiting for Duval to finish her work on the computer. The data she had collected was being organized and submitted, but a long list of papers had to be printed. She was grateful for the delay it would bring, allowing her some extra time to talk with Duval -- if she could keep the conversation alive. “I c-can’t say I’m envious. It’s a huge responsibility,” Sierra said.

“For something so small,” Duval joked, her laugh cut off into a snort. “No, no, that wasn’t funny.” Having to wait for the printer, she began clearing off her desk of the equipment she had brought out -- everything was pushed to the far back of the desk, opening up a wide space around Sierra. “And there’s a lot of money poured into these projects. So much. Investors get mad at the company, the company gets mad at the director, the director gets mad at me, and that’s how the wine comes out.”

Sierra winced at Duval’s dilemma. “That kind of pressure has to be intense… D-Does it pay well? I hope it does…”

“It’s worth it. Pays well enough for me to get drunk once a week,” Duval sighed, the humor of her statement underscored by the truth of it. Without thinking about it, her arm was propped up onto the desk, causing an unexpected thud on the floor Sierra stood on. Duval then rested her head into her hand and a yawn bellowed from her, “Well… wine drunk, at least. Believe it or not, I used to be more wild than this.”

“Is that so?” Sierra smiled, quite enjoying this particular topic. Seeing Duval relax the way she did inspired her to take a seat. “That’s hard to imagine. You’re so professional and careful, I can’t picture you more tipsy than this.” But she could picture it, a detailed image in her head of what a sloshed and gigantic Duval would appear like and what she would do. It tickled her enough to hide her trembling grin.

Duval giggled lightly, “This career makes you settle down. It was for the best, some nights I would end up returning home and I would… crash onto the couch, my stomach would feel awful, I would feel awful… I was once in bed all day before I could finally get up and get myself some water.”

“Oh, wow… No one could have helped you out?”

Duval shook her head, still rested in her palm. Her eyes faded to a close, “I’ve almost always lived by myself, so that means lonely hangovers.” She softly giggled, “I don’t think anyone would want to be around me like that, anyway. It isn’t very graceful…”

Sierra despised that thought like an insult -- how could Duval think that about herself? She was unsure of what to say, but her instincts rolled forward, “I wouldn’t mind. If you were that sick, you deserve someone at your bedside.”

Duval again shook her head, laughing more into her hand. She glanced at Sierra, then back at the computer monitor and its sluggish progress with the printer. “You say that now, but I can get ornery~” She giggled again, nostalgic for a time. “No one would have the patience for that.”

“I’m not so sure. If nothing else, it would be pretty funny to see you grumpy and hungover. If I had to watch over you to see that, I think I’d do it.”

“That would be lovely,” Duval sighed, which stretched into a yawn. Left at the edge of such a thought, Sierra began to burn red, only then realizing what she had implied. Duval continued, “but… I don’t think you’re big enough to do that now.”

Sierra’s throat swelled, but she pushed through it. “I-I guess-- I suppose, yeah.”

“Even if I was drunk or hungover,” Duval reached a finger out to Sierra, the tip hovering just above her head, close enough to pet her, “it would still be me watching over little you, wouldn’t it?”

Sierra shrunk under the fingertip. As belittling as Duval’s comments were, they were not false, and the concept intrigued her regardlessly. There was nothing she could do to or for a giant, drunken scientist. Even in Duval’s most miserable state, Sierra was nothing but a four centimeter-tall test subject, leagues apart from one another. The effort of tending to someone she admired would be both hopeless and recklessly dangerous.

Duval withdrew her arm when Sierra had no reply. Her head grew heavier and her wrist weaker, until finally she lowered herself into the bend of her arm on the desk. Sierra was only a basketball court away from that drowsy expression, perhaps the closest she had ever been to Duval’s face. She felt gusts at her feet from Duval exhaling out her nose, and she noticed the gray bags under her eyes, her make-up unable to conceal every feature from such a little perspective. Ribbons of black hair piled around where her head lay, encircling her like a blanket. All the while, the hum of the printer continued, ejecting one sheet at a time.

