There was a dreary road made of asphalt which had faded to a light gray. On its surface, a small economy car, a Honda Civic, rode lazily upon it. It was colored a dark red, and sported a few scuffs and scratches upon its body. Suspicious white puddles dotted the top, and the bulbs of its front lights were barely visible beneath a layer of haze.
Still, the man driving the vehicle was rather clean cut. Jet black hair was slicked back, threatening to become a slippery mullet. While still appearing rather young, the definition of his sharp jawline, and the general exhaustion of dark colored eyes suggested some sort of experience. His shirt was white and neatly pressed, and his tie was dull and uninteresting, a maroon fabric adorned with diagonal white stripes. The black shoes that cautiously pumped the accelerator possessed little luster, though unlike the car, they lacked scuff marks.
A lazy turn was made, the man taking little care to observe his immediate surroundings. Such was his distraction that only one hand lay on the steering wheel. Upon this hand, on the third finger, was a simple golden ring. It glimmered, even under the overcast evening sky.
What had caught this man’s fancy was a rather large structure down the road. All other dwellings, simple one-story houses, were absolutely dwarfed by the monolith. Aside from its size, however, it was almost as plain as the others. Large panes of glass which could have accommodated at least seven stories of windows graced the street-side face of the building.
The rest was of a dull gray material. A simple dark roof over hung the top of the structure.
The man eyed a path leading directly to the building, about the width of his car. Pumping the breaks, he performed a nonchalant one handed turn. The narrow road was long, and the colossal building he approached appeared to black out the already gray sky. As the Civic rattled alongside the building, it came to rest near a white painted garage door. The paint upon the door was beginning to flake, and thus, the man made a note to himself to schedule when he would have to attend to that matter.
The walk from his car was brisk. He did not even bother to retrieve his black handbag, which rested on the passenger's seat. By the time he remembered where he left the item, the man had already made it to the door within.
A pale hand entered his right side pocket of the nearly smooth black pants. The tell-tale jingle of keys had been made obvious as he rummaged through. He managed to grab an object, but then curled his lips in dissatisfaction, for he had mistakenly retrieved his detached Id badge.
Upon it lay his indifferent expression, and the name, “Andrew”.
Storing away the badge, his second attempt proved to be successful. With his curled lips now in a small smile, the door was unlocked, and he wasted nothing on ceremony to enter.
Before him lay a massive room. Wooden floors with large panels appeared to stretch for an eternity. Daunting walls, and several tall structures occupied the area. An acute observer would note that these very structures possessed the appearance of scaled-up versions of tables and chairs, as well as a kitchen island. Peering across the vast expanse, one would observe a colossal, yet humble electric stove and oven. And if they were to crane their necks high enough, they would observe a black, finger-smeared microwave above it.
Andrew had taken care to remove his shoes, before setting inside of the gigantic kitchen.
About five steps in, he knelt down, and swiped a finger across what little of the floor he could cover. Bringing the extremity to his face, he scrunched his nose upon observing a faint gray tint.
Dang, it would take forever if I tried to clean the floor again. I know Caitlin’s gone for the day, but …
The thought ended as the finger was dusted against the side of his pants. His opposite hand crawled up to his neck, loosening the Windsor knot that had held his collar hostage for nearly eleven hours. Andrew broke into a small jog, which would have to suffice as his exercise for the day.
A dark brown eye shot up, not able to peer at the top of the table that he now passed under.
To him, even as he hastened his pace, the surrounding area appeared slow to pass by. A growl from his stomach only provided further encouragement.
He then approached the kitchen island. Drawers with handles that would require his entire wingspan to grab ahold of loomed menacingly above. Upon closer inspection, the entire structure was made of a cheap polymer pseudo-wood. At his income, such was necessary to accommodate the sheer scale it was built.
He let out a satisfied exhale as the shadow of the island was left behind him. A stories-high refrigerator now loomed above him, despite the fact that he stood a great distance away. At the base of the great cooling unit, there was a minuscule perforation, perfectly fit for him to march on through. Andrew jogged towards it, but slowed down, for he observed a dark, shiny spot on the floor. It was a dark brown, a shade that evoked either coffee or tea. However, this particular spot did not tremble on his approach, nor did it shine like a liquid would. Instead, it lay still, staining the floor below.
