The broad ass spread before Simon like a mountainside of alabaster: vast spheres wobbled on either side as though they were about to collapse and spill all over the restaurant table. His tiny heart pounded in his little rib cage, and every single nerve in his body was twitching to flee. He shook where he stood, scant inches from where the tremendous ass was poised. It swayed, perhaps unconsciously—because what monstrosity could possibly control all this mass?—adding to the primal warning that he was about to be buried, crushed beneath it.

Between the immense, quivering buttocks, a delirious column of rippling, ruffled flesh stretched nearly as tall as himself. Thick panels of outer labia, sprouting with overgrowths of coarse, scraggly dark hair, reluctantly spread with the rhythmic clenching within. Bright red and hot pink tissues oozed and bulged with rampant desire, glistening in a thick, flowing coat of aromatic juices. Simon knew matter could not be created or destroyed, but he swore the middle-aged research analyst was generating gallons of vasocongestive fluid out of nowhere, gallons of womanly juices that did not exist before, gallons now copiously drooling from her inner recesses to form an erotic waterfall over her inner wings, thick folds of tender flesh engorged with bestial arousal.

“Where are you, my little man,” Dorothy moaned, somewhere behind this perverse mountain range. “I‌ need you so badly, right now. Please, show me how much you need me, too.” Her voice bounced off the restaurant windows, only just perceptible above the muted roar of legitimate customers in another section of Jubilee Manor. And as her voice mewled, so did her huge pussy quiver and churn, all too similar to a gigantic mouth waiting to chew the miniaturized young man up.

“Hold on, he’s coming, Dorothy,” said Lynn. She had to lean back from where she was hissing threateningly at Simon, to crane around the breadth of Dorothy’s profound rear and speak to her. “Don’t you think this anticipation increases the sexual tension? It’s agony for him to hold himself back from you right now, when you’ve presented yourself so very invitingly to him”—she shot the tiny intern a menacing glance—“but he wants you to savor every single second of building up to your union.”

Dorothy peered over her shoulder at her coworker, lost in libidinous torment. “Is that true? Do you promise?”

Lynn coughed and covered her mouth to keep from laughing at Dorothy’s clownish expression: her huge, longing eyes, that wide, trembling mouth ringed in garish color. “I promise you, Dorothy, I have never been witness to such an electric, soulful connection as this. Even sitting so closely to it like this, why, I might have to excuse myself and go, er, take care of some business.” Lynn leaned forward to block Dorothy’s plaintive expression behind the pallid hillside of buttock, then loomed near the tiny man. “Now, you get the fuck in there and give the nice lady what she wants, or I swear I’ll twist your fucking neck, toss you in the deep fryer, and serve you with Sriracha aioli!”

Simon flinched at the lovely blonde’s teeth, snapping behind snarling lips, and unintentionally backed into the mammoth labia beside him. The giantess moaned loudly as Simon jerked back, alarmed. His arm was coated in glistening ooze, just his head was slick with juices. Thin little muscles bunched up all along his body as a scream formed within him. He wanted nothing more than to jump out of his skin and throw himself to the floor, come what may. Yet Lynn’s glowering visage hovered before him, begging for any excuse to introduce him to a new realm of suffering. Which was worse, he thought unwillingly, to be crushed and shredded between Lynn’s bony fists, or…

He turned toward the yearning chasm of churning flesh. The huge pussy pulsed in anticipation, which in some perverse way could be flattering. Yes, behind him was spite and wrath, but in front of him was an overwhelming kind of love, in a certain interpretation. How bad could that be, really? Wiping the goop out of his eye with his clean arm, Simon raised his drenched hand and reached up to the gibbering labia, wrinkled and glutted and ruddy.

