“Where are you? Darn, you’re good at this, aren’t you? I‌ guess it’s ’cause you’re so small.” Thick bare feet pounded across the carpet, lifting abruptly and falling with a frightening crash, covering tremendous distances in seconds. “It’s not that I don’t want you small, that’s the whole game, but it’s really friggin’ inconvenient right now, I have to say. Why couldn’t we just roll around on the bed and have some fun tonight?”

The heavy feet paused inches away from the corner post of Sandra’s bed frame, pudgy toes flexing and digging into the fibers, easily seen beneath the short dust ruffle. Her big toes plowed into the carpet, showing off uneven cuticles and deep crimson toenails larger than dinner plates. A few dark hairs curled upon the backs of the toes, one or two, here and there. Angry-looking blisters swelled on the outside edge of each foot, the base knuckle of each pinky toe: yet another curse of the patriarchy, forcing women to dress up in uncomfortable, impractical shoes until they crippled themselves.

“Mousie? Did you hear me? I asked you a question.” One foot slightly lifted and slowly turned on its thick, callused heel, to the sound of the heavy rasp of synthetic fibers grinding. That foot flattened and fattened as the other slimmed slightly, representing the sheer tonnage of shifting all of Dotty’s weight from one poor extremity to the other. “If you’re ignoring me, I’m going to be very angry, Simon. Do you want to deal with me when I’m angry?”

Simon gritted his teeth, his back pressed against the bed frame post right next to her enormous stompers. He knew she was messing with him, in a very cheap and childish way, but her tantrum could be very real. Taking a deep chestful of air, he sprinted behind the dust ruffle along the foot of her bed, ducking beneath the support boards of the bed frame, while struggling to keep upright on the uneven pile landscape. When he reached the other post, panting, he cried out “SQUEAK SQUEAK” at the top of his lungs, then loped resentfully back.

With a “mrrow!” Dotty trundled to the other end of her bed, looking for her naughty little mouse. No matter how many times Simon pulled this juvenile trick, she never seemed to catch on. “Oh, you stupid little mousie! Ha ha, I heard you that time!” Thunderous footsteps receded and her knees boomed into the floor as she peered beneath her dresser. “Just a little intimidation, and you give everything away,” she said, grunting. “That’s what makes you such a great mousie. You just don’t have the… oh, damn.” She sat up, burying her ankles and feet beneath her enormous hips. The space between her dresser and bed was very narrow, easy for her to crawl into but difficult to get out of. Heaving a large sigh, Dotty planted her thick hands upon the carpet and slowly backed out of the dead end that terminated in her nightstand. She had two nightstands: the one on the other side of the bed held a cute little lamp, and it stood next to a fully loaded bookcase: romance novels, sci-fi and fantasy, authorized biographies of some of her favorite celebrities, and leftover books from book clubs that never seemed to work out.

The nightstand she was parked in front of, on the other hand, was loaded with sex toys and lube. The drawer held a box of condoms and doctor’s samples of various dick pills. There were candles, scented oils in little glass jars, Tiger Balm, even Band-Aids. The nightstand served as an altar to carnal delight: it sounded pathetic, to her, to be prepared in case she ever got a man in her bed. It sounded better to take a feng shui approach, maybe, a magical intention to bring a man to her in this showcase, the bait to call out to a willing spirit who would have Dotty as a partner.

One way or another, she thought, struggling to her feet, it worked. One morning she woke up with a tiny man in her ass, and now she was chasing an eight-inch-tall intern, naked but for a pair of felt mouse ears, around her boudoir. If that wasn’t magic, what was?

Simon caught his breath and watched the behemoth grunt and strain to heave her bulk, all the way on the other side of the bed. He knew this trick wouldn’t work forever. Once, in the course of this nightmarish evening, she’d looked beneath the bed and found him running for the bookcase. There were no gaps beneath it, however, and he had barely enough time to race to the corner and throw himself behind it before the big, libidinous giantess came thundering up to the books. She swore for a moment, and then he heard her bed springs complain, followed by a slurping noise. Daring to steal a peek, he spied one meaty calf flexing and straining, one heavy thigh mashed wide against the side of the mattress, and then one massive pile of shuddering ass cheek, heaving and grinding away at some labor. It was only when he caught a glimpse of glistening fingertips that he realized she’d bent herself over her own bed and was rubbing out her frustrations for a moment.