Part of him was tempted to cease, and scrub away the offending spot. His growling stomach forced him to leave that activity for later.
At last, his destination had been reached. Cool air greeted him as he dragged open the heavy door. Right at the entrance lay various containers, filled with leftovers, although these were of scale for him.
Of course, if he were to venture further into the fridge, the tubbaware would be far larger.
He enjoyed a cold dinner quietly, and quickly, settling for eating just outside of the fridge. Andrew eyed a massive doorway right next to the fridge. It was made from a wood-like material that took up the massive height of the gigantic room. The man let his glance linger a bit too long, before he continued shoveling leftovers into his mouth, taking care to not allow a drop of food touch the floor.
In far less time than it took him to retrieve it, dinner was finished. Dishes were stacked in an orderly manner, before being marched off to a mirror black dishwasher. Much like the refrigerator, there was a ground level entrance to scale which allowed him to deposit his dirty dishes.
Andrew trekked across the floor once more, speeding past the central island, all the way to an oversized white-painted door. Nothing but black could be discerned under it, yet he ducked under the bottom, easily able to fit within the allotted room the door allowed. He took care to avoid any splinters that passed by overhead, before he had managed to enter the next room.
This particular area he had entered was not floored with massive wood panels, but a thick carpeting with strands than made it up to his knees. As such, Andrew’s steps became comically large as he forded forward. To him, the material was course, rough, irritating, and managed to drag everywhere, pulling upon his ironed pants, his neatly pressed shirt, and even snagging his tie
Up ahead, much like in the kitchen, lay familiar objects at an unfamiliar size. The looming bed dominated the space in the room. A dark, thick comforter that could at least cover a block of an average neighborhood lay on top, before drooping down over until some of the material lay sprawled upon the carpet. Standing right next to it was a nightstand, which held an alarm clock.
Taking another step, he nearly lost his balance, for the terrain had abruptly changed. Instead of raggedy, course carpet fibers that loved to hug every nook and cranny of his business suit, now he had trudged upon a smooth, silky nylon sheet.
Managing to steady himself, he narrowed his eyes as he viewed the edge of this new area within the massive bedroom. Tight threading left the nylon bunched in a pattern of distinct folds. If he were to take a step back, it would have been easy to observe that these rhythmic folds formed a gigantic waistband … a waistband to an equally colossal pair of shorts.
From the rather stout width the legs of these shorts possessed, one could conclude such a massive article of clothing would have only covered a fraction of the thigh of whoever could fit into it. Its smooth nylon material easily captured every bump and dip of the carpet.
“Didn’t even bother to fold these, eh?” Andrew mused to himself. He bent down, grasping some of the silky material. Immediately, a faint odor of musky sweat and a suspiciously fishy taint reached his most discerning nose.
His lips curled, before he puffed out a disgusted exhale. Taking a quick glance behind, it wasn’t long before the material was brought before his face.
The silky fabric was then pressed against his nose. A long inhale was taken, bringing with it all the odors he had sensed before, amplified to a far greater intensity.
“Definitely needs to be washed soon,” he noted to no one. Immediately, the smelly material was dropped with little ceremony. The office man then trudged forward once more, noting that the black material of his own pants appeared to hug his waistline more tightly than before.
Andrew could only discern the black outline of the clock, but didn’t have a chance to tell the time. He trudged forward, making it to the side of the bed. A glance to his side was met with the foot of the nightstand, with a thickness that challenged even the mighty sequoia. This was also host to a small metal platform, with a dark metal line leading up to the top of the stand.
It was here that he had fully loosened his tie, before setting it upon the carpet, taking care to hang it over one of the strands that had stuck out. A pale finger was brought to his collar, and one-by-one, his white shirt was unbuttoned. He worked carefully, lest he undid any of the threading as he made his way down. The article was not merely set aside, he managed to fold over some of the sleeves, before it too was set upon the carpet.
