“So, what do you think?” Lynn beamed at Dorothy, reading her delighted expression. “Is he going to do the job?”

Dorothy cradled the little man in the crook of one arm, corralling him upon one massive breast. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.” She cooed at him, poking at him with thick fingers, giggling as he tried to kick her away. “I’ve got another chance…”

“Another chance at what?” Lynn tilted her head, her golden hair spilling and shimmering in the candlelight.

It was some moments before Dorothy heard her, rapt as she was with her prize. She looked up and blinked at Lynn. “Oh, uh, nothing. I just can’t believe this is real! Isn’t this amazing?” She gazed lovingly upon the little man who stared up at her in horror, swatting her fingers away as she wheedled his tiny little penis between her thumb and forefinger. “You don’t like that? Of course you do. Now, just hold still and let Mommy please you, okay?” Her breathing grew heavier as she pinned his arms down, pressing them into her tit, and slipped another finger between his lean thighs. The tip of her finger brushed over his balls: she panted, watching the tiny scrotum roll and slide over the ridges in her fingerprint.

Simon heard Lynn laugh and say, “Mommy? Hold on, what did you just say?” He tried to reach out to her, but Dorothy’s huge index finger held his arm fast. His elbow dug into pliant tit-meat, but the force of her finger kept him from slipping free. He stared up at Dorothy: her huge eyes were wide with excitement, glassy even. Her irises trembled, rattling back and forth as she gobbled his body down with her gaze. The effect unnerved him so he looked at her mouth instead, which was a mistake. Her thin, dark lips hung slack from her jaws. She had no concept of how she appeared, fixated on her new possession, and her composure was falling apart. Her hot breath, sour with alcohol, blasted upon his bare body, making him wince and turn away in order to catch a fresh breath of air. If he turned to the left, he saw Lynn cackling to herself across the vast landscape of tablecloth; to the right was the sloping hillside of wrinkling flesh, age spots and moles, and the deep creases where her neck planted into her shoulder.

Yet he was terrified to not watch, to block out all vision, because he had no idea what was going to happen next. He was locked in combat with her huge, stupid, groping fingers, playing with his cock as though it belonged to her. Simon grew more frustrated, and behind that more scared, that his two strong arms couldn’t shove her determined finger away. And he didn’t know which was the bigger threat: getting his cock pinched and torn off by the large, ugly, clumsy digits, or getting flayed alive by the glossy talons that erupted from them.

And then those gibbering, flapping lips called Dorothy his “Mommy.” Simon’s blood ran cold at that. For that matter, his mind nearly broke: being shrunken down to the size of a doll, presented to this horny ogre buck-naked, and then she calls herself Mommy? And Lynn just laughed at it as though it was funny. Why wasn’t she helping him? Couldn’t she see what was going on?

He watched the gross head slowly rise toward Lynn. Wobbly fat ringed her neck, trembling as she spoke. “Did I say… I was just trying things. You know, freeforming? Freestyling, I think the kids call it.” Her laughter was unconvincing, and her half-smiling, dreamlike expression as she returned to him was unappealing on every level.

“Why don’t you let Mommy give you a little kiss,” Dorothy grunted, and shadows spread over Simon as her face hovered in all directions and descended upon him.

“No… no! No! Get away!” he screamed. In a momentary lapse of her grasp, his arms broke free and he threw them above himself. His hands landed upon her puckering upper lip. Coarse little hairs poked between his fingers as tissue-like skin gave and spread behind his palms. He shoved her upper lip toward her nose, which hideously exposed her gums and a row of well-seasoned incisors.

“Ahh,”‌ she breathed heavily, opening her mouth wider. Her voice echoed around him, and his skin grew moist in the wave of her breath. Candlelight sparkled on her thick, writhing tongue, a slap of muscle that poured out of her jaws and tumbled upon his thighs. The giantess moaned throatily, and Simon could glimpse the cavern beyond her tongue, widening with a lusty eagerness mere inches away from him.