“Want you,” she grunted. “Fucking mousie… pussy’s so hungry. Can’t stand it.” Her ass was perpetually in motion, in large ways and small ways. Her buttocks heaved forward and back, gigantic mountains of creamy gelatin grinding weightily into her own fingers, while the surface layer of tender, soft flesh shook more anxiously. All the tension in her body registered with tiny shudders that rippled all over her rear, popping up here and there, giving the sense of electric sparks of erotic energy while swaying along on the immense mounds.

Simon found it difficult to tear his eyes away. His mouth contorted into a distasteful scowl, yet he was mesmerized by the motion of the research analyst’s derriere. So huge, so enormous, and everything it did emphasized that. It was a miracle of suspension, the layers and piles of fat that encased her hips, how they stayed up instead of spreading all over the bed or something. The only thing that shook him out of his trance was the ungodly roar as Dotty finally achieved climax. Her calves strained and bulged, her leathery heel bared as her foot arched, and that colossal leg (the other hidden by the edge of the shelf) twitched with unimaginable power as her entire body shuddered in ecstasy. Juices flowed copiously down the side of the white bedspread, drenching it instantly in a waterfall of arousal. Simon’s skin crawled at the sight, and he slowly backed up and tucked himself behind the bookshelf.

It was a great hiding spot. All he had to do was wait out the timer. Dotty told him that if he could escape being caught, then he could dictate how the rest of the evening went. Doubtlessly she thought he’d come up with ways to make love to a gigantic, submissive sex slave, but he was going to test her promise and make him take her back to Lynn to grow him up again. But if she caught him before time ran out, then he had to be her willing sex toy, going along with whatever she desired. Watching how she abused her own hand on the edge of the bed, his mind recoiled at what she could do with him.

The only problem was, she never said how long the game would go on. He tried to ask, but she only flung him to the bed. He sailed across a continent of fluffy white comforter and landed among pillows heavily redolent with perfume and hair product, climbing out to find her hiding her face against the closet doors and counting to twenty in a cartoonish cat voice. Without wasting a second he clawed his way out of the pillows, ran to one side, and bent to grab the hem of a sheet. He rappeled easily to the carpeted floor and ducked under the nightstand in front of the bookcase. No sooner did he realize what a stupid choice this was—his jumbo-action-figure frame was completely exposed amid four narrow, painted wooden legs—than Dotty concluded counting at twenty.

“Ready or not, here I‌ come! I mean, meow!” The floor thundered with her footsteps, and it was only dumb luck that sent the lumbering beast around the other side of the bed. His gaze jerked left to right, taking in the possibilities. There was a narrow gap under the bookcase to his left, and beyond that was a tall plant with wide leaves in a broad, maroon glazed planter, with a wide wicker chair beyond that. To his right, of course, was the bed, with a thick, cloud-like comforter draped over the mattress and box spring and a frilly dust ruffle running around all sides, almost to the floor. He yanked up the dust ruffle and was about to hurl himself beneath the bed when, across the sheltered darkness, he saw a triangle of light tug up, exposing huge, round knees.

“Shit!” he hissed, hurling himself backward. One of the nightstand legs stung his left shoulder blade, but he wheeled and sprinted for the slim gap under the bookcase.

“Not under here,” Dotty mewled. “The big, bad kitty’s coming for her little mousie! Are you scared? Mrrow!” It seemed as though the entire room shuddered with her footsteps. How did the pictures stay nailed to the walls? Why wasn’t the floor a shambles of broken frames and tumbled books?

Simon cursed under his breath as he felt the heavy steps through the floorboards (yes, even through the carpet), and he’d just wedged his legs beneath the shelving when he saw her thick feet flopping around the corner of the bed. Out of time, all he could do now was hide his face and hold very, very still.