His white undershirt, belt, pants, shoes and socks were discarded in a similar manner, each finding a designated strand of carpeting to balance upon. Andrew’s physique was nothing impressive, as expected from an office worker. Yet his strange, oversized lifestyle, and a methodical diet, allowed some semblance of physical fitness. He was thin and lanky, yet there was evidence of wiry muscle within.
His wrists tensed as he grabbed ahold of the overhung comforter. For a moment, he glanced towards the nightstand lift again, before letting out a determined exhale.
Loose fabric provided plenty for him to grip. He could feel his shoulders, abdominals and biceps ache, yet the pain of a good workout neither discouraged nor dismounted him. Unlike the carpet, the comforter proved rather soft. The office worker almost found himself falling asleep against it, yet the anxiety of falling from such a height dampened such prospects.
With the grit of his teeth, Andrew pulled himself over. A massive pillow lay before him, easily the size of a house he could not afford. Running up against it, his hand traced under, before touching a rather hard material. Grabbing a hold of it, he inspected the hard cover book. It’s styling was simple, with a gold-emblazoned word for its title, “The Silmarillion”.
Andrew had taken a position on top of the mansion-sized pillow, completely absorbed in the novel. Hours passed by, drawing the room into eventual darkness. The light of the billboard-esque clock, which read “11:32”, allowed him to continue reading. It was not long before he heard a couple of thunderous thuds from the kitchen. Dark eyes tore themselves away from the novel, towards the entrance to the adjacent room. The door remained closed, yet he could observe a moving shadow from the light that lay visible underneath.
A loud creak was heard, and the massive monolith of polymers moved. The bedroom was flooded with incandescent kitchen light. A humanoid shadow blocked the way, filling in the doorway from floor to ceiling.
There was a heavy rustle as the figure made its way in. Earth-shaking thumps softened as massive feet rolled over the ragged carpet. From the shape of the hips, and the curves of the torso, which were somewhat hidden beneath baggy denim, it was easy to assume the newcomer was female.
In an instant, the heavy jacket that adorned this woman was thrown aside. In a massive heap, it crumpled, giving off a loud rumble as it impacted the ground. With another motion, her legs kicked off the loosened jeans that bound them. Warm light caught curvy, bulging limbs, and smooth, slightly tanned skin.
The pants also landed with a powerful thump. Andrew heard a small chuckle. Her voice was low, gritty, yet possessed a distinctly feminine timbre. The discarded nylon shorts that had caused him some trouble before were whisked off the floor, before sliding up the massive pillars of leg the woman possessed.
Her shadow was cast over its singular, small occupant as she approached the bed. Andrew caught an off-white tank top that hugged tightly across her chest area, before falling loosely over her waist. He heard nothing but the rustle of heavy footfalls and tired breathing. With a snap, he closed his book, setting it down carefully upon the bedsheets.
There was a loud thud, and a great tremor that shook the bed. Andrew let out a surprised yelp as he was launched into the air, making it to ten feet before falling back down. The squishy pillow managed to absorb the impact, preventing what damage could have been caused if the surface was far less forgiving. Brazenly, had the woman leapt onto the bed. So desperate for rest was she, that the other occupant had slipped beneath her notice. But, Caitlin was not always the most graceful of creatures.
For a brief moment, there was silence. Andrew could no longer see the alarm clock, for the massive form of the woman had blocked it out. What little light were was that originated from the kitchen allowed him to discern deep auburn hair which fell over a young, slightly freckled face. A steel gray pupil, almost obscured by a heavy eyelid had turned to acknowledge him, an eye which would have put to shame many large flat-screens he could care less to put in his budget.
As soon as she had settled down, he heard and felt, heavy breathing. Its powerful cadence was almost enough to lull her to sleep. Andrew took the time to slide down the pillow, the pillow he now shared with this titan. Keeping an eye on the eye that was in danger of closing, he opened his mouth.
“Long day eh?”