“No! Stop! Get away from me!” His own voice echoed briefly in the deep red cavern of her maw. Fillings in molars peeked behind spiky rows of yellowing ivory, as the heavy mattress of her tongue slurped up from his knees and thighs to slobber over his belly and chest. He pounded at it with his fists, making pathetic little slap-slap noises in her tastebuds. Her throat flexed with chuckling, a threatening gesture at this size, and more of that musky air clouded him entirely.

What made it worse was how his body responded. The horror of gigantic Dorothy should have soured him against any interest, and the shame of Lynn sitting across the table, ogling him in his nakedness should have embarrassed him into remission. But as soon as that thick, hot, damp mattress of tongue piled upon him and slithered up his body, his cock sprang to life. Even as he stared at potential death in rows of sharp, jagged teeth ringing the entrance to the wide, orgasming chasm of her throat, his cock got hard as hundreds of tastebuds slid over it, coating him in her saliva. Now he was just baffled, alienated to himself, on top of horrified and losing his sanity. What was there to be aroused about, with this overweight and middle-aged T-rex threatening to gobble him down?

Lynn’s laughter rang like a dinner bell. “Hey, you two, get a room!” Her tone was playful, but with an edge. Dorothy glanced at her, trying to read whether Lynn was changing her mind about all this. What she saw was a wild-eyed blonde woman with more teeth than she remembered. “Here, Dorothy, hand him over to me, and why don’t you get up and show him what you’ve got going on?”

“What do you mean?” Dorothy asked, nonetheless passing little Simon over the candle and condiments to Lynn’s waiting paws.

“I‌ mean, get your sexy ass on up out of your chair and shake it for your little toy, here! Show him what he’s got to look forward to this weekend, right? Give him a little appetizer before he plunges into the Dorothy buffet!” Her eyes glinted, as did her teeth. Where Dorothy had cradled the miniaturized man upon her bosom, Lynn simply wrapped her fist around his waist, two fingers digging into the exposed guts between his ribs and his hips. Simon wasn’t going anywhere, and there was no love coming from Lynn, unlike how Dorothy doted upon him.

Slowly, entranced, Dorothy pushed her chair back and rose beside the table. “But other people will see,” she said, glancing around the empty room.

“No one’s coming back here.” Lynn glanced at the staff up front, who glanced in turn at the front door. “We’ve got this section to ourselves. And anyway, so what if they do? Who’s going to get upset at seeing a big, beautiful woman enjoying herself?” It was a credit to Lynn that she refrained from breaking out in laughter at this line; instead, she only stared more intensely at her coworker, nodding encouragingly.

Dorothy felt ridiculous, standing in the middle of a nearly empty room, smoothing out her blouse, tossing her hair back, getting ready to give a little dance to a little man. Her heart pounded in her chest. None of this made any sense, and yet she was going along with it like floating down a slow river. Sometimes she bumped into something, sometimes she got spun around, but she just kept going with the flow to see where it would lead.

She licked her upper lip for a moment, then shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to do.” She looked at the little naked man in Lynn’s fist—that wasn’t true, there was one thing she desperately wanted to do, but she couldn’t do it in a restaurant and definitely not in front of her young, attractive coworker.

Simon cried out as Lynn’s fist clenched him. After realizing how strong she was, he noticed her palm was clammy and damp. “Just do a little dance!” Lynn said, with increasing sharpness to her tone. “Think of a song you like, and show off your amazing rack to this little… thing.” Lynn hoisted Simon up, holding him just over the edge of the table.

Dorothy looked down at her breasts, erupting full from her chest and resting partially upon her belly. Were they nice breasts? Usually she wore a bra, but something told her that this would be sexier. It didn’t really feel like her, though, she didn’t think. She shimmied her shoulders tentatively, and her huge breasts swayed over her belly, rustling the rumpled blouse that draped over them.

“Yeah, like that. More like that. You liked that, didn’t you Simon?”