His fingers stroked one wobbly line of rippling tissue. It was cool, for having stuck out, but warmer as he pressed his hand into its folds. Yes, very rapidly it was hotter, and the abundant fluids carried his hand nearly frictionlessly into the folds. He ran his hand up and down this one seam among many. It glided between tender panels of skin; in response, the entrance to the gigantic cunt puckered and pushed out another dollop of fluids. As though in a trance, Simon turned toward the portal, a narrowing hole into the heart of this woman, the source of her moisture. Part of him screamed that this was a bad idea, but the rest of him reached for that hole, to understand how it was producing this spring of fluid. Passively it sucked his arm up to his elbow, and with morbid curiosity he pushed his arm in the rest of the way, until that trembling sheet of red/violet tissue quivered against his cheek. Her flora filled his nostrils and his lungs, the potent, humid vapors that radiated from her, and now he could hear the quiet click-click of his arm sliding among the lubricated tissues and muscles. He looked, and just overhead, the wrinkled asshole embedded in a field of brown diamond clenched mightily and sucked into the giantess’s hips. The power mesmerized him, all these muscles working together to grind and clench and churn… He shook his head and started to pull out, took a step back…

Dorothy cried, “I can’t take it anymore!” Faster than anyone would’ve guessed, and with a reach that defied belief, her hand flew around her rump with savage greed. Fingers like fat logs pounded into Simon’s spine; in a flash, the thick tissues he’d toyed with now smothered the entire front of his body. He hadn’t time to draw a breath. He thrust his arms against the huge pussy, but the slick surfaces sucked him up to his chest, and still the heavy fingertips drummed against his skull, hammering him deeper into the hungry, quaking slit.

Simon struggled to wrench his head free of the thick tissues. “Help, someone help! Lynn, get me out of here!” He could only turn toward her, unable to clear his vision of the viscous slime his face was slathered in. Realizing he had no succor with her, he screamed instead to the amorous giantess. “Dorothy! Stop, stop! You’re drowning me, I can’t breathe!” Drowning? Suffocating would have been accurate too, but he didn’t have time for that. Asphyxiating likewise took too long to say.

Seemingly in response, the huge fingers shifted over his shoulders. One fleshy pad rested upon the back of his skull, and in an instant they shoved and he was subsumed. Light disappeared as his head was plunged into Dorothy’s depths. Moisture popped around his ears. Hot, smooth tissues flowed over his cheeks, nestled around his neck, sucked at his shoulders and chest. He almost had the sense of falling, with all the flesh spreading around his face and running down his body. Yes, falling into the deeps, being carried along into the inner recesses of this dumpy, ordinary woman. To look at her… well, you wouldn’t even notice her in a lineup, never pick her out on the street. Walking past her working in her office was tantamount to walking past a blank patch of office wall. The last thing anyone could ever have guessed about her was how wet she could get, how amoral in her appetite, and how fucking insane she was to want to suck an entire, living person up inside her pussy. Shouldn’t she be done with sex by now? Menopause and all that? One truly never knew what lurked inside some people.

And now, Simon thought hysterically, he would be lurking inside Dorothy.

“Oh, fuck me,” the pear-shaped woman moaned. All the muscles in her hips came to life, all the sleepy and lazy ones that were left unused after years and years of sitting in an office chair for eight hours and heaving her bulk out of it again. How could she be so reactive after all this time? She’d reconciled with saying goodbye to an active sex life after her second failed marriage. The first one was a fluke, a childish whim of two young, stupid college students. The second, she’d actually put herself into. She really loved that man, she really thought it would work. Some insipid, mousy secretary disabused her of that notion, and as she drew up her own divorce paperwork, so did she divorce from that whole messy, chaotic aspect of humanity. Dorothy was fine with—not resigned to—her life of books, gardening, live theater, and minding her own Goddess-damned business.

Everything was upended when she met Lynn. No, that’s not accurate: she resented Lynn, who seemed to embody everything she’d lost. Lynn was young, fit, and very pretty. The guys in Overmedia were crazy for her in various degrees: the C-class rulers who needed more meetings with her, the working drones who made comments and almost robotically took ill-fated shots at her. Dorothy didn’t hate Lynn as a person, just what Lynn represented. It was salt in the wound to have to work so closely with her, but even those nerves were deadened over time.

But then Lynn took her out for drinks. And then Dorothy woke up with a tiny man lodged in her butt. And things only got crazier after that. Look at her now: backing her distended rump into a dining room table at a fancy restaurant, greedily stuffing a coworker into what should have been a dry, narrow slit, painful with disuse. Yet there was something about the miniature man that was turning back the clock: she was wetter, juicier than she’d ever been in college. Far from jamming an unwelcome lump into bruised tissue, the little man practically fell into her like a water slide, and all those old muscles were hugging him, squeezing him, clenching him possessively. This magical little man was unlocking doors within her, firing up the furnaces! Dorothy nearly sobbed with confusion and gratitude as she shoved him deeper inside.