Sierra looked down at her legs, which she had hugged into her chest. “I am l-little, but I would make good company.” She scoffed amusedly at herself, “I’d try to be, anyway. Or, I’d make things harder on you… That’s how it’s been lately, hasn’t it?” She brushed nervously at her hair, keeping her focus aimed anywhere but the giant across from her. “I hate the idea of you being sick and alone, though, e-especially with how kind of a person you are. I wouldn’t trust any other person to be responsible enough for this… I meant it-- earlier, when I said you deserve someone to… look over you.” A hard blink could not warp her away from what she had explained. She lifted her head as it boiled over, “Wh-What I-I mean is, err-- oh? Uh?”

A long and easy breath in, and a long and easy breath out. A tiny snore, and an unconscious fidget of her head. Sierra hesitantly stood and spoke up, “Duval?” An unflinching silence -- Duval had slumbered off there on the desk. Sierra thought to call out to her again, but held back, swallowing emptily instead. Sierra leaned in as she approached, her footsteps slower and quieter the closer she was to the sleeping giant. She couldn’t actually have…? she thought, but the effortlessly closed eyes and the half-open mouth was evidence otherwise.

The printer ceased its droning as it ejected the last page, but Duval did not stir from her rest. Sierra drew one step nearer, not the least unaware that every bit forward was breaking new grounds in how close she had ever come to Duval. The roundness of her facial features were looked upon differently at this angle, due in part to how the giantess was angled on her side, but their sheer size naturally left the most significant impression on Sierra. The courage to speak up once more came to her, and she too dared to graze the nearby thumb, “Duval…?”

Without a response, Sierra retracted her arms to her chest and stepped backwards away from Duval’s face. Though this massive person devoured her view with her presence, the onset of loneliness began. The hugeness of the world crept on her all over again, a reminder of how dependable she was on someone of a normal size. With Duval asleep, it was just as if she had left the room all over again, and that same anxiety returned to taint what had otherwise been an ideal interaction with the overseer.

“Duval?” Sierra tried again, this time raising her volume above her usual timidness. “They really do overwork you, don’t they?” Still no reply -- not even a normal chat could stir the giantess. Other options had to be considered, but doubt clouded them all. Sierra took Duval’s thumb into both hands and rocked it back and forth; nothing, which proved to her how incapable she could be. She was too little, an obnoxious realization as those very words still haunted her.

Duval’s stillness was like a geographic wonder, and it inspired Sierra’s solution. I’m going to have to wait, she decided in a shrug. It wasn’t a comfortable predicament, but a far better situation than being alone and in suspense over her fate. As small and vulnerable as Sierra felt, there was still Duval to protect her, even in her slumbering state. Her head and her pillow-acting arm formed a threshold to feel sheltered in, a space Sierra could occupy and feel close to Duval. As time passed in this environment, where the air was thick with Duval’s breaths and the temperature warmed by her coiled body, Sierra felt differently about her problem -- was it even a problem, to have to spend more time with Duval?

More of these hidden blessings were found as Sierra immersed herself in the atmosphere of Duval. She spent a minute uninterrupted simply starting at Duval’s lazy expression, part of her expecting the giantess to wake up, the other part appreciating the view. From there, she scoped out the rest of Duval’s body and how it ran off the desk like a mountainside. The arc from her shoulders and down her back, or the peak of her head and its blanket of hair -- all were places that Sierra wanted to stand, like a traveler on expedition, but no place called to her more than what had spilled over the edge of the desk.

Boobs… Sierra could ignore them no longer. How Duval had slumped onto her desk, unconcerned for her posture, had brought her breasts up onto the desk. Her scoop-shaped collar boasted her cleavage significantly, one hill partially on top of the other to form a crevice only Sierra could appreciate -- only she would ever be aware of. A chilling tickle lured Sierra towards it, driven by lecherous intentions.

No further than a few steps from where she was did she stop herself. Sierra swallowed her sinful thoughts, “That’s… asking for a lot.” She couldn’t commit to something that unsavory, not while the guilt of two weeks ago still festered within her. The truth never did come up, and it had no reason to, that Sierra had masturbated inside a glove used by Duval. Greater than her perversions was her desire to not make a list of matters like this. “I’m already lucky enough,” she chuckled, not forbidding herself from an extensive viewing of the cleavage. “Maybe, the luckiest.”