He knew it wasn’t a question, by the raptor-like intensity in Lynn’s eyes and the harshness in her tone. The truth was that he was frightened by the gigantic boobs: if he got sandwiched between them, he could suffocate to death. If he was lying on the table and she lowered one upon him, he didn’t know if the weight could break his bones, but again, he’d lose all his oxygen. He was pretty sure he couldn’t heave that massive sack of flesh and fat off him, as well. So when they swung past him like wrecking balls, but larger, he was far from enticed. It was only Lynn’s iron grip on his vulnerable waist that prevented him from warding them off or struggling to escape. All he could do was hang there in open space as sheets of burgundy blouse sailed past him. He did notice that her nipples were large and prominent, as one nearly took his head off.

How Lynn laughed at that. The blonde social media manager threw back her head and guffawed at the spectacle. Her fingers clenched around Simon, making him groan. He wedged his tiny hands inside the curve of her finger in an attempt to wedge a little space for himself, without much luck. He craned in her grip to look up at her.

Her nostrils flared with laughter. Her teeth shone in the dark room, and her eyes lit up like Christmas tree lights. “There you go,” she barked. “Swing your titties! Holy buckets, you’re stacked, lady! This is the luckiest little guy in the world.”

Simon waved up at her. “Lynn,”‌ he croaked. “Lynn, hey. Help me out, here. Let me go.” It was difficult to turn his body to face her. He could only feebly flap one little arm in the air, hoping she would catch the motion in the corner of her vision.

And she did. Lynn glanced at him, turning her face down to frown at him. Just like that, 60 to zero in one second, from being delighted at Dorothy’s burlesque to being disgusted at the sight of him. “Lynn, please, help me. Just let me go. I don’t want to do this.”

She said nothing, but her lip curled for a second. She snarled at him. Literally snarled! In that second her scowl exposed a glimpse of canine and incisor, and then her head snapped back to Dorothy, urging her on. Shaken, Simon braced his back against the knuckle of her thumb and planted both palms on her index finger, straining to loosen her grip on him.

“Lynn, why are you doing this?” he grunted between efforts.

She snorted without looking at him, told the larger, dumpier woman to put her shoulders into it. Obediently, Dorothy bent slightly at the waist and set her bosom swinging ponderously before the little man. He watched these immense sacks of flesh break through the air, taking devastating swipes right in front of him. If he were wedged between them, and one was set to collide into the other, would he survive? Simon winced, gawking up at the vast tower of destruction that the middle-aged research analyst now represented. There were so many ways he could die upon a body like this… upon, or within. The rolls of fat that could trap him, the gross spheres of ass or breasts that could crush or smother him. And, before he could stop the thought, all of the various holes and slits and orifices into which he might, more or less, fit.

He cried out and put his shoulders into shoving at Lynn’s mere index finger, and he couldn’t budge it an inch. His palms dug into the meaty flesh of her base digit, but the tendons that ran beneath the creamy flesh of her knuckles raised only slightly. This least amount of effort was more than enough to keep Simon apprehended as well as any steel cage. His spirit sank as he realized how inadequate he was to make a difference with nothing more than the blonde woman’s finger. He collapsed upon her finger, arms hanging over her fist, and sobbed once in defeat.

That was when Lynn noticed him. She turned her fist toward her own face, rotating the miniaturized young man to face her. Chuckling quietly, she picked out all the features of his dejection with sharp, dark eyes, how his arms hung like noodles over her fingers, how his head lolled upon her knuckle, even how his legs stopped kicking and his feet swayed with her least movement.

“Yes, that’s good.”‌ Her voice was husky and low. “That’s the stuff. Eat it up, you little fucker.”

When Simon looked up at her voice, she thrust him right back at the larger, dumpier woman feeling her way through a teasing dance, lost in her own world. Dorothy closed her eyes and heaved herself back and forth to a beat only in her own head. She bit her lip and thrust her chest, smacking the little man in Lynn’s fist with a heavy, meaty boob. Lynn laughed and demanded more.

“Yeah? Is this good?” Dorothy’s expression lightened as she slid her hands beneath her own boobs, hefting them up for display. The wine-red blouse bunched up in her grip but stretched out around her huge tits. She bobbled them up and down alternately, in a slow juggle, then grinned shyly as she spread them and enclosed them around Lynn’s fist.