He received a rumbling “Mmmmmh” that vibrated the material beneath. Andrew folded his arms, doubting he could be observed in the shadows. He still felt such an action would make an impact.
Whether by placebo, or an actual result, Caitlin’s face wrested itself from the grip of the soft pillow. “Five demolitions,” she explained “Messy cleanup.”
Andrew’s own dark eyes traveled from her face, down her exposed neck, to a breast tightly compressed within the dirty tank top. Thought it was late at night, and he had to be in the office by 5 in the morning the next day, the man could feel his enthusiasm grow.
“Need me to help you unwind?” he suggested, attempting to sound as innocuous as possible.
“No worries, I’m-”
A loud yawn blasted through the night. The woman’s voice had become even lower than before. Bass registers rumbled, rattling Andrew’s bones. Hot, moist air teased his skin, while the odor of onion mixed with human musk assaulted the senses. Despite this, he remained enthused.
“Are you going to shower?” he asked, wiping his nose.
She nodded, rustling the sheets. “Tomorrow.”
“Well, I ought to get some of that gunk off now,” he suggested. Andrew felt his bare feet trace a circle upon the bed sheets. His arms, which had been folded once before, were now clutched behind his back. Eyes that had been so focused keenly upon the massive form before him were now averted from her tired gaze.
Upon his offer, steel colored eyes harshly zeroed in on the man, as the brow’s upon her face began to furrow. Yet, beset with such intensity, Andrew could only muster a mischievous smile, and grow even more enthusiastic.
“You’re my husband,” Caitlin declared, her harsh glare beginning to soften, “not my personal slave.”
“I’m doing this for both of us. You’ll stink up the bed if I don’t.” he sheepishly justified. One of his hands began to rub the back of his head, beginning to undo his slick, quasi-mullet.
“Too late for that,” she stated. Caitlin’s own eyes now had taken care to not stare at Andrew, but focus on the bedsheets below. In a far more quiet, not to mention timid voice, she continued, “but I suppose you might as well …”
The man had already begun eagerly making his way down. As he trekked over the comforter, he felt his progress slow as each step sunk into the soft fabric. A dark eye veered back to his wife. Even on her back, she exceeded the height of most houses. Of course, some areas reached higher than others, as he so lecherously noted.
Andrew made it past her dirty white tank top, and was currently walking alongside her waist. He brought himself closer to her position, close enough to where he was but an arm’s length away. The temperature had notably rose, and the faint sweaty odor that he had detected when she first entered, became rather overpowering.
There was a shift in the nylon, a ripple as Caitlin attempted to make herself more comfortable. Her husband staggered as a result, requiring a steady hand against her monolithic thigh to regain balance. He was able to maintain contact, even as he progressed down to the point where her shorts no longer covered her skin.
He continued to trace his hand against the skin, even as Caitlin allowed herself to remain still. Her flesh was firm and taught, and if he pressed further, he would detect sinewy muscle that had been well worked. Yet, the skin upon her leg was smooth, more so than the slightly dirty wooden floors and a lot more pleasant than the coarse, rough irritating carpet fibers of the bedroom.
In minutes, he had left the thigh behind, and moved adjacent to her calf. The man had adjusted to the steep indent his wife left by her sheer mass. Such weight was formidable, easily lethal to men whom would be considered physical juggernauts, of which Andrew himself was not. Yet, he continued to tease danger, tracing his hand all the way to Caitlin’s ankle. By then, the skin there was dry, and lacked the waxy smoothness of her thigh. Yet, Andrew was not deterred in the slightest.
Rounding by the ankle, he was now face to face with her heel. His wife’s foot was a structure in of itself, easily exceeding several stories. Scaling it would have been a strenuous adventure, comparable to climbing smaller cliff faces. Even a good amount of expertise and effort would have been required to even make it past her heel.
As he traced his hand against the heel, Andrew detected many bumps and callouses. A nose was brought against the thick skin. A deep inhale took in dirty, pungent odors. In any other instance, he would have forced to upchuck his dinner after experiencing such a scent. But now, he could only stand erect, determined to treat his wife well.