Talking to herself, she realized, was begging for trouble, no matter how hushed she was. A stutter that began one of Duval’s breaths easily threw Sierra into uneasy twitches before learning that the giantess was still asleep. It was risky enough doing just what she was, wandering around Duval’s space. She feared the repercussions of being caught, but she couldn’t deny that such worry was what amplified her excitement. That lingering possibility restrained Sierra equally as it encouraged her, to test the limits of what she could get away with.

She broke out of her trance by whipping around, facing instead towards a ribbon of hair that unraveled down Duval’s arm. It guided her back towards that lop-sided expression, the face of a monument toppled over and sentenced to rest. Unlike a moment ago, Sierra had almost no guilt for taking a few strands of hair into her hand as she strolled by. Her fingers sifted through the threads as though passing under the blossom leaves of a tree, so delicate and light in her grasp yet it sprawled about with such volume. The scent of it clung to her hand after it passed through, the sweetness of a fruity shampoo which enraptured Sierra further in this orchard she had dreamed.

Following the hair had lead her, unsurprisingly, closer to Duval. The idle breaths of her sleep were no longer so passive, as each exhale had enough push to be a gust against Sierra’s approach. She hadn’t realized until then how close she was, doubtlessly closer to Duval than ever before. The face she observed dwarfed her, so large and wide that it couldn’t all be seen at once any longer -- it was unlike a face altogether, but rather a wall with sculpted features that resembled a face.  A beautiful and charming face, if Sierra had to describe it.

Sierra sealed the image in front of her to memory, cast away in a blink. “Duval…?” Sierra said, as loud as she had been before. One eye peeked open to see that her little voice still had no effect on her. She thought to reach out and touch a cheek, but she favored touching her arm instead, shaking and stroking it with both hands, to no avail. “You just pass out, huh?” Sierra laughed to herself, a brief remedy to her worry. “I did say I would watch over you…”

Her hands, so Sierra found, hadn’t removed themselves from Duval’s arm. Some of her weight leaned into the limb which stretched out like a toppled redwood. It was heavy and firm, as much as she could feel beyond the brown fabric of her blouse. Her fingers curled, massaging more than just the shirt but into the skin. Her reach spread outward so that the space between her hands widened, eventually becoming a hug into Duval’s wrist. Like a standing bed, she leaned her chest and cheek into the arm, so intimately close to the slumbering woman that she could faintly sense her pulse.

Sierra’s eyes closed. She sank into tranquility, a headspace where her thoughts echoed back to herself with great clarity. Questions became unavoidable, and so she pondered upon them, What am I feeling? What does this… achieve? Her mental image of herself scaled back, and she pictured herself as what she truly was, a speck of life that was attached to this superior being -- smarter, wiser, and so much stronger than her. She recollected a time where she wasn’t this way, before she shrunk for this experiment. What would Duval be like? What would she think of me? The relationship they had, certainly, would be different, but would Duval still be this godly?

The peace Sierra had acquired was abruptly broken by a jolt. The land-like Duval quaked, a shiver of movement that saw her arm inch away far enough that Sierra nearly fell forward. The tiny woman caught herself only so she could buckle down to her knees, quickly ducking into a defensive position that cowered under Duval’s weary glare.

But the giant eyes did not scan Sierra, and she felt this. Sierra sensed something amiss, and through her paralysis she shot up an arm, “Duval, Duval! Don’t move yet!” But the eyes wouldn’t turn down to her; the head rose off the arm, and while Sierra watched with utter fascination--

Slam, she was mercilessly shoved. Faster than she could have expected, Duval’s arm reeled back towards her enormous body, and the minuscule test subject on her desk was carried along. It was a race towards the edge of the desk and Sierra put forth every effort to stop herself, grinding her feet hard into the desk’s surface but failing to slow any part of Duval down. There was a squeak of a gasp, another shout to Duval that went unheard.

