“Yeah, we do,” said Dotty. “Yeah, we do.” She cradled the eight-inch-long man in her fleshy palms and practically sang to him that, yes, they did. “E’rything’s been leading up-ta this moment. The perfec’ end to a perfec’ night.” Her lips went slack and her head wobbled slowly above her possession.

Simon dug his heels into Dotty’s hand and tried to scoot himself backward, away from the thick, heavy face. His bare butt tingled as it dragged over deep furrows in her palm, tingled with the shame of being exposed to his coworker like this, not to mention a gigantic, drunk old woman. “We don’t have to do this, Dotty. There’s nothing that says we have to do this.” He wasn’t sure she heard him, with her heavy-lidded gaze, dusted thickly in blue eyeshadow, and the way her lips seemed to hang from her teeth in a deeply stupefied expression. She hung over him, breathing heavily in long, wheezing pants; her wine-soaked breath spilled over him like the exhaust of some gross engine. He tried not to think about her saliva, drying all over the lower half of his body, soaking into his cells.

“No, we gotta.” She blinked slowly, one sky-blue eyelid closing and the other right behind it. “I need it. You made me need you, an’ now you gotta finish me off. You can’t just lead a lady on like that, seducing her with your…” Her irises wandered down the length of his shrunken body, lingering on his crotch. “I need this, and you need this. You wan’ it, too. You wan’ it as bad as I do, I can tell.”

The ogress was so focused on his dick, he almost felt as though the rest of him could slip away unnoticed. Dotty was intent, this was amply apparent. If he could find something else for her to focus on, maybe he could use that to his advantage. “No, Dotty, you’re projecting.”

“Wha?”

“You’re projecting. You’re telling me things that you want, as though I want them.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t, Dotty, I really don’t. You’re making me feel scared right now.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah.”

“Of what? Of li’l ol’ me?” She attempted to flutter her eyelashes; instead, the effect resembled the spasms of someone about to vomit.

“Dotty, just please set me down on the table, and let’s talk about this for another minute.” He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the large head above him: it looked like it was about to swing loose of its moorings and collapse upon him like a boulder.

“No more talk. You wan’ this. Lemme show you.” Before he could react, Dotty’s slack lips parted and widened and pounced upon him! He looked on in horror as the flabby curtains of her mouth attempted to devour him. The bulbous tip of her nose ground into his belly, blocking his view, and no matter how he punched or slapped it, he couldn’t get it to move an inch out of the way. He found himself face-to-brow with her forehead, a wall of more or less parallel furrows across her skin, powdered with foundation. As loath as he was to sully his hands in her facial oil and makeup, he planted his palms upon her forehead and tried to use her own palm as leverage to shove the massive head away.

All he got for his labors was a lot of yummy-noises from the giantess. “Mmm, mmmph,” she moaned nasally, steaming up his abs. He couldn’t feel her teeth, but he felt they had to be coming any second now, the way she was gobbling him up. Her lips, numb and heavy mere seconds ago, were now animatedly clutching his belly, scarfing him up like she was in an eating contest at a rib roast: gracelessly, greedily, completely self-interestedly. New lines formed upon her forehead, deep ridges of concentration as her eyebrows bulged and pressed together. Worried, Simon balled his fists up and pounded against her forehead, but there wasn’t enough room to swing and his arms were too spindly and underdeveloped, against the broad cliff face of her forehead.

Then his body was shocked with the overwhelming sensation of a huge drunk woman’s tongue slobbering all over his cock. It dragged thickly over his stomach, spilling down the sides. It retracted, and its large, blunt end wriggled obnoxiously between his butt cheeks, as though trying to stuff itself into his ass. It couldn’t go there! It couldn’t fit! Simon yelled at her, trying to punch her thick, stupid forehead, struggling to deny how strangely interesting it felt for that hot, moist, nubbly surface to squirm in his crotch like that.