In circular motions his hands moved. Some dryer skin flaked off as he rubbed. A cheek was brought against her heel, his softer skin giving way to the tougher surface. The bedroom was relatively cold, as they were still in the winter months. Thus, feet warmed from an entire day in heavy boots proved a comfort to him.
As he worked on her heel, he felt his tongue slip out, and sampled the salty humidity still trapped upon it. Such cuisine would have been fit for the most desperate of street urchins. For Andrew, it was priceless. He stood even more erect, as to not miss a patch of skin.
Caitlin felt her tendon’s and muscles loosen upon her serviced foot. Andrew’s cool touch caused her to let out a small exhale, blowing out the labors of the day she had endured. Yet, this was followed by a frustrated grunt, as she thought to herself, Dang it, I did need this. But Andrew needs to sleep …
And even as her foot was able to cool down from Andrew’s efforts, something within her had begun to warm.
There was a pause, and she felt Andrew walk away. Immediately, did her spirits dampen. Her foot felt hollow, as if a piece was missing. However, she was keen enough to hear the small patters of Andrew’s walking, as he ventured towards her other heel.
For another couple of minutes, Caitlin could only bask in the small, yet refreshing sensation of her husband servicing her tired heels. She would feel a spike of warmth for every small prickly lick against the skin. Unconsciously, she had begun to bite down on her lower lip.
It was still an unpleasant surprise when Andrew stopped again. Gazing upwards, he eyed the five digits that lay above, bathed in faint incandescent light. He felt his arms fold, debating if he had enough strength to make it to the top.
He shook his head. Leaning to the side, he cupped his hands over his mouth, before shouting, “Mind putting your toes down? That’s where the real nasty stuff is.”
His small voice traveled far, and was received crystal clear by gigantic ears. Caitlin let out a sigh, before muttering, “Honestly, by the time were done, you’re going to stink.”
“True,” acknowledged Andrew, keeping his eyes upon the toes, “but I’m not going to be contaminating an area the size of a football field.”
Caitlin was relieved that her massive foot blocked out the view of her face. Her eyes rolled, and if she wished it, they could have traveled back into her skull. “Really underselling me there honey.”
Her knee, once flat upon the comforter, now rose. To Andrew, it was as if he were witnessing the ascension of a newly christened hill. As such, he had to watch the colossal foot he was once up against, retreat from him, compelled by an overwhelming force. Such an event provoked excitement, equivalent to watching elephants or dinosaurs move; a pure fascination with how something massive and monolithic moved with graceful ease.
By bending her legs, Caitlin was able to bring her toes down to the comforter. Unconsciously, they flexed, giving off the impression of some lovecraftian monstrosity beginning to move. Cool air seeped between them, allowing the giantess a brief refreshing sensation, though nothing what could prepare her for what followed.
Here we go again, thought Andrew as he approached the first set of toes he had set to service. The putrid odor he had so judiciously absorbed just moments before only intensified.
Each digit proved formidable; her large toe was just outmatched by a large sedan, while the other toes could be compared to far more economical vehicles, much like his own Honda Civic. Andrew himself was taller than her big toe; it only came up to his chin.
He bent down, taking in the odor wafting from the space between her big and second toes. There was a strong vinegary quality that seared his nostrils. Both hands braced upon a toe. He laid his left on the greatest of the digits, while his right lay on the second.
His second course had begun, as his tongue lapped up the grotesque sweat which had fermented all day within heavy socks and bulky boots. The hands that held him up began moving in circles, creating clear indents within the bony extremities.
Andrew veered to the second toe, his tongue servicing it more frequently. He had taken his feet off of the bed sheets, and had fully mounted his wife’s foot. Now his knees lay suspended on the big toe, while he attended to the second. A tremor was sent into his chest as his wife wiggled her toes by pure instinct, almost unseating him.
Deciding to move on, he pushed forth, eyeing the space between the second and the third, but a large dark shape caught his attention. He reached out with both hands, yanking out of the gap. What he held was a wrinkled, mangled ball of black fabric. The smell of course, was incomprehensible.