“Tons of places for a clever li’l mousie to hide, isn’t there? Meow! You’ve got quite the advantage, little mousie.”

Simon gritted his teeth in the undisturbed dust beneath the bookcase, painfully aware of the shoulder and arm he couldn’t tuck inside. The footsteps pounded ever closer, and he could easily imagine her stomping him out of existence before she ever found him on purpose.

Boom-boom! “Well, let’s see if you’re under here, now,” she said, her voice straining with squatting and bending.

He couldn’t look up right away, desperate to maintain the ruse of not existing: that is, screwing up his face and holding his breath, the best he could do under the circumstances. But when her thick, groping fingers didn’t pry him painfully from his narrow crack for a full minute, he ventured a peek.

Frighteningly close to him was an immense spill of thigh over a powerful, clenched calf. The lonely, crazed woman was sitting on her haunches, going through the drawer of her nightstand. “That’s not you,” she said, pulling out what looked like a pamphlet and setting it upon the nightstand. “And that’s not you… I wondered where that went… Where the hell did this come from?” Dotty was taking her time with a quick inventory of an apparently neglected junk drawer.

Not knowing when a better opportunity might arise, Simon decided to chance it. He expelled all the breath in his narrow chest, wrapped a fist around the thick acrylic ropes, and slowly, painfully pulled himself out from under the bookcase. If the giantess could stay busy a few seconds longer, he could zip right behind her and under the bed, which she had checked once, maybe twice by now. Never taking his eyes off the monstrous pile of feminine parts, he slithered clear and slowly rose to his feet, staring up the sphere of one immense buttock, up the steep hillside of her back, up to where her mop of dark hair shifted slightly as she reorganized on the spot.

“Oh, Pema Chodron! I‌ should get back into meditation.” Around her sloping shoulder he could see a blue-and-white paperback turning over slowly, before she riffled the pages and opened it at random. “Let’s see what Pema has for me today.”

Nearly laughing at his own good luck, the slender mousie tiptoed behind the colossal rump and picked his way across the carpet. Dotty’s toes lay in a near half-circle, rosy and round and almost cute for all that: large pink pearls that framed her wrinkled, callused pads and the hysterically wrinkled, pale span of her sole. Above them, completely covering her heels, Dotty’s vast derriere spread in all directions, shifting slightly as she placed things here and there or flexed her spine while she read.

“Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.” Dotty hummed for a moment, then tossed the book onto her bed. “Well, that was stupid.” She sucked in her breath and ducked.

Simon was directly behind her twin big toes, exactly between each humongous ass cheek when she discarded the book. Without pausing a step, he happened to be perfectly behind her ass, glimpsing where the teal thong ran down her pelvis and coccyx and disappeared most horrifically between the gargantuan cheeks. As Dotty bent over, her hips lifting as she peered beneath the bed, her vast buttocks spread and grew and widened. They nearly—almost, but not quite—exposed the abused thong: he could see where it dropped from her tailbone and stretched over the starburst wrinkles of her asshole, deep in the murky shadows. Just enough light hinted at the apple-seed divot deep in the trench of her ass crack, where the flesh parted to admit room for her puckered anal sphincter and what it had to share with the world. Below this, her buttocks greedily sealed back up and pinched, swallowing the teal thong for itself. And below that, below the rounded tuck of her flabby ass, between the bulging inner thighs, Simon could just make out the distended lips of her labia majora, densely coated in kinky fur.

“Let’s see if you’re under this side, meow-meow,” she purred. Her massy brown ringlets disappeared beyond the hills of her shoulders, and her spine lowered as much as her belly against her thighs would allow.