Her tongue burrowed into his ass for a minute, then it kneaded his balls. His throat seized shut and stars swam in his eyes for a moment: as soft and inaccurate as her tongue could be, it nonetheless smarted when she jabbed it into his testicles. “Careful,”‌ he croaked, as soon as he could draw enough wind to speak, but the drunken giantess ignored him. Her tongue writhed thickly between his inner thighs, slathering him in her spit and slurping it back up again. The blunt end of her tongue battered his balls again, but this time… it still hurt, but… maybe it was less of a surprise, and that’s why it didn’t hurt so much. Or it still hurt as much, but now he kinda… no, that was wrong. He did not like being smacked in the balls, he told himself, even as his mind’s eye filled with the image of a thick, voluptuous tongue writhing possessively around his cock.

This is insane, he told himself. This is obscene, unnatural, and disgusting, he insisted internally. And yet…

Dotty was moaning, too. While her floppy upper lip dragged over his abs and her tongue shoved and dug around to find every bare inch of skin between his legs, she moaned all over him. Her nose moaned on him in a prolonged nnnNNNnngh, hot air spilling around his sides and down his hips. From deep within her throat, a heavy, guttural moan rumbled in powerful bass notes, making the flesh coating his thighs and belly vibrate intensely. It was a thrilling effect, an ultra-loud woman’s voice nearly growling and tickling his nerve endings, rumbling through the sharp slurps her lips made as she suckled on his hips.

Abruptly Dotty pulled back, a wan grin spreading across her broad face. Her eyes needed a moment to refocus and uncross. “There, see?” she said in a lazy draw. “You wanted it all along.”

Simon looked down at his rapidly cooling body. His cock stood at attention, pointing insistently at the matronly woman’s mouth, throbbing with the familiar ache of craving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, stammering.

She grinned at him, and he noticed the slightest gap between her two upper incisors. With the influence his penis cast upon his mindset, he wondered briefly whether he could actually slip his cock between them, whether he could actually fuck her teeth. She’d probably let him… He shook his head violently and covered his raging erection with both hands. “No! No, wrong! This whole thing is wrong!”

Dotty’s eyebrows tented in a sweetly pained expression. “No, no, sweetie, nothing’s wrong. This’s jus’ human nature. This’s what we’re built for. Sex feels good so people wanna keep making more humans.” She licked her teeth: the underside of her tongue glistened inches away from his face, all tendons and pale blue veins, shoving her painted upper lip out of the way as it passed. “But we’re lucky, ’cause we can keep having sex without makin’ babies. See? We get all the good stuff, all the warm fuzzies, all the cookies, for free an’ just for fun! So why don’t we? Why don’t we just enjoy these amazing bodies we been given? Loosen up, li’l man, let yourself go. Let Mommy take care o’ you, make you feel so good.” She chuckled, and the enormous boulder of her head swayed precariously above him.

His heart hammered in his chest. Everything was wrong with this, how she was talking, who she was, what’d she’d done to him—what she was currently doing to him—but her words… was she wrong? About anything? In a way, this came down to bodies against bodies, bodies pleasing each other, playing on the primal…

“Don’t you wanna feel good?” she was saying, purring behind the noise of his chaotic thoughts. “Don’t you wanna see how nice this can be? Why won’t you let me please you, li’l guy? All I want to do is make you feel so good.” A thready whimper escaped her nostrils as her wide lips pursed and slid and puckered, reaching for his naked body, begging for his manhood. And his cock pointed at her mouth, reaching for her. It seemed angry that its reach was so short, that his hips wouldn’t lift to push it into her lips. Simon closed his eyes, torn between self-defense and letting himself explode against these middle-aged, experienced lips. She had reduced her monologue to kissy-noises and petulant whimpering, which should have been annoying, uncharacteristic at least, but her soft, full lips ground and mashed mere inches away from his cock… it would just take a second…

How could he be so scared and so aroused at the same time?

Simon jammed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Hey, okay, look,” he called out, “hold on a second. Just listen to me for a second, and then”—he gulped hard—“you can do whatever you want to me.”

The massive face froze for a moment, then slowly retreated. “With you, you mean,” the gigantic woman said quietly. “With you. This is us, together. Don’t make it sound like—” Her lips tugged down in a deep frown, lower lip pushing out, and the hands that held him began to shake.