Caitlin had begun to notice that the crushing exhaustion that had thrown her into the bed had begun to lift. She especially perked up once she felt the quaint tickle of Andrew’s lips graze her toes.
It appeared nearly an eternity as her husband continued to kiss, lick and rub her toes, even as the old layers of pungent sweat were replenished. Once again, he had to trek across to reach the other foot, so that the toes upon that pedal monstrosity would not go neglected.
As before, he threw himself on top of the foot, not even bothering to tease the matter with a light message. Andrew headed straight for the sticky, fermented perspiration coating the toes and in-between. The office man was better prepared to handle his wife’s instinctual flexing and bending of the toes this time around. He rose and fell with each digit, even embracing one to stay attached. By his actions, Caitlin was made explicitly aware of her husband’s enthusiasm for this self-imposed task.
At last, Andrew had finished. The feet were as wet and smelly as before, yet he could tell his services were no longer required. Looking past the gargantuan ankle, he began making his way up her leg.
“I’m done here,” he announced, “Now the pits.”
“You walked right past them,” Caitlin pointed out. Despite this, her tired arms rose, until they were tucked behind her head, compressing her thick brown hair.
Andrew nodded as he continued, once more admiring the shadow of the immense leg. “I like to work my way back,” he explained. He then began his trek back, going up the length of her foot, making past her ankle to her calf.
Progress was slow, initially. His wife’s calf was smooth, with only spare hairs to grip on. This became less of a problem, for Caitlin would see to it. Akin to a river bridge lowering to reconnect the road after a passing ship had gone by, her leg had begun to sink down back into the comforter. Andrew too, felt his stomach sink along with the incline. As the angle had become less daunting, Andrew found it easier to stand on his two feet.
His pace was brisk upon her leg. Even the obstructing plateau of Caitlin’s knee cap was not much of a challenge to climb over. However, as the plain of flesh widened on her thigh, he had begun to slow for far different reasons. Once he had reached the edge of his wife’s loose fitting sport shorts, Andrew had come to a stop.
One hand gingerly gripped the edge. He lifted, similar to how one would lift a tarp. The man was met with a massive heat wave, a blast of muggy air strong enough to knock him flat. It arrived with a strong stench of a far different kind. All of this only elicited a mischievous smirk from him, as he gazed into what lay beyond, up his beloved’s thighs.
“What are you doing?” Caitlin inquired, with a knowing inflection. She had attempted to sound annoyed, but felt as if insufficient effort was put in to make such a phony objection convincing.
“Just previewing,” Andrew answered in the most matter-of-fact way he could. The heat and humidity had begun to make him sweat, and as such, he wished to bathe in it.
“Uh-huh.” Caitlin murmured, feeling hot blood rush to her cheeks, and other organs within, “I don't mind if you dive right in, but I won't be able to help you out. I'm as sleepy as a sloth.”
“Hence the preview.” he ejaculated.
At this, Caitlin rolled her eyes. She also bit her lip once more.
Andrew released his hold upon the shorts, and begun to climb on top of the material. His neck strained as he forced himself to look at what was ahead of him, lest wandering eyes lead him away from his destination. A deep dark valley, obscured so selfishly by silky fabric, tempted him with wild detours.
Still, he pressed onward. Soon, smooth nylon transitioned to soft skin. There was a sizable portion of exposed flesh in the expanse between the shorts and her tank top. Caitlin’s belly button was slightly visible, for her top had ridden upwards. It had been surrounded by small, organized hills of taut abdominal musculature.
Here, Andrew had ceased once more, thought he did not attempt to pry open the waistband of his wife’s shorts. Instead, his gaze was focused northward. Despite making it to her torso, he could not behold his wife’s face, for something, or two, had obstructed it.
“That’s a mountain I’m not climbing tonight.” he commented.
Andrew then veered off to the side, sliding down the skin of his wife’s midriff. The comforter made for a soft landing, although he had to roll to fully minimize the impact. Once re-situated, the man had broken into a small jog, for his destination was straight ahead.