Her fingertips played among his thighs, bumping against his firm little butt, batting his tiny little genitalia around. Oh Goddess, he was squirmy! Her thighs tensed and her pussy seized on him hard. Was she crushing him? Of course she didn’t want to hurt anyone, but even the very thought of having a whole man inside her and being able to grind him with her vagina, her old, disused, neglected pussy—that was intoxicating! Her stomach fluttered (its paunch hanging and swinging in the hammock of her blouse) as the wriggly little man set off giddy sparks and tremors deep inside her. My Goddess, she thought, he was so active! Just feel how hard he was squirming around in there! Was he as excited as her? What could this possibly be like for him, a young man in the prime of his life, embedded by a beautiful, vital, thriving vagina like this? It had to be a dream come true, an impossible dream from which he would never want to wake!

This is a nightmare, thought Simon, this is a fucking nightmare! This isn’t real, it can’t be real! This just doesn’t happen to people. And I can’t die like this! He screamed at himself to wake up as the frothing cauldron of Dorothy’s juices surged around him. He wished he could see what was going to happen to him, though he also knew the last thing he wanted was to be confronted with an up-close-and-personal gaze at a matronly woman’s internal biology. Veins, ruddy tissues, the living abyss of folds and crevices and channels going deeper and deeper into this insane giantess… he couldn’t have borne it. It would have been like gaping into the maw of madness, witnessing it gaping back at him.

Irrationally he reached out for something to grab onto, any handhold in the crowded, velvety darkness, but there was nothing. His arms wiped over the walls, and the walls clenched him harder. He braced his shoulders and shoved against the clenching bands of muscle, and they closed in and strangled him without the slightest indication of effort. Yet still he struggled, desperate to escape, increasingly desperate for one more gasp of air. He winced as the big woman’s lubrication insinuated itself everywhere: his hair, drenched in the stuff, was plastered to his head or swept around his face whenever he turned. It muted all hearing deep in his aural canals, and it crept into his sinuses as though it belonged there. All the holes in his head stung, and some of them began to twitch in their need for air. Simon wanted to cry, he wanted to scream curses, but all he could do was flail in the encroaching chamber of lust, struggle in vain to swim backwards, while his legs kicked and wheeled in dry, empty air.

“Did you say something?” Lynn asked, outside. She sat at the table, dressed for a dinner date, her face twisted into a rictus of morbid fascination. Without getting her drunk, she’d convinced Dorothy to pull down her fucking jeggings, those tacky-ass jeggings, in the middle of a Goddess-damned supper club. Was that more or less weird than actually shrinking a second human down to GI Joe-figure size? Leave that one for the philosophers! And speaking of that, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at the impossible sight less than a foot in front of her (she couldn’t resist leaning in and soaking in the spectacle): two slender, lightly muscled legs sticking out of the hairy cooze of a fat, middle-aged, middle-management office fixture. The tiny man’s legs stretched and wheeled around like the limbs of a dying insect, reaching out for Goddess only knew what. They couldn’t grab onto anything, there was nothing for them to grab. It was just Dorothy’s fat labia, ballooned like a fucking primate in estrus, thickly pelted in scraggly dark hair, and Simon’s slim, pale legs pedaling in their death throes. It was overtly sexual, it was morbid, it was perverse. Lynn clapped her palm over her mouth, marveling at where life had taken her. How could anyone get bored of life?‌ How could anyone think about suicide, ruling out all the amazing, unbelievable things that were waiting just around the corner?‌ You just never knew! It was impossible to know what was going to happen next! She chuckled to herself, unable to tear her eyes from the flailing little man lodged halfway into a thick, hirsute, drooling cunt.