His eyes widened. He had to bear in mind how much Dorothy—Dotty—had had to drink, how it was affecting her. Clearly she was locked in some kind of fetish fantasy, one he couldn’t understand… no, he couldn’t relate to it. He could look at his surroundings and understand the rules, however bizarre. And he had to respect these rules, he knew, as the large hands couching his entire body could simply curl up and crush him within a second. At any second.

“Yeah, us. You and me, Dotty. Us, here tonight.” He strained to smile as a large, wet drop smacked her palm and splashed him. He stared at it, surprised, until his mind translated the size difference and he realized it was a teardrop. It shone as it spread into the folds of her skin, running between thin grooves. He looked up again, into a sniffling nose and rumpled lips. Crying women didn’t look great under normal circumstances, but to be practically pinned beneath the house-sized head of a weepy older woman was… Well, thankfully, his penis finally deflated and sank irritably between his thighs. That cleared his head somewhat.

Suddenly an idea lit up in his brain. It was risky, but it could buy him more time. “I‌ mean, look at the situation here. It’s kinda funny, right?”

Her huge head swiveled down to glare at him. “There’s nothing funny about this! A woman my age openly addressing her wants and desires is a beautiful thing! Society is so terrified of women owning their sexuality! And it’s so disgusting to think that an older woman could still be a sexual creature, isn’t it!” Now her hands were quaking around him, and her lips stretched taut in a vicious snarl.

“Wow, whoa, hey, that’s not what I’m saying. Quite the opposite!” He raised his hands in supplication and forced a light laugh. “I’m talking about the role reversal here. Like, usually it’s the guy going after the woman, right?”

“You said we were in this together!”

“And usually it’s the guy who wants to go straight into the action, and the woman who wants the foreplay, right?”

Her eyelids lowered from excitable to thoughtful, and her lips hung in mid-thought. “What do you mean?”

Simon made his voice crack disingenuously, as though he were being shy about confessing something personal. “I don’t know, I just think… maybe this is unusual for a man to say, but what if we tried a little foreplay?”

She sniffled and turned her head momentarily to wipe her cheek on her shoulder. “Foreplay?”

“Yeah, just some games to get us in the mood.”

A low, dry laugh gusted from the deep tunnel of her throat. “I’m already in the mood, little man. I could gobble you up in one bite.”

He made a show of rolling his eyes. “Well, sure, you could just get yourself off with me, get it over with in a minute. But where’s the fun in that? Don’t you want to savor this moment? It’s like that delayed gratification experiment with the kids and the marshmallow: you could get one sloppy, urgent orgasm right now, but if you could hold off for a while… if you could heighten the moment with some fun little games… wouldn’t it be that much bigger of a pop?” He waggled his eyebrows enticingly, then wondered whether she could even pick that out on his tiny face.

Instead, he stretched his lean, young body out in her palms. He wasn’t ripped, always kind of a skinny guy, but he had very little fat to him. One woman he’d dated was very into his body, insisted he shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes. He didn’t know what that meant, but if it was any kind of currency he could use now… As ridiculous as it felt, he joined his hands above his head and stretched his arms out. He closed his eyes and rolled his head as though in a dream, arched his back and writhed to display his chest, his abs. He rubbed his little butt into the hot, soft skin beneath him and practiced flexing his legs, alternately showing off his thighs or emphasizing his calves, pointing his feet at her chest. “Just think about what that could be like,”‌ he said, dropping his voice to a bedroom-appropriate purr. “Both of us, teasing each other, stretching out the moment… building up our passion until we just can’t stand it anymore, and then…” His hand slithered down his chest, over his belly, and gripped his cock and balls almost painfully. He threw a moan in there for emphasis.