Simon lacked the spirit to even cry out as he watched the mountainous woman advance on him. Her grin was almost cute, in the moment before the tremendous hillsides of womanly flesh buried him. Reflex caused him to lash out and fight against them, thrusting his pathetic little arms into the avalanche of tit. Her blouse was coarse against his fine little fingers, and the boobs were unrelenting: they flowed over his arms and sandwiched his head and swallowed him in darkness.

The flesh surged around him. It piled upon him on the left, then it shoved its way on the right, and then it churned back and forth. Simon’s little body bent like a willow in the angry blonde’s fist. All he could do was ride along with the irresistible forces acting upon him, hot, bulging mounds of soft yet weighty mammary flesh.

Lynn cackled and whipped the little man out abruptly. “You are in for such a treat tonight, you little fuck,”‌ she whispered sharply at him, then turned back to her coworker. “Dorothy! You wanna dance for this little guy?”

“I am dancing,” she said back, “I‌ thought.”

“No, a special dance.” Simon felt his bare soles brush the tablecloth as Lynn issued her orders. “Come up to the table here. Show him your hips, the front of you. I‌ want him to see where he’s going tonight.”

Dorothy wore a crooked grin as she bellied up to the table. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“This little fucker knows, don’t you?” Lynn’s fist flexed and dumped Simon upon the table. “Don’t you think about running, now. You can’t go anywhere fast enough, and if I‌ catch you, you get a special punishment.”

Simon stood shakily at the edge of the table, overshadowed by Dorothy’s pudge. “What kind of punishment?”

Once again, Lynn displayed all the teeth in her head. “I‌ don’t even know, Simon. Why don’t you try being naughty, and we’ll discover this together?”

He shook his head and shrank from her, without fully taking a step away from the dancing ogress before him.

“Go ahead, Simon. Try to get away with something. I’m curious.”

“No, thanks,”‌ he said. It took some force of will to refrain from pissing down his own bare leg. There was no good option here, between giving himself over to that gross pile of flesh in that ridiculous outfit, or staying within arm’s reach of this… truly frightening woman.

Simon looked between each of them, trying to estimate his odds of survival. Unpleasant as it was, he had to admit that Dorothy, such as she was, was still affectionate and friendly. Lynn hated him for some reason, he couldn’t imagine why, and she was looking for an excuse to fuck him up. Gulping hard, he turned toward Dorothy.

All he saw was a deep cleft in denim. Apparently she was wearing a form of jeggings, elasticized denim whose stretch-to-fit feature could make a pretty woman look stunning. But Dorothy was wearing them, and what was readily apparent was that she didn’t know what size to get. Her thighs looked like armored sausages, stuffed into the pant legs, and her hips were just having none of it. They spilled out pillowy as the tops of muffins, rimming her vast hips beyond the belly that threatened to break and flood upon him any second.

And right at eye-level to him, right in front of him, the jeggings dug in what looked like painful manner between thick cakes of flesh. Above the packed thighs, below the threatening belly, the fabric plowed and disappeared between what could only be Dorothy’s distended labia.

Simon’s heart lurched, and he swore. “Camel toe” was an understatement, but he was too stunned to formulate an adequate replacement. Wasn’t she in pain? Didn’t that hurt? The ogress’s hips rolled back and forth at the table, and the deep cleft swayed almost within arm’s reach. It was compelling in its grotesqueness, he had to admit. He stepped forward, gingerly, just to see if the paltry candle behind him could reveal how deep that groove ran.

But he leaned forward, right up to where her overtaxed waistband shifted above him, and for the life of him he couldn’t see where the split ended. The jeggings were simply coated over the thick slabs of labia, and they ran down between them, as though going on for eternity. He knew that couldn’t be true: no woman’s vagina was a bottomless pit, but holy fuck, he could not see where the plunge ended. He clutched at his chest, unable to break his stare.

Lynn, predictably, laughed at the sight. “Look at that, Dorothy! He went straight to his new home. He knows what’s up, he’s not such a useless fucking idiot after all.”