Simon’s body was burning with deprivation of oxygen and overstimulation of an active, clenching vagina covering every conceivable square inch of his body. It was too much, there was too much to take in. All this skin, being covered in all this flesh, overwhelmed by heat and inundated with moisture, and all of it unending. There was no pushing it away, there was no retreat. Even the panic began to lose its energy, it was too much. The resignation in his brain was gaining ground as his lungs realized they would never breathe again and his bones and joints would never have space to flex and stretch once more. How hard should he fight? All his struggles amounted to nothing. Dorothy was in control. The immense, stupid giantess was in control. All Simon had to do was give up and die inside the copious gloop her pussy was generating every second. He had no hope, he had no chance. He hated himself for his weakness and inadequacy, as her mere vaginal canal overpowered him without resistance. He was reduced to a weak, vulnerable little lump, in spite of whatever notions his head sparked with. This was all he was: a parcel of bones wrapped in erratically twitching muscles, and soon those would still and rest. No more needless effort, no more wasted energy.

He couldn’t accept it, even as it was happening. He pushed into the moist, inky blackness, against nothing. He twisted and struggled against the irresistible clamp on his waist. Even with no way of winning, he punched and kicked at fate.

His tiny knees pounded at Dorothy’s clitoris. The way the tiny man strove inside her, how he never stopped wriggling and squirming around, that was tantalizing on its own. But his knees kept banging against her clit. Whether it was on purpose or incidentally, Dorothy could never tell, but the effect was the same: a tiny little man she squeezed in her cunt was pressing her button over and over, even as every muscle in her hips bore down on him. Tension mounted against stimulation, and even with her coworker Lynn sitting right there, staring openly at her most private area, in the middle of a public restaurant,  Dorothy felt the climax coming forth. Maybe because of all of it: it was so freeing to have her pants pulled down, to expose her privates to the beautiful, young icon of her crushed dreams, to perform something so intimate and personal in a frankly not-great dining facility. What did the rules mean? Who even made the rules? She was realizing how malleable everything was, how much she’d accepted as given without challenging it. Yet more strictures and foregone conclusions being shattered by the magical little man in her pussy. She owed him so much, she thought, as her lungs gasped for more and more air. He was an incredible gift, bring world-bending realities to her, staggering new possibilities. All this she mused on, while her knees threatened to buckle and her heavy breasts swung through the restaurant air. Closer, she thought, blocking out all other conscious matter, closer. She was getting closer. She was going to cum right in front of Lynn, she realized, then pushed that thought out with how close she was getting.

Closer, she thought, and thought about less aside from this. Closer she was getting, and closer she thought.

He fought inside her, little limbs going everywhere, exploring her interior.

Tiny legs kicked outside of her, banging against her clit almost regularly.

“What are you doing to me,” she whispered, groping for his legs. “What are you doing to my body… You’re naughty, you’re terrible…” His legs pedaled and slipped between her fingers, but she was undeterred. She slapped her fat fingers around her inner thighs and crotch, until she pinned him flat. His little legs felt strong beneath her fingertips, little muscles pumping, always resisting her grip. Dorothy smiled vaguely to herself and slid his legs beneath her palm, slipped her fingers around them, and took the lower half of his body into a secure grip.

Simon had reflexively jerked away from her touch, figuring that anything this monstrous woman wanted to do to him was going to be worse. Not that he could get much worse than being lodged inside an old woman’s gaping pussy, but you know. It could always get worse. But when that large, strong hand seized his legs, he had the wild thought that things would change. Whatever she wanted to do, it would be in the fresh air, at least! He rallied his inner strength to hold relatively still, swallow his hysterical internal screams, and surrender himself to her. For the moment, at least, long enough to escape the ogress’s intimate dungeon.

That was a good sign, Dorothy thought, how he settled down under her touch. Was it a good sign? He was moving around so deliciously before, twitching and shaking and squirming inside her intimate parts. If he stopped now, did that mean he was bored of her? He hadn’t already come, had he? Well, whatever: it didn’t matter if he had, because Mommy was in charge and she was going to get what she needed. The dirtiness of this thought made her smirk, as she bunched his thighs and knees against each other and jammed him in deeper. Oh, that felt good, feeling this lovely little man filling up her last recesses! Slowly she dragged him back out, slowly and carefully. She didn’t want him popping out and flopping around, like some flaccid penis. How would she get him back in again without hurting him? She was pretty wet, she thought, chuckling. He could slip back inside.