Duval’s torso moved as well; the scientist was stirring from her unplanned nap, and so she peeled herself of the desk as part of a waking stretch. Sierra gathered as much within the panicked moment, but what she gleaned most vitally was where Duval’s arm was unconsciously dragging her. Her destination, as it were comprehended, appeared over the desk’s end, a crevice of Duval’s body that was revealed by the scoop-shaped design of her blouse.

Sierra jumped -- a survival instinct, but she knew too well the shame that would follow. An instant passed and Sierra was face-to-face with what she had reached for from afar, forced into Duval’s bosom from a seemingly divine force. She immediately scrambled over the flesh, her sense of direction lost as she stumbled backwards along a surface too plush to find a foothold. An arm shot from Sierra, an attempt to grab anything -- a lock of hair, which had fared no better than her in getting caught between two behemoths of flesh. A glance back to where she had came terrified Sierra, for so quickly had she soared up high alongside Duval’s awakening.

The shade of Duval’s arm brought Sierra’s attention upwards, the very arm that had swept her in. It was completing its motion, the huge hand arriving at the mouth to intercept a yawn. It was a breathtaking sight, and an incredible noise; Duval’s yawn expelled a wail from her unglamorous expression, like an engine roaring to life and then steadying back to a relative calm. When Duval’s shoulders dropped back down, so too did her chest fall back into place. Sierra was thusly thrown deeper into the cleavage, with nearly enough force to have bounced her out of place. She gasped and again coughed up Duval’s name, but she couldn’t even look to the scientist for help. The bobbing of her breasts was akin to two waves of an ocean that threatened to swallow Sierra, and appropriately so, the tiny woman swam against the softness, sputtering out shouts that continued to go unheard under the bellowing yawn.

Then, all was at rest. The storm had subsided, the world shifted because of one unconscious yawn. As spontaneously as all the motion had begun, so too did it end, leaving Sierra to endure the results. All of the shaking and rolling had left her in a daze that she mentally fought out of, so that she could understand her miserable position. Judging by the stricter tightness that trapped Sierra, she assumed correctly that Duval had laid back down on the workspace, and in such a way that her chest was pressed flat into the edge. “N-No,” she immediately gasped, but there was no further denial. The giantess remained stationary, with such extreme weight that it seemed impossible that something so huge could move again -- though Sierra certainly knew better.

An untrapped arm smacked against the hill in frustration, “Duval! Wake up! Duval!!” Her pleas went unheard, of course; not only was the overseer too deeply asleep, but Sierra was trapped in a blindspot that no one would think a person would be. Panic bubbled within her as she rapidly ran through ideas to be rescued, but nothing was promising. All she could figure to do was struggle and yell, as fruitlessly as she had been. She put herself in that giant, faraway perspective, and how trivial a grain of rice on her chest would be to herself, something so ignorable and possible to look over -- she was worth less than a stain on the scientist’s clothes.

She could only stare up Duval while pinned between her breasts, helplessly yearning for this woman that was cherishing an office nap. The uneventful quiet from the sleepy office gave too much clarity to Sierra’s thoughts, allowing her to dwell on her perspective. It was dire, doubtlessly, and the suspense of another idle movement wrestling her into submission was always present, but ultimately, she was trapped somewhere soft, warm, and calmingly pleasant. Her drumming heart had eased into a regular pattern, and her immobilized body was not so tense. It was, after all, the overseer’s bosom that she was stuck to -- Duval’s boobs, her thoughts stagnated, I’m really here squished between her boobs…

Where Sierra’s freed hand had fallen along the slopes of skin, it massaged and pushed. They were gentle touches, just enough to test the plushness and to confirm just how real her situation actually was. In reflection, Sierra mentally laughed at her predicament and its incomparable nature. Facing a huge world in a shrunken body had always felt unreal, but this was a literal fantasy come to life. She was short of suffocating between two enormous breasts, the massive woman behind them none the wiser that she had a stowaway in her bosom. It was all too like a dream, and Sierra feared the inevitable rude awakening.

The meager allowance Sierra had to move was not going to achieve freedom anytime soon. She rocked her torso back and forth in a harsh wiggle, “Duval…! Please, wake up!” Her cry was hoarse, even less likely to stir Duval. Her writhing had only earned her a surprise plummet, sinking deeper into the valley of skin. If squirming was only going to submerge her more, she simply stopped resisting. She swallowed, overcome by the stillness that she now shared with the immense body.