“I don’t fucking believe this.” His voice was dry and strangled as he found himself staring into the untamed thicket of Dotty’s feral pubic region. The portal of her pussy, flanked by thick sides of beef, seemed almost to puff up and swell as she bent, peering. The pubic hairs—coarse, robust, glistening with sexual dew—looked alive as they spread everywhere, encroached beyond their claimed hills of labia and into the territory of inner thighs and upper ass crack. His skin crawled at the sound they made, the bristling rasp of brittle cables grinding against each other, like a nest of asps wrapped in cellophane. And the way Dotty’s anal sphincter rose above it all, the way it puckered and protruded in its musty alcove, it almost appeared as though, crazy as it sounded, it could spy on him. He had the hideous thought that it could inform its mistress of his whereabouts, so with a sharp yelp he sprinted the final distance and dove under the dust ruffle…

…just at the moment Dotty lost interest in searching under the bed. “Dammit. Okay, li’l mousie, you’re making a good game of this, I’ll give you that. You’re not as stupid as you look!” She brayed her laughter, which chafed him because she sounded so abysmally stupid. “But don’t you worry: this hungry pussy’s going to eat her fill before time’s up!” She emitted that laugh again which did her no favors.

But no matter: in the lingering musk that spread from her crotch and followed him beneath the bed, Simon hoisted himself into the wooden bed frame and hid there until the massive thighs lifted and the fat, pudgy feet plodded away.

That was then. That was the start of the evening’s game, and now they were well into it. There had been a few near misses like this, some nearer than Simon was comfortable with, but for the time being he was holding his own against the gigantic, amorous ogress disguised as a kitty-cat.

The only thing that kept him from congratulating himself too soon was an unfolding development: Dotty was only getting hornier with the passage of time. Every time she thought she saw him, her arousal bumped up a few more points, and when she failed to lay her paws on him, it soured but did not diminish as far as he could tell. The longer he successfully vied for his survival, the more her libido whipped up.

“You little fuck,” she growled. The packed meat of her feet shifted as her dim brain cogitated far, far above, and then they padded off in another direction. They really could’ve been dainty, but for the property-destroying booming they emitted when she took her least step. The jostle of those chunky, blobby thighs that led up from the roast hams of her calves had nothing cute or graceful about them. Just seeing Dotty’s bare body walking around like that repulsed him on a deep level; being naked made it worse, as though something disgusting in her was being transmitted to him, like a virus. The fact that she wanted to find him, grab him, and use him was a nightmare scenario. If she couldn’t be talked to, reasoned with, at least he could play her stupid game and wait the clock out.

She was on the other side of the bed. He could just see her head of loose curls swinging around as she looked around herself. “Fuck! I mean, meow, dammit! Where are you?” Her head disappeared and there was some thumping around. “Dammit, it’s too cramped over here…” The entire bed frame rattled once,  eliciting a swear, and the drawers in her dresser clattered for another swear, and then Dotty’s head erupted, sans fuzzy ears. “Where are you, you little shit? I‌ swear, when I get my hands on you… fuck, my paws…” His blood chilled as he watched her thick fingers fight with the hairband, fumbling to set it facing frontward, struggling to lace it through her uncooperative hair, hissing through her teeth as she adjusted it. “One gigantic fucking cat is going to pounce the fuck out of some hapless goddamn mouse, I can tell you that,” she growled, stomping out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Simon stared at the door, mistrusting it. It could’ve been a trick. Not a clever trick, but some desperate stall tactic Dotty had come up with to lure her little mousie out into the open. Did she really think it would work?

Time passed and nothing changed. Simon’s head craned to pick out new noises from the other side of the door, all the way on the other side of the room, but there was nothing. No music, no thumping around, nothing. Slowly he pried himself out from behind the bookcase and stood before the nightstand, formerly filled with booklets and notes and postcards and whatnot. A single thin, brushed steel lamp stood upon it, obviously the light source for her late-night reading material. This made sense.

But where was she?

He damn sure wasn’t going to go looking for her. The last thing he needed was to get caught, exposed, in the hallway. He had a guess as to where her bathroom was, but he didn’t know what was across from that, and the hallway was just too long and too bare for him to leave to chance. It would’ve been smart, he thought, picking his way across the carpet fibers toward the foot of her bed, to simply stash himself behind the books and wait it out. Whatever arbitrary length of time she’d picked out, Dotty would have to give up at some point and announce that he’d won. Whether she was lying about that, he couldn’t help, but it could hedge his odds.