But to business! With her pinky tucked between his tiny calves, she slid him back inside. The warm glow of having something solid and vital inside her spread throughout her pussy and hips. Oh, Goddess, it felt so good to have something inside there again. She swore she could feel his life in there. She could sense a living being, more than a penis, much more than a vibrator. Her hand tugged and withdrew him once more and, yes, the contrast was stark. Having the little man jammed inside her felt like love; pulling him out, the way her walls relaxed around the emptiness, that was crushing. It nearly broke her heart to feel him gone, even though she had him in her fist. She needed him inside again.

Snarling, she pumped her fist and jammed him deep inside three or four times. She was getting a cramp from the difficult reach around her enormous rump. For a crazy moment she thought about asking Lynn to take over and do this for her. “Just grab onto his legs with both of your little hands, and pump him inside me like you’re plunging a toilet or churning butter.” This was patently ridiculous, not only was it already uncomfortable to have her beautiful blonde coworker sitting right outside her entrance, at the same table, but she would lay odds that Lynn had never touched a toilet brush or even heard of a butter churn. “Guess I‌ gotta do everything myself, once again,” Dorothy said to herself. It was beside the point, but she considered herself a Ravenclaw, the only person you could count on to roll up her sleeves and do the job when everyone else was worried about glory or strategy or debate.

Lynn’s eyes widened as she witnessed the spectacle. The wrinkles over Dorothy’s knuckles stretched taut as she clamped down on tiny Simon’s legs and commenced to stabbing herself with him. Tiny feet squirmed uncomfortably; his tiny abs glistened and flashed as they emerged and retreated within the knobbly pink-and-tan folds of rubbery flesh; his teeny-tiny little penis flopped haplessly, swinging around in all directions. It was hard, this slender little wand, so it waved at Lynn warningly before dragging along Dorothy’s engorged pussy lips. It was amazing: the least tuck of tissue could bury his little penis in a stroke, while his entire body was thrusting inside her like a larger-than-average penis. Brief traces of sympathy for the helpless little intern were quickly dispelled with each noisy slurp as her cunt gobbled him up.

Dorothy owned a tiny man. She owned a whole person inside of her. He fit inside of her pussy and oh goddess oh goddess an entire person inside her clutching harder squeezing him and still he struggled but he was hers and she squeezed and here it came

Lynn had come before. She’d had orgasms, by herself and with partners. Mostly men, two women. They all had their own styles: the men racing to the finish, the women pleasing her like they’d pleased themselves, and then Lynn knowing what she herself liked. But what she saw in Dorothy was nothing like that. The scrawny little legs flailing from her hairy cunt, contrasted with the big, heavy, dumpy woman whose entire body was being shaken with an orgasm she couldn’t control. That was new. Lynn didn’t know whether something like that was possible. She’d read about it, sure, and it came up in movies, but it defied her three options. A tiny little man was wriggling inside one of Dorothy’s most private holes, and this was bringing the boring coworker to an earth-shattering climax. Lynn was almost jealous: she didn’t want to look like Dorothy, but she wanted to know what it was like for someone else to bring the orgasm. It wasn’t collaborative! What was Dorothy doing? Just bending over and showing her big ass to the dining room. The little man was doing all the work, and from what she could read in the tremors in her coworker’s enormous ass, it was incredible! For a moment she was tempted to steal Simon away for herself, but how could she possibly wash him enough to get Dorothy’s essence off him?

After a thunderous minute, Dorothy was able to gasp for air. Her vision was replaced with stars, her throat was clenched and would admit no more air. Her sound was blocked, scent didn’t even apply. The only thing that was real and persistent was the tiny, frenetic man lodged deep in her cunt. She shuddered and whimpered, clenching at him with her private fist. Her hands were relegated to clawing at her own thighs, groping her own ass while he danced inside her. Maybe she swore, maybe she called to the heavens, maybe she professed her love to the miniature man stuck halfway inside her cunt. Dorothy didn’t know: it all swirled and rose and exploded, and then her knees really went weak and she had to grab a nearby chair. She couldn’t even gather the breath to apologize to Lynn, for what she must’ve seen. All she could do was plop down in the sturdy restaurant chair.