He also felt completely ridiculous. All of this might have looked good on a woman, but as he tried to objectify himself, his mind started to crack and admit a new perspective… oh, no… what if…

Cool wind rushed around his body as Dotty seemed to suck in all the air of the room with a rattling, throaty gasp. “Oh, my Goddess,” she moaned, and it sounded like she was cumming right in her kitchen chair. “I want you so bad, right now…”

Motion in the corner of his vision made his head snap up: swollen, rosy fingertips were descending upon him. Thick fingers were curling, trembling. Glossy nails flashed as they reached for his frail little chest, and shadows drew around his face. He couldn’t even croak a warning to her. His arms shot up and his tiny, pathetic hands braced against powerful, gigantic fingers.

Her fingers splayed abruptly and her hands tilted, as though Dotty were trying to hug him with her palms. “I‌ love it. I‌ LOVE‌ it! I‌ knew you’d be the perfect little toy for me! Oh, I‌ knew it!” When her palms opened, he could see her head craning over her shoulder, gazing up the hallway to her bedroom. “And I know just the game we can play, too. Oh, my gosh!” She looked at him again, her face glowing with excitement. “It might seem a little silly, but give it a chance, please. I really think it’ll be fun!”

“Sure, I’m up for anything,” Simon said, realizing as he spoke that she hadn’t asked him anything. “Is this something we’re going to do in the bedroom?” He’d been hoping to avoid the epicenter of her sexual world, but if a silly game was going to buy him some time, perhaps it wasn’t the worst option. His heart fell, instead, when she stuck him inside the wire fruit bowl, weighted down with the cookbook. The kitchen chair sighed and groaned as her tremendous rump lifted from it, like a world-ending asteroid driving into a planet but in reverse. Great cakes of flesh jostled and swayed as Dotty tiptoed with unexpected daintiness up the dark hallway and disappeared into the back of her house.

That was a sight, oh boy. Granted, he was the size of a large GI‌ Joe action figure and everything around him was ginormous, but still. Dotty was a large woman. At normal size, she could have buried his head between those huge, quaking buttocks. She could have wrapped them around his face and nearly swallowed him whole. Those thighs? Forget about it. He watched the giantess imitate a coy sashay up the hallway, contradicted by the rippling cylinders of flesh that twisted slowly around her muscle. Every time her heels struck the floor, it set off a chain reaction of shuddering fat: how her calves trembled, how her thighs wrenched, and how her enormous ass bounced and danced in all directions at once! There had to be bone and muscle under there somewhere, and Simon bet that it was very well developed and dense, for all the weight it was hauling around each day.

Unable to hear his eyes away, he gawked with morbid fascination as she danced away like someone a whole person lighter. Her back and waist were padded, sure, but they looked relatively slender contrasted against her planetary hips. The jarring difference was accentuated by the slim racer stripes of teal thong arcing around her waist, then disappearing into that plunging crevasse, lost to the world. His heart skipped a beat at the thought that he could end up there, somehow. At his size, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He’d just be gone. Gone!

And what came next? Once you descended into the depths of a fat woman’s ass, then what? How far could it go? What was waiting for you in there? Simon was not sure he wanted to find out.

“Holy fuck.” He crawled on all fours, pacing fitfully around his twisted copper wire cage. “This can’t happen to me. This can’t be happening. Wake up, wake the fuck up.” He even went so far as to slap himself. It was a token smack, as if he were swatting a mosquito. Surprised at how hard it was to injure himself, he took another slap, faster and harder. It stung, but it wasn’t bad. Frowning, he slapped himself again and again, harder and harder, fixated on trying to really hurt himself. He was perplexed by whatever was holding back his full strength—unless he really wasn’t that strong to begin with.

That’s how Dotty found him: naked, hunched and sitting on the table, slapping himself repeatedly and looking confused. She crept up to the table, carefully holding something against her cleavage. “Hey, now, easy on the corporal punishment, there, little man! You’re messing with my property now, and if you damage it in any way, I’ll never forgive you.”