Heavy, estrogen-tainted odor dominated his senses. Andrew found the area here more humid than in the foot. As he made it to under Caitlin’s shoulder, he could observe the area of interest covered with slick, short, curly hairs. Only flashes of wrinkled flesh could be caught between the maze of wiry fibers.
As with the feet, Andrew thrust his head into just below the center of Caitlin’s armpits. Even more perspiration coated his already soaked hair. His body was brought against the area as well, forcing its way through twisted fibers, attempting to come into contact with as much of her underarm flesh as possible. For a moment, the bushel of axilla threatened to completely swallow him in.
“Hold on, fire in the hole.”
Andrew broke from his trance, hearing his wife’s voice booming from the outside of his little world. There was a shift in the bedsheets, as she had lifted her legs.
A sound of thunderous flatulence bellowed out from beyond. The man could have sworn he felt the bed vibrate as his wife dispensed with all other grotesque odors caught within her system. Luckily, she had directed the wind away from him, so only the faintest scent of crappy emissions hindered him. Of course, considering his current predicament, the smell would have gone on unnoticed.
Andrew pressed on, taking in pints upon pints of salty liquid caught in his wife's hairy underarms. In many ways, he could have compared it to a rather pungent oasis that no desert traveler would partake in, lest they were on the brink of death. Yet, like an unexpected spring of water in barren lands, each drop sent a new spark of life within him.
He pressed even further, as if he were trying to become one with the moist flesh. Some of his hands unconsciously twirled a wayward hair, whose thickness could have been mistaken for a small rope. His hair at this point was no longer neatly slicked back, but had become soaked, tangled and messy, falling over his face on inopportune times.
Pulling away briefly for a fresh breath of air, Andrew’s head was reintroduced to the sweaty underarm far sooner than he had expected. An unrelenting force had pressed him in, deforming the skin so that it folded around him. Slick hairs molested his body as he had been compelled by this same force to travel across the vast terrain of the odorous armpit in a circular motion. Movement quickened, and he became short of breath. In his heart of hearts, he wished it would last an eternity.
A mere finger of Caitlin’s was the only digit required to trap Andrew against her underarm. Her heart raced like an accelerating drumbeat. She could feel her ribcage rattle as her heart furiously worked to arouse her senses. The sensation of her husband pressed into her armpit had sent her into a frenzy. Closing her eyes, she could feel her breathing only becoming more desperate as she applied even more force to the area.
Finally, Caitlin managed to catch herself. A brief vision of her underarm hairs stained blood red was the only thing that stopped her. In the dark, she knew her cheeks had been flushed beet red, in a volatile mixture of embarrassment at her own actions, as well as something else she would be addressing in a moment’s notice.
As Andrew lay in a forest of axilla, beaten and exhausted, he could only think to himself, the things I do for love.
From the infernal pits, he was lifted, held captive by an index finger and a thumb. Of such great girth were these members, that they had nearly engulfed his frame, leaving only his chest and head visible from above, and his knees from below. There was a slight restrictive compressing within his diaphragm from the applied force of both digits, yet he was sure his wife was attempting to be as gentle as possible. Were her desires far more malicious, the grinding of organs and the crushing of bones would only require a minuscule effort. It was this thought that reminded Andrew that, despite the ride he had been taken upon before, he was still quite erect with enthusiasm.
He was brought before Caitlin’s face. Her hair was artfully splayed out, where if she were to stand, it would fall messily down to her neck. Steel gray eyes pierced him with such an intensity, he felt as if their mere glare would crush him before her fingers would. Hungrily they focused on him, foreshadowing what was to come.
His view traveled down her round nose, and to her slightly agape lips, an entrance to a maw that would have made him a lesser snack. Yet, the hunger his wife experienced was not of the sort that satisfied the stomach.
“You’ve done more than enough there,” she declared, out of breath herself, “but there’s one more place that need your attention.”
“Yeah, the other side,” Andrew sheepishly suggested. But, all he was doing was delaying the inevitable.
Caitlin shook her head. Her mouth had closed, and sported a mischievous smirk. “Nope, wrong answer.”