“What? What’s he doing?” Mounds of wobbly-bobbly stomach fat shifted above him as Dorothy clutched at her own flab.

“He’s checking you out, girl! He’s digging you.” With a sharp go on and get some, Lynn’s slender hand raced up behind him and swatted him harshly upon his pony little buttocks. Simon, surprised, stumbled forward and fell headlong against Dorothy’s clothed pussy.

It would have been comical, he realized, if his tiny head had gotten stuck in that perilous cleft, but it did not happen. His face bumped against one bulge of labia, the fabric brushing his cheek roughly, and he collapsed beneath her pussy. Lynn cracked up and Dorothy begged to be let in on what was so funny. She could have stepped back from the table, but for some reason she wouldn’t, choosing to strain to contain her belly over the helpless little man. He sprawled on the tablecloth, his face stinging, and he became aware of an aroma…

“Oh, my fucking Goddess, that’s perfect.” Lynn had leaned back in her chair, folded her arms beneath her comparatively inadequate breasts, and pressed one curled finger against her lips. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” She continued to ignore Dorothy’s pleas. “But you know what? You really need to show him your best feature. I think that’s what needs to happen now.”

“What’s my best feature?” Dorothy’s voice was plaintive.

“Oh, you know! Don’t be shy, girl.”

“No, really. I‌ don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Is it my eyes?”

“Dorothy! Come on! Turn around and show him your ass.”

Simon gaped at Lynn. That was Dorothy’s best feature? He didn’t know whether to laugh or vomit. He could only imagine what kind of cottage-cheesy sacks of fat someone like Dorothy had been cultivating through a lifetime of poor dietary choices and a career of sitting on her butt at a thankless office job.

Dorothy said she didn’t know what Lynn was talking about, but the mountain of flesh slowly rotated nonetheless. The overhanging belly drifted away like a thundercloud, yards and yards of taut, straining jeggings ran past, swelling to a climax as one colossal buttock churned into view.

“Holy fuck,‌” Simon gasped, scrabbling backward. There was too much to see, too much to take in all at once. She couldn’t possibly sit upon the table, could she?

Dorothy hooked her thumbs under the waistband, jamming her knuckles into her flesh where the fabric wouldn’t—couldn’t!—give anymore. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, almost slow-dancing in the gradual rotation that exposed the other side of the moon, so to speak, to her new little prize.

Her expression wavered between trepidation and self-consciousness, and a rising elation at winning her own tiny man to do with as she pleased. And if he didn’t like her, what could he do about it? Ah, but she wasn’t cruel! She wasn’t a rapist. He would come around. Dorothy didn’t look too bad for someone her age, she thought. Sure, she had to upgrade her wardrobe every couple of years, but everyone’s body went south on them after a certain period of time. When she looked at other people in her age group, she liked what she saw. These were private thoughts, stuff she’d never share with anyone else. Lynn would just laugh at her if she said them aloud, probably, despite how encouraging she was being right now. Dorothy could sniff a raw edge to the sentiments expressed by the young social media expert, whether they came from her drink or the liberty being accessed as they explored this lurid secret fantasy together. What was Lynn getting out of it? Would she want some kind of payment later? She eyed the lean, fit blonde for a moment, until her own shoulder rolled into view and it was showtime.

Simon, oblivious to the torment going on in the gigantic woman’s head, stared with morbid fascination at the enormous rear coming at him. The elasticized denim appeared painted on, with the exception of a few wrinkles tugging from the chasm of her inner thighs to the deep tuck of the bottom of her butt cheeks. The seam ran from a suspended cover over her crack, way up at the top, down to where it likewise vanished into the darkness between her legs. The back pockets, he noted idly, were either stitched on as a gesture or so shallow and stretched so taut as to be useless. What they did do, however, was accentuate every heaving jiggle of her rear with every nervous adjustment of her step. Dorothy was really taking her time to turn around, as though a car manufacturer were showing off its latest model and not wanting its audience to miss a single feature.