In his dwindling consciousness, Simon felt the huge pussy around him clench repeatedly, spasming, rippling over his helpless body. The juices kept coming, flowing from all sides, coursing past him in a lurid torrent. His legs, spinning freely in his desperate bid for liberation, were abruptly pinned in place. He couldn’t kick or even twitch a toe: they were completely immobile, the big woman’s pussy mashing them against something unyielding. So this was how he was going to die, bent in an L-shape while a gigantic pussy smothered him to death? Simon wondered what he’d done wrong in his life to end up here, what false choices he’d made, what misjudgment he’d committed to deserve this. It seemed extreme, drowning to death inside a middle-aged woman’s pussy, and as the oxygen in his lungs burned off, he couldn’t imagine what crime he could have committed to earn this.

“Oh, I bet he can’t breathe,”‌ Dorothy gasped, and with demonstrative labor she rolled to one fat butt cheek. Her tongue probed thickly around the corner of her mouth as her eyes rolled heavenward, and her fingers groped around her vast curvature to dig into her deep crack. Within a minute she found Simon’s thin legs and wrapped her fist around them. She grinned shyly, devilishly at Lynn as she gave the little man a couple thrusts inside her for good measure, her eyelids going heavy with sinful pleasure, before she finally yanked him free.

Simon flopped in her fist, glossy with Dorothy’s lubrication. Coarse, dark pubic hairs stretched like scraggly scars across his chest and belly, running down his thin arms. “You’re a mess, little man,” Dorothy commented, hoping to lighten the mood. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up, if you can’t do that for yourself.” She reached for the rolled napkin around heavy silverware, near the red candle in plastic mesh. Even to her fingers, the fabric seemed more for show and not so great at absorption. Regardless, she rolled it out and tried scraping the goop off her tiny lover’s body.

The napkin was coarse and agonizing to Simon’s sensitive little body, but Dorothy had no clue of this. All she knew was that it took a few extra, careful strokes to wipe her love-juices off his chest, his arms, his face. “But you know what,” she purred to the miniature figure in her fist, mindless of Lynn, “I think I know another way to clean you off. A better way. Yes, I know exactly what will do the job right now.” She hardly noticed how the tiny man gasped for air now, how his head lolled around with however she turned him in her fist. All she knew was that there was a sexier, more sensual way of cleaning her lover.

Simon’s vision slowly returned. Everything he saw was a stark contrast from the black-and-blood blurs behind his eyelids, while he passed out inside the older woman’s pussy. Now everything was brighter light: not as glaring as a hospital room, obviously, but even the ambient lighting of a couple dozen candles in a private dining room was brighter than what he’d been subjected to. His vision canted and wheeled as he flopped around in the giant woman’s fist, and his strength was slow to return to him. He’d been in the epicenter of a gigantic orgasm, it was important to note, while in the middle of a near-death experience. Simon was done with thinking for a while, resigned to experiencing things as they happened.

So when the enormous mouth lunged at him, teeth and all, it hardly fazed him. He stared dully into Dorothy’s cavernous throat as her thick, strong tongue buffeted his limp body. There was no point in resisting, he thought, since he had no strength with which to resist. He only laid back and watched Dorothy’s eating orifice come at him again and again, as the hot and slimy tongue scraped over his body here and there. Why not? At least he was no longer stuck inside her pussy. How could a mouth be any worse? He flopped to the side as her tongue shoved him around, lifting his enervated arms and digging around his armpits, his sides, his chest and belly. He should have been ticklish, but he was that deadened by the shock of the experience, nearly getting crushed to death in an old woman’s pussy.

His throat seized up, stinging and prickling. Simon’s face screwed up and the tendons in his neck stood out as he stopped breathing.

“Oh? What is it? What’s wrong, little man?” Dorothy’s eyes went big and round, like her clownish lips. “Are you trying to say something? Are you hurt? What’s going on? Speak to me, li’l guy.” She looked at Lynn, who shrugged. Not knowing what else to do, she shook the limp figure in her fist. He wobbled in place for a moment, then caught the counter frequency to her moves and whipped back and forth violently. The tiny figure collapsed upon her thumb and draped over it like a fistful of cooked spaghetti.

“What did I do? Did I do this?” Dorothy began to stammer, tossing questions at Lynn. “Tell me what to do! Tell me how to fix him! I can’t lose him already, I‌ just got him!”

Lynn scowled, glaring at the little man clutched in the fat fist. What an irritation he was! All he had to do was just give this big woman what she needed, but he collapsed already? Men were just useless! She started to reach for him and changed her mind, chewing her lip with indecision.