Startled, he looked up at her, or tried to. The Joy of Cooking blocked everything above the padded belly and pillowy thighs, separated by the tortured band of teal underwear like the savage strike a new border upon a map. This was a landscape of soft, smooth skin, a mountain dimpled with the shadowy cavern of a navel, hanging above a vast and plunging valley… Simon had to look away. All that coarse, scraggly hair brought him straight back to that nightmare in the restaurant. What the hell was Lynn doing, anyway? Why wouldn’t she help him? He tried to recall the beautiful young blonde he was excited to meet when he started at Overmedia. All that came to mind, however, were her skeletal hands and how they clutched him, how her mouth lined with cruelty as she laughed at him or ordered him around. You just never knew what lurked within some people.

There was a small crash and Simon looked again. The ogress was sorting through what looked like craft supplies. “Like I‌ said, it might feel a little silly at first,”‌ she was saying, babbling to herself, “but I think it could be a lot of fun. I mean, I know it’s going to be a lot of fun! It’ll just be more fun if you can get into it and go along with it. You will, of course, but I‌ hope you’ll do it because you want to have fun with me and not because I can tear your leg off like a chicken wing.”

The fuck did she just say?

“I guess I’m not really ready for this, so we’ll just have to make do with what I have. Your costume’s going to be easy enough, I just have to paste these…” Her voice trailed as she groped behind her for the chair back, tugging the seat into place. Once again, that prodigious bulk piled upon the poor, beleaguered chair, and it was a miracle it held her up. Simon couldn’t help but imagine what that could look like, all that flab bulging over the sides, the chair practically disappearing beneath her. He’d much rather be encaged in a wire bowl than standing on that chair at this moment, that was for damned sure.

Her heavy breasts rested upon the table as her thick forearms trembled slightly with activity: Dotty was working on something just outside of his view. Two ribbons hung between her wrists, swaying and jerking. He almost called up to ask what she was doing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Was this going to be some kind of bondage performance? And once she had him tied up… where was he going to go? What was she going to do with her? His gaze drifted from the ribbons to the deep cleavage of her bosom’s hillside.

Breasts were supposed to be nice, he thought, entranced. Small breasts were pretty, large breasts were inviting. But these… It had to be a load off her back, to heave those gigantic tits to the tabletop and let some other piece of furniture carry them around for a while. Again, if he’d been standing at the table’s edge when she plopped them down, maybe they wouldn’t have killed him but they wouldn’t have been easy to crawl out from under. Look at them, so flabby and watery as they trembled there, nudged around by her upper arms as she futzed around with her little project.

“There, that should do it,” Dotty said, lifting the ribbons out of his range of sight. “I didn’t have a sheet of felt, but I did have a kind of hair band with felt flowers decorating it. I‌ hardly ever wear it so I didn’t mind salvaging it for you. I‌ took some of the gray petals and stitched them onto this band of ribbon. Like I said, I could’ve done a better job with it if I’d had more time, but I‌ think this will be good for now. It’ll just rely on your performance as an actor, to really carry it off!” The shadow of the heavy tome upon his prison lifted away like a cloud on a breeze, thudding upon the other end of his kitchen table island. Dotty turned to him and grinned. “What do you think?”

Simon honestly did not know what to think. Now the mostly naked and towering ogress was wearing a plastic hairband with fuzzy, sequined cat’s ears in black. They stood up like perky triangles, a teenager’s idea of festivity, upon the swirling mop of Dotty’s hair, shot through with graying streaks. But she herself looked delighted with it: her eyebrows shot up hopefully, her broad grin sat crookedly, unsure. The tip of her round nose was colored in with a simple black triangle, pointing down to a line running down her upper lip. Her cheekbones, swollen with her grin, were dotted and streaked with what must’ve been whiskers. She held up an eyeliner pen. “Now you,” she said, reaching for the cage.

As soon as she lifted it, Simon sprinted away from her. His tiny heels tapped upon the table as he rounded an orange, putting it between them, and darted for The Joy of Cooking. If he could get behind that, it could block her from grabbing him until he could hurl himself over the edge of the table.

It was a dumb idea. To the tune of explosive, cackling laughter, Dotty’s fat palm slapped his entire back. His body lifted, his legs wheeled helplessly beneath him, and he struck the table with his chest and the side of his face. Her fingers plucked and squirmed and wrapped around him, hauling him easily back before her mammoth breasts. “You silly little man!” she said, cooing. “Not yet! You’ll have plenty of time for that, but you’ve got to get into costume first.”