Her bulbous ass swelled above him, sufficient to cover him in case of a cloudburst or shelter him from the brutal sub-Saharan sun. What stopped it from being completely cozy or comforting was the ever-present awareness of how much poundage‌ (nay, tonnage) that ass represented, and how threateningly it floated above him. Soon he was aligned with her ass crack, with ample spheres of flesh bobbling on either side of him. Unconsciously he stepped back, not to flee but to remove the impending threat to his person, and Lynn didn’t stop him.

Up and up and up the jeggings stretched, gripping the planetary ass greedily, running up as far as they could to the straining waistband. And where the jeggings ended, the whale-tail began: the arms of a bright teal thong leaped joyously from within the pants, springing up to wrap around immense hips and, conceivably, diving back down into the fleshy, musky quarters below her pudgy tummy. The segment of exposed flesh that swelled below the thin waist of the thong and above the jeggings formed, Simon could see, a nearly flat shelf of skin. Simon’s mind went back to photos of BBW models resting cans of beer or cocktail tumblers upon their own protuberant butts. It looked for all the world that this unassuming, middle-management office drudge could do the same thing, granting her backdoor (no pun intended) access into a seamy class of full-bodied models, should she ever want such a thing. He gasped a slight chuckle to himself, trying to picture Dorothy leering coyly over her padded shoulder at a camera whose view was focused on the chasm plunging between her pale, marbled spheres of ass flesh.

She could, he knew, and there would be a market for her. It wouldn’t be him, but people would pay to see this, even at her age, especially with her body type. He wondered, not for the last time, why it couldn’t be any of them in his position instead of this unwilling kidnappee.

Before he knew what was happening, a large fingertip planted upon his chest. He reared from it, but was held in place by a large thumb, and then his feet were cleared of the table, kicking in empty space. The salt and pepper shakers, the ugly vintage candle swept far below him, and Dorothy’s dumpy ass rotated in a new direction: now he was fixed above the crack of her ass, illustrated by the teal thong plunging into its depths. And he was held not far at all, too close for his liking. He contorted himself to look at Lynn and guess what she was up to.

Her fine jaw and sharp eyes were upturned to her coworker. “Back it up now, girl, right up to the table if you can. Yeah, that’s great. Now, uh,” she paused, estimating. Simon could not guess where this was going until it was too late. “Now bend over a little. No, don’t arch your back, bend at the waist. Yeah, like that.”

Like what? When Simon looked down, he discovered that the waistband of the jeggings had peeled down, being taxed far beyond their capacity for service, and were slowly exposing more and more of those spherical cheeks. Even, yes, to the point where he could see the teal thong become swallowed in that all-consuming crack of her ass. Consumed… Simon snapped to Lynn again, horrified. “No! No! You wouldn’t!”

In another uncommon instance of acknowledging the tiny man, Lynn merely grinned and licked her teeth, lowering him slowly into the crevasse. “Lynn! This is disgusting! Don’t put me in her fucking ass!” The tiny man wrapped his arms around her index finger and cycled his legs as the distance between himself and destiny closed.

“What’s he doing back there?” Dorothy called over her shoulder. “He sounds adorable. Is he saying something?”

Lynn laughed back. “He’s just excited to go somewhere. You should see him! He wants you so badly. Can you hold very still for a minute? This is probably going to tickle or feel strange.” Her leer broadened. “Though I guess it should feel familiar.”

Simon couldn’t even ask what that meant, so focused was he on avoiding his doom. Soon his tiny bare feet were pelting against the bulging cheeks, and still she lowered him. He planted his soles upon Dorothy’s skin, his thighs strained to hold him away, but still she lowered him. Before his tendons snapped he had to move his legs out of the way, which inadvertently lined them up with her ass crack, or else he would’ve been forced into some incredibly painful splits. “Lynn! Stop it, this is disgusting! This is too much! What are you doing?”

“He certainly does sound excited…”

“You bet! He’s so excited to move into his new home!”

“Lynn! Please, stop! I won’t be able to breathe!”