Breathing was all Sierra was left able to do, but even that basic function revolved around Duval. The atmosphere was like a steam due to the scientist’s contained body heat, and thus her scent was impossible to ignore. Through her mouth and her nose, Sierra was breathing off the air of Duval’s body and nothing else. While the fruity aroma was not particularly offensive, it taunted her for being that same clean smell she had teased Duval about earlier. It was a subtle detail exaggerated into a constant reminder that she lived on the overseer, a straggler on Duval’s expansive body.

Sierra grunted and pried loose her other arm. With it, she stretched forward and dug her hand into the softness, pulling herself forward a marginal distance. The progress was too disheartening to continue. She withdrew her hand from where it had plunged into the cleavage, but then took note of the moisture along her palm. It puzzled her for a moment before she huffed, “Sweat…” It was rubbed between her fingers, its particular scent a semi-pungent standout from the soap she otherwise smelled. “It’s… Duval’s sweat…”

A laugh ended the lofty silence. Sierra muffled her voice directly into the skin, shaking her head in disbelief that fate had taken her here. A cosmic joke, karma sent from a greater force; whatever it was, Sierra found humor under the danger. She could very well die like this, squeezed flat between two hills of flesh because Duval fidgeted while napping, yet that very scene made her laugh again. Sierra dwelled on what she had done to deserve this, and it was no mystery. I wanted to live like a pervert, and so I die like a pervert, she maddeningly concluded. “Duval,” she whimpered, “Duval…!”

She regretted it all -- faking an injury to lie to Duval, hiding in her used glove while she was away, any and all efforts of her own to get closer to the overseer. Their relationship was meant to be professional, this was supposed to be a job. Sierra attacked herself, The money wasn’t good enough, was it? I wanted to be held and adored by a giant woman, too, so here I am. Stuck to her skin, like dirt waiting to be brushed off.

Sierra’s head hunched forward, her laughing having dwindled into a jittering giggle. Her arms stretched outward, spread around her in a circular swirl. She felt the mounds that enveloped her with the entirety of her limbs, pulling the fat inwards to her as if burying herself in autumn leaves. The flesh would retract away from her and jiggle about her body, an entertaining effect that she playfully repeated.

If I’m going to die here, then I get to enjoy it, Sierra explained to herself. Her cheeks flared with a red color, her temperature on the rise to compete with Duval’s. Few hesitations stopped her from groping the breasts again, and with each massage and pull at the flesh, it felt less like a woman’s body and more like an aspect of land. Duval wasn’t forgotten about, but her image was made more significant, holier. Sierra laughed and dove her head into the pillowy skin, nuzzling up and down with reckless motions, thinking to herself that she had fallen in love with a mountain.

Kisses came when her lips grazed some of the sweat. They were pecked about furiously, a giggle peppered onto each spot. The kissing became licking, and that escalated into wide strokes of her tongue going between the cleavage. One arm swirled like it had, but the other was given a task between her legs, squeezed into the tight crevice and worked into the bottom-front of her hospital gown. Wrong and right faded to the abstract in her mind, representing a morality that was vague in the confines of this dark, steamy world. She succumbed to it, to becoming little more than a human perspective warped into a lowly speck.

It was divinity that sentenced her here, so her logic followed, it could only be that same divinity to will her free. Every touch and kiss, every grope and lick, perhaps could be a prayer -- a desperate wish to this goddess, sent from a nigh-hopeless worshiper stranded somewhere on her majestic body. It was a fantasy that immersed Sierra and her miserable lust, but she soon sensed from all around her that, somehow, she had been heard.

Everything moved, but Sierra wouldn’t notice until the breasts themselves bounced from Duval’s motion. The world had suddenly jetted forward for Sierra, but it was Duval shifting backwards. Her seat rolled with her and her body peeled off the desk, but Sierra struggled to comprehend what was happening in the normal world outside her prison. It was all a sickening blur to look at while she rocketed upward, a mere attachment to Duval’s body as she rose up into a proper seated position.