Andrew’s next words were not chosen so carefully, “I mean, if you wish, I could go anywhere.”
Caitlin felt her heart skip a beat. “Your funeral.”
“Oh no...” was all Andrew could vocalize. However, even though part of him was exhausted, the other member he possessed still had some juice left.
“Lets expand on that little preview you did, shall we?”
Night had fallen. The stars were now fully visible. Yet, the large truck that maneuvered through the neighborhood and to driver within, bright incandescent lights outshone the heavenly lights.
The massive vehicle was currently in the shadow of a more massive building. Multiple bins of trash had been stacked neatly at its side. With little enthusiasm, the truck driver maneuvered his truck, so that the carrying crane would retrieve one of these bins.
In an instant, he began to feel a slight tremor. The truck driver’s eyes grew massive with fright. In the distance, he heard a rhythmic pounding, and his head darted around and about, attempting to locate the general epicenter of this unusual quake.
He then heard a scream, a woman’s scream that echoed with magnitude and intensity. Yet, this was not the sound of despair. As realization dawned over him, the driver felt his shoulder’s relax. A knowing smile crept across his face.
The man sniggered, as he continued his work undisturbed.
A loud klaxon had shaken Caitlin from her slumber. Heavy eyelids rose, revealing a bright LED display that read “4:30”. Reaching a lazy hand over, she slapped the top of the clock, silencing its morning call.
Mouthing inaudible murmurs, her head sunk back into the pillow, and she felt peaceful rest begin to take over once more.
One detail kept her conscious. Behind her head, upon Andrew’s area of the pillow where he usually rested besides her, she could not hear a single rustle. Rolling over, twisting bedsheets and comforters, she was greeted with the sight of empty fabric.
Caitlin let out a sharp exhale and shot up, still seated within the bed. Alert eyes had begun to systematically search the bed, glaring at the various folds and valleys for a miniscule body, or even worse, a miniscule blood stain. Her heartbeat became as a dreadful drumbeat within her chest, the perfect sound to her rising anxiety as each passing second of the search proved fruitless.
With no sign of her husband, Caitlin rotated to the side, allowing her feet to touch the carpet below. That was when she figured out where Andrew had gone.
As she had turned, she felt a peculiar bump within the depths of her shorts. A cautious finger had begun probing the designated area, until she could feel the familiar contour of her husband within the confines of the nylon.
It was then, when Caitlin had recalled the last thing she had done before she had gone to sleep. This particular memory saw the return of a mischievous smirk.
“Oh right,” she could only say to herself.
Her finger then gingerly brushed against the band of her pants. It then sunk even deeper, sliding beneath the edge of her underwear. There was a slight sticky resistance as she pulled both articles back.
Sprawled against the white strip of her panties lay Andrew. The surrounding area, however, possessed an off color. Arms and legs moved, breaking away some sort of flaky coating that had somehow adhered itself to him the previous night.
Caitlin could feel her face flush red once more as she admired the small shape of her husband in the depths of her underwear. She could observe his head swivel, attempting to ascertain his surroundings. Perhaps he too had difficulty with recollection.
At the sound of her voice, Andrew’s head shot up. The environment was alien to him, the white cloth he lay upon, the black background, and whatever strange ceiling lay right above him, slick, red and covered with hair. He managed to catch a glimpse of the thumb that had pulled back the canopy of his private prison.
While he knew from where Caitlin spoke, he could not see her face, for something blocked his view.
Nevertheless, he responded, “Sleep was the only thing I could do after what you put me through. Or, into more accurately.”
“I’m sorry … “ Caitlin apologized, turning her head away, “I got carried away.”
“I'm not complaining,” Andrew reassured her.
His wife rolled her eyes, even if her loving smirk never left her. She suppressed a giggle, for that would only encourage him.
“Alright, Let’s get you to the shower. You don't want the boys at work asking questions."
At this, Andrew smirked, "I'm surprised you know what a shower is, stinky."
Caitlin could only sigh. She was slightly tempted to reintroduce her husband to his prison for the night. However, she decided that such an action would have to wait until after the workday was done.