Costume? A chance to run? What the hell was she thinking? Simon held obediently still as she draped a lacy ribbon upon his head, tugged it around his jaw, and struggled to effect a tidy little bow with her fat goddamned fingers. “There! Now hold very still.” She took up a gleaming pair of scissors he hadn’t noticed before and thrust them at his face. He shrieked and nearly raised his hands up to ward off the weapon, but lurid images of how bad an idea this was flashed in his mind and he hid his arms behind his back. The tip of the giantess’s tongue poked from between her lips and her brow bunched up and wrinkled as she held the heavy twin blades frighteningly close to his head. The tearing, rending snip rang in his ear, and he nearly urinated himself right there. Oblivious to this, Dotty permitted herself a grin as she wheeled the blades to the other side and cut the excess ribbon there. “Perfect! Oh my Goddess, you look adorable! But we’re not finished yet.” She took up an eyeliner pen and waggled it in front of his face.

Even Simon could see that the waxy stick was blunt and wide from months of use. What was she going to do, cover him in blackface? What kind of game did she have in mind? While he was distracted with the lance of eyeliner, her other hand stole behind him and pinched his skull fast. He only barely bit his tongue instead of screaming and fighting, and he watched the blunt, shiny eyeliner tip grow closer and closer to his delicate face. What was she doing?

“Huh.” Dotty sighed and bit her bottom lip, concentrating. She held the eyeliner at a sharp angle, tilting it mostly away from his face, and then she slashed at him.

His cheek burned with the attack. He glared at her, but she smiled and took two more strokes, tugging his cheek away from his teeth with each move. His neck wrenched as her mere thumb and forefinger turned his skull to the side, and she stabbed another paint job at him there. Setting the eyeliner down, she squealed with delight. Her breasts throbbed and pulsed on table, threatening to upend and trample him in their joy. “I can’t believe how adorable you look! Here, you’ve got to see.” Producing her phone from seemingly nowhere, she unlocked it and thumped away at the apps, then plucked him up once more and held him by her cheek.

Her cheek was warm and soft, a little too soft, like the crepe of an old person’s skin. It was fuzzy with hundreds of tiny, pale hairs, and it was powdery with foundation. Tiny fine wrinkles were apparent to him, bunched up around her eyes, digging in deeper from her nostril to the corner of her mouth. A large, pale mole sat upon the hillside of her cheekbone as she smiled. Slowly he turned to see what her other hand was doing.

There they were, in the vertical rectangle of her screen. Dotty was beaming, grinning with her slightly crooked, slightly yellowed teeth, the remnants of her streaked lipstick doing a patchwork job on her mouth. Two drawn whiskers swooped across her cheek to where she shoved his little body.

He looked stupid, in the screen’s image. His eyes were huge and stupefied. His mouth hung open in shock. It was humbling to see his bare chest next to a strange woman’s face like that, what should have been an intimate moment with a partner instead of a perverse abduction scenario. ‌But his face… Doubtlessly, Dotty had attempted to give him proportionally finer whiskers upon his cheeks, but they were still thickly slathered bars that ran from around his nose to the sides of his head. There was a ribbon bow bulging under his fine chin, awkwardly knotted and splaying limply down his chest. The ribbon wound around his head, and at the top sat two fuzzy circles, nearly complete circles. They were stitched into the ribbon and pinched in the center so they’d stand up. They looked familiar in a way. The lacy ribbon threw him for a moment, but mouse ears were iconic. Two circles on a head were iconic and unmistakable.

So the whiskers and the mouse ears were meant to be his costume? He was supposed to look like a mouse, he supposed.

And Dotty…

The pieces fell into place far too slowly. Simon felt like an idiot. Suddenly, he had the clearest picture possible of what the rest of the night was going to look like, and his blood slowly chilled. He could see his expression fall in the phone screen.

“Say cheese,” squealed Dotty.