Simon’s toes ventured into the sweatiness between her buttocks first, sending the signal throughout his body of what to expect. Lynn pressed harder, burying his legs up to the knees between the blobby flesh. He released her finger and began hammering his tiny fists upon the jiggly skin, far too feebly to even set off a tremor. His fists simply bounced off and Dorothy’s imperious ass was entirely unaffected. If anything, her crack swallowed him up to the waist.

“Oh, my gosh! That does feel strange!” Dorothy’s shoulders jerked but, to her credit, she kept her massive butt mounted on the edge of the table. She sighed heavily and clutched her knees, straining to hold still for Lynn. “Are you actually putting him into my bottom?”

“He practically leaped right in there! Good luck keeping him out, is all I have to say to you. This thirsty little guy, I’m tellin’ ya…” Lynn wiggled the tiny body back and forth, fitting him deeper into the huge ass.

“I‌ don’t know if that’s such a great idea. Can you pull him back out?”

“I don’t know, Dorothy, he’s really digging himself in there,” Lynn said, pressing her thumb upon the tiny man’s shoulders to jam him into the crack.

“I’ve just been gassy lately, and it’s such a long drive back to my house. I want to make sure he survives, is all.”

Lynn was so surprised by her own laughter, she let go of Simon for one second. That was all the time he needed to writhe out of the way of her fingers. He flopped himself over one immense butt cheek, plastering himself to it, as he worked one leg and then the other out of the narrow abyss. Startled, Lynn grasped for him, smacking Dorothy’s butt and setting it trembling, but the tiny man rolled out of the way and tumbled down the huge ass to the table once more. But when he sprinted for the candle, Lynn’s arm shot out and she easily snatched him up in a vice-like fist once more.

She whisked him right up to her face, where thin, pink lips peeled back to expose her gleaming, bleached teeth. “You listen to me, you little fuck. You’re going to give poor, lonely Dorothy everything she wants. You hear me? You’re going to bend over backward to please her. You’re going to fulfill her every last whim, and you will ask her if you’ve satisfied her least little need.”

Simon’s heart nearly stopped, watching the large, polished shards of ivory dancing and clashing right in front of him. The tip of her tongue poked, her lips mashed against each other, and her skin around them wrinkled and strained to pack all the power she could into her words and spit them into him.

“Because I’ll check up on her, and if she says you’ve done everything she’s wanted, and much more, then you’re off the hook. You hear me? I’ll turn you back into normal.”

He glanced up at her, into her narrow, pinched nostrils.

“Yes, it’s true. This isn’t forever, this is just fucking around to give this poor woman a moment of happiness in this wretched world. You understand? So do a good job and give her everything she wants, and we’ll call it quits.”

He nodded, unsure. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could grow back up and escape this hell. And if all Dorothy wanted was some sexual stuff, even at his size, sure, he could put up with anything long enough to—

“But if she said you’ve failed her? If you’ve ever fallen short or complained? If you’ve ever made her feel unattractive?” She lifted him up to her eyes, huge and glassy and narrow as a knife’s edge. “You will die in her ass. Just like the last little man, and the one before him.” Her pupils shrank to angry little dots. “Think about that. This is a hell of a way to go, and it’s not quick, and it’s definitely not pleasant. Your fate rests entirely in your hands and how willing you are to work for it. Got it?”

Simon nodded.

“She’ll fart on you,‌” Lynn continued. A note of vagueness crept into her voice, softening the spite. “She’s gassy as hell. She’ll fart right into your stupid face until that’s all you can breathe. And there’s no oxygen in that, trust me. It’s just the refuse gases of bacteria in her intestines. That is all you’ll get to breathe.” She stifled a snicker, struggling to look angry. “Her asshole will lock around your neck and you’ll stick out like a butt-plug, and all you’ll get to breathe is the gas that builds up in her rectum. Does that sound good to you?”

He shook his head. Disgusted as he was at the imagery, he couldn’t help but notice that Lynn seemed to be cracking herself up. That made him wonder if she was making up these past deaths. And if she was lying about that…

Dorothy’s voice rang like bells across a hillside. “Is he still in there? I‌ can’t feel him anymore.” She gave her massive ass a playful wiggle.