Then he envisioned a furious, dumpy, plain-looking cat toppling the bookcase with a roar, furious with having been outsmarted, apoplectic at the mess she caused him to make, and livid with arousal, pouncing on him with all the grace and delicacy of a volcano.

Should he surrender? Was he just postponing the inevitable? Was he even making it worse? Simon chewed the corner of his mouth and absently adjusted the broad, lacy ribbon that held his ears upon his head. If she was lying about doing whatever she wanted, about conceding victory to him, well, maybe it would be better just to get this ordeal over with. He could nearly die as her sexual plunger tonight, or he could nearly die tomorrow morning or over lunch or all evening long the next day, or the next. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen no matter what he did. Yes, maybe it would be best to just—

The image of her drooling vortex of flapping sheets of rubbery flesh and living, sprawling hairs shocked his consciousness, nearly knocking him off his feet. No. No way, no fucking way. He could not give himself to that gaping, prehistoric, alien mouth. He had to take his chances, hold her to her word. If she chose to violate that, why, it was no fault of his.

The moral victory would be his, he thought grimly, even as his entire body disappeared inside her gibbering, gushing orifice.

Thunderous footsteps echoed up the hallway, swiftly growing louder. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Simon crouched in a defensive posture and looked around him in alarm. Bookcase? Too far! Bed? She’d be expecting that! What else, what else?

When the doorknob turned and the bolt’s gears clacked into place, he sprinted for the nightstand. Not ideal, this spindly IKEA structure, but if he could hide behind one of its thin legs, it might give him a chance to plan his next move.

“Awright, li’l mousie! Your doom is nigh!” She brayed over the bedroom door slamming against the folding closet doors, a horrific collision at any scale. “I’m gonna fin’ you once and for all, if I‌ gotta tear my whole room apart to do it!”

Simon sucked in his breath. The big, fat cat went back for more wine! This wasn’t good, he was certain. While it might impair her ability to pick out details, it likely lifted all reservations against destroying her own property to find him. And it definitely meant disaster when she finally caught him.

He slapped himself. If! If she caught him!

She caromed against the folding closet doors, rattling on their rails. That made her giggle. “Jus’ a minute, jus’ a minute,” she said, gasping, and then the mattress cried out in an agony of stressed springs and support boards. “Jus’ gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

Unsure of where she was, exactly, Simon was unwilling to compromise his position and peek at whatever Dotty was up to. It sounded like she’d collapsed to the bed, and her back should’ve been to him, but who knew? It wasn’t until he heard her breath become labored, until she emitted her first timid squeaks that he realized she was distracted and he could snatch a glance. Sure enough, the mound of woman was piled on the foot of her bed, and by the way her hunched shoulders shook, she was fingering herself fiercely.

“Goddamn it… this’d be so much easier with a li’l wormy inside me… no, wait, a mousie. Yeah, mousie! Mousie want some cheese?” Dotty appeared to lift one hand and sniff at it. “Do mousies eat fish? Fuck if I know.” She resumed pleasuring herself, evidenced by the slow, labored squeals of her bed springs.

Simon crouched and peered under her bed. From dust ruffle to dust ruffle there was nothing but shadow, plus the potential to hide in the support boards. But if he trapped himself, any part of himself in those boards while she crawled into bed… he winced. That would result in crippling, dismemberment, or death. There should be a warning sticker on Dotty’s bed frame, he thought, smirking at what that could look like: a little black stick figure on a yellow background in one frame, standing under a bed, and then two enormous spheres crushing the bed into the floor, with jagged impact lines and everything. Translated into Spanish.

Regardless, he drew a deep breath and ran beneath the frame as fast as he could. The creaking mattress above him was thrilling and frightening, but Dotty seemed to be keeping to the foot of her bed. That was okay, then, as he closed in on the other nightstand. Hiding behind that would be pointless, he might as well have stayed back, but his destination was the structure opposite the bookcase, but just as solid and hopefully much heavier: the dresser. If he could park behind that, he figured the old woman would be much less willing to scatter her clothes all over the floor than her books. And if he made it to the dresser, he had his option of taking his chances in her walk-in closet or just cutting out into the hallway. More options, more possibilities.