Abruptly, Simon’s tiny hands planted upon the long bone of Dorothy’s thumb. He sucked in a tortured wheeze, then stiffened and pushed himself up from her grip as though electrocuted. Tiny eyes clenched, he opened his jaws wide and barked out a racking cough with the whole of his little person. A thin stream of white fluid leaped out of his throat and sailed briefly through the air until it struck Dorothy’s chin. It thinned and dribbled around her tiny hairs, picking up granules of foundation as it crawled down to the rim of her jaw.

Dorothy and Lynn looked at each other before bursting into laughter. “Here, lemme get that,” said Lynn, daubing at her coworker’s chin with a stiff cloth napkin. “Looks like the little guy tried to drink more than he could… no, that doesn’t work. His eyes were bigger than his stomach?”

The larger woman simpered cutely at her prize. “There’s much more where that came from,” she told him, purring. “Pace yourself, little man! Don’t rush yourself on my account.” She cooed over him, plucking at gummy strands of pubic hairs plastered over his back and face, when a set of subtle electronic tones rang throughout the room. Dorothy looked at the entrance, where hands were fumbling with a curtain.

Lynn bared her teeth and leaped to her feet. “Fuck! They must be filling up for the dinner rush and need this room! Let me help you get dressed!” Her two hands and Dorothy’s one—the one not holding her precious little toy—struggled to haul her ridiculous jeggings back up over her prodigious hips. “Couldn’t wear a muu-muu for tonight, I guess,” Lynn grumbled ruefully. They got the larger woman put together just as the first couple slipped into the dining room, peering into the relative darkness. Lynn seized on their confusion, adjusting to the lighting, to collect everything they’d brought and straighten out the table, mostly, before leading Dorothy by the arm and hustling her out of Jubilee Manor.

“Looks like we’ve worn out our welcome,” she said, glancing back at the disapproving faces behind the server’s lectern. “Well, this is a logical conclusion to the evening, I think. Now all you’ve got to do is bring your precious little lover home, and you can get as down-and-dirty with him as you like!”

Dorothy stumbled along to her car. “That’s true, isn’t it? Oh, that’s true!” Her concern melted into delight as she brought Simon up to her lips and smothered him in a long, noisy smooch. “You awful, awful little man! You shouldn’t write any checks your body can’t cash. What in the world were you thinking, seducing me like that? You came so close to embarrassing me in a public restaurant!” She bit her lip and leered at Lynn. “That was pretty exciting, though, wasn’t it? Being naughty like that in public? Oh my Goddess, I feel like I’m back in college! Should I get a pack of cigarettes? I haven’t smoked since I got my MBA.”

“Sure, get some smokes, pick up a fifth of something. Make it a party!” Lynn guided Dorothy between parked cars, watching out for traffic, peering up the street.

Dorothy barely paid attention to where she was going. “An all-nighter, just like in college! Because I’m going to go all night long, you saucy little tease. Get your strength back up on the drive home, because I’m going to make sure you finish what you’ve started tonight.” She brought the little man up before her eyes; her lipstick stood out across his face and chest even in the red neon light of the restaurant’s signage. “You hear me? Mama needs her cookie in a bad way. That was a nice little quickie, but that was just the overture. You get me? You’re going to give me all of that and more, several times over. Compounded interest!” She giggled as Lynn fished around in her purse and unlocked what turned out to be her car.

“There you go, Dorothy, slide on into your car. You’re good to drive?” Lynn waited until Dorothy pulled her leg in to slam the door solidly. “You go easy on that tiny intern, okay? We’re going to need him back at work bright and early, after the weekend.” When Dorothy looked up at her in horror, she broke out in laughter. “I’m just messing with you, girl! He’s all yours, fuck him every which-way you can think of! If anything happens to him, we’ll just pick out another hottie for you to play with. How’s that sound, Dorothy?”

The older woman hardly took her eyes off of Simon, sprawled upon one vast thigh in strained denim print. “Call me Dotty,” she murmured, “like in college.” She started up the engine and gave Lynn a wink, before stuffing the tiny, pale body deep between her thighs. Lynn stepped back and watched her pull out, roll through the parking lot, and blend into evening traffic.