No sooner did the thought form in his head than he looked up at the nightstand. Its twin on the other side of the bed-island held all the literature and notes. This one… that meant it… oh, holy fuck…

There was no lamp on this one to topple, which was fortunate because Dotty was careless and greedy about yanking its drawer open. Her feet planted solid as boulders on the floor scant yards away (by his perspective). Above him, a cacophony of solid objects banged against cheap blond wood in narrow confines. “The Gold Wand? Nah. Rabbit Bullet? Yeah! …dammit, batteries are out. Maybe I can get them outta the Tango or the G Spot Vibrator. This fucking Egg, I should toss that. Useless goddamn…” Chuckling. “Maybe I’ll make him use it on me. That’d be a crack-up.”

Simon’s tiny heart dropped into his tiny stomach. Dotty had a freakin’ treasure trove of devices up there. What the hell kind of monster was he pitted against? And if she got her hands on him, she could destroy him, with or without her implements of torture!

He eyed the distance to the dresser. It was nearly a clear sprint. There was plenty of room behind it, enough for him to dive into if he had to. He could even slide under it, with a running start. If he just walked right out there, would she even be able to see him, below her wide hips? Not likely, but the nerves up and down his limbs told him that something would go wrong if he tried to take an unnecessary chance. It had to be a sure thing or nothing at all. There was the bed, of course, but then she could find him under there… or he could retreat to the other end of the room… and find himself right back at square one.

He eyed the dresser, tantalizingly close, then glared resentfully at Dotty’s cankles, so thick and solid and large. And then one foot lifted and swung around the other, and the other shifted and twisted and slid to the side. What was going on? Was she leaving? Her feet were pointed away. Simon stepped out from behind the nightstand leg, ready to spring back, and looked up.

Dotty’s immense ass blotted out the ceiling, and it grew larger, inflating, as the shadows fell. What was happening? As he stared, Dotty grunted and sighed, lowered herself to her knees, and immediately began groping for her poor teal thong. What? She was going to fuck herself right here, in the narrowest part of her bedroom? Why couldn’t she crawl up to the bed? What was she thinking? Sure enough, she wedged herself between the furniture, without an inch of space on either side. Simon gawked at her broad hips, her spherical buttocks grinding against her mattress, running over the knobs of her dresser drawers. They disappeared within her flabby flesh, then emerged on top as her ass descended, and in a moment the ogress’s body filled seemingly every last space between the bed, the dresser, and the nightstand.

Her dusty soles peeked up as her toes gripped the carpet and she sat on her heels. One fat hand reached blindly backward, groping for the thin band of teal Lycra wedged deep in the chasm of her ass. Unable to apprehend it, she grunted gustily and swore. Her hand retreated, only to return with a bulbous, vinyl shaft, capped in chrome. Gripping the chrome end, she stabbed haphazardly at the crack of her ass, jabbing and prodding as though feeling her way around. When the blunt tip nudged against her labia, she let out a cry of victory and began stabbing at herself with vigor. At first the vibrator shoved her thong inside the coarse black forest and thick, moist lips, but after a couple thrusts it snapped back into position, shoved aside for the assault.

Now, Simon told himself, as he stared at the gory scene above him. Now’s the time to do this! Cautiously he stepped out from behind the nightstand, into the bare swatch of carpet in the corner of the room, framed by furniture. It was thrilling, in a way, to be standing out in the open like this, with his lurid oppressor so nearby. But she couldn’t see him, it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t peek over her shoulder, and she definitely couldn’t turn around! Dotty was practically stuck. Simon smirked at the idea, watching the immense woman shuddering within the confines of her own furniture. She could die like that, he thought, and they’d find her almost completely nude, bent over and pinned here. I‌ wonder how they’d haul her out?

Obviously, they’d push the bed away and roll her onto a stretcher. Duh. Dumb question. But he stared at the spectacle of the gigantic woman fucking herself with a tremendous purple log, mesmerized by the sheer power that went into jamming the object into her hips. It nearly completely disappeared inside her, and then her sausage fingers fumbled at the chrome cap, increasingly slippery, to pull it back out. Her juices were really going now, pouring over the already-soaked triangle of her thong, dribbling over her inner thighs, trickling down her ankles and arches. She was sloshing, she was everywhere. It was nearly supernatural to watch her crotch gush so copiously like that, and it made her task that much harder. In the moment she couldn’t grab her wand, it looked for all the world like her cunt was actually chewing the damned thing. Simon shuddered violently at that, at the thought of drowning in those goopy juices while the old woman’s pussy gnawed on him like a strip of jerky, when her hips gave an odd twitch.

“Oops,”‌ Dotty said, all the lust abandoning her voice.

“What?” Out of reflex, Simon spoke, but it was far too quiet for Dotty to hear him.

Dotty relinquished the purple wand to her pussy and thrust her arms upon her knees, almost sitting upright. Unimpeded by the thong, her puckered anus flexed and pushed and sucked back in and opened its moaning, anguished mouth. Simon couldn’t see this, of course, as her anus was buried good and deep between her flabby, floppy buttocks, regardless of the purple log jutting from the southerly neighborhood. All he saw was a slight, rapid vibration as the narrowest corners of her butt cheeks trembled against each other. They slapped crisply, due to the moisture that had somehow crept up into her crack from her gushing slit. The applause was immediately followed by a warm gust of wind that picked up in velocity and washed around him, and then his throat closed up.

Simon stared up into Dotty’s tremendous rump as she cut loose a huge one. He could practically see the cartoon winds blasting at him, a noxious jade cloud that shot at him like a cannon, then immediately billowed and flooded his little corner of the room. She filled it completely: there wasn’t a thread of anything resembling clean air. Gagging and dazed, Simon staggered backward, instinctively stumbling toward the corner of the two walls, the furthest point from her butt. It was no good: he could feel the coolness of the walls, in contrast to the steamy heat of the ogress’s flatulence, but all the oxygen had been converted to the foul exhaust that had been building up in her guts.

“Oopsie!” Dotty said on the other side of the mountain of herself. “Kitty tooted! I hope li’l mousie didn’t hear that, wherever he is.”

Simon collapsed to his hands and knees, couched in the carpet fibers. He didn’t want to puke, he didn’t want to puke, but good lord he was coming close. Where could he go? Through stinging eyes he perceived Dotty’s bare feet, pale and stretched taut as they flexed beneath her rump. That was stupid, that was chaotic… but she wouldn’t expect it. Could he sprint between her thighs? His lungs ached and insisted he could. She’d never see him under her ass, she’d never see him under her thighs, bloated and mashed together as they were. If he could dart through there…

Before he knew what was happening, his legs acted and he found himself running beneath the monstrous ass that hung in the narrow passageway. The ridges on her callused heels came into sharp focus as he approached her feet. He was really doing it, this was crazy, wasn’t there another way… but it was so hard to think, with Dotty’s gas burning in his lungs. Anything was better than this, anything.

The ogress flapped her thick palm in front of her face, hooting and laughing, and Simon took the opportunity. She was upright, she wasn’t looking. He balled his fists and pumped his legs and charged between her huge bare feet.

No sooner did he hear his own steps sloshing through the puddle of her abundant lubrication, accumulated in the nonabsorbent synthetic pile carpeting, than one overeager leg shot out in front of him. His rear leg couldn’t compensate: his knee bent and his foot groped, but it slipped to the side immediately, heaving him slightly into the air before he splatted upon his back.

The swamp of carpet and Dotty’s fluids was sticky, warm, cool, musky, and everywhere. There was a literal splash as he executed his reverse belly flop. At least it didn’t hurt when he banged his head into the carpet: instead, juices lapped at his ears and cheeks. He found himself staring straight up into the ursine hairiness of Dotty’s bulging labia, directly overhead and far, far too close for comfort. The shriek set itself off in his own chest, and he listened to himself like he might listen to a car alarm.

Almost instantly, a pudgy hand descended from the heavens and slammed into him with the delicacy of a meteorite.

“Gotcha!”