Carl placed a hand on the metal handle of the glass door, the sunlight reflecting off of it so that it was more difficult to read.  Squinting and cupping a hand over his eyes, he managed to get a better look at the letters painted boldly in capital letters on the door: “DR. SANDRA ADAMS, PHD.”  He gulped.  He was apparently in the right place.  He looked back at the very small parking lot on the sidewalk leading to the door.  His car was the only one there, and almost no others drove past.  This was to be expected, as he was in what was a decidedly less-often traveled part of town, but it still made him feel uneasy.  This whole situation had made him feel uneasy, as he thought about it.

Carl had started feeling depressed during his freshmen year of college.  Now, five years later, his situation hadn’t improved at all; it had only become much worse.  A matter of months before, Carl had actually begun having suicidal thoughts, so deep had he become in his own wallows.  One of his best friends had discovered this, and had signed Carl up without even getting his permission for an appointment with a Dr. Sandra Adams, a psychologist.  Carl had protested, even been a bit angry, but at the same time he knew his friend only wanted to help.  Begrudgingly, he had agreed to show up at the extremely small, out of the way office of the doctor, whom his friend had highly recommended, saying she had helped purge him of some slight depression during his sophomore year of college.  Carl had asked if his friend could just give him the condensed version of whatever it was the doctor had said, but he insisted he had signed a consent form not to share the methods.  Groaning, Carl had agreed to do it for his best friend and show up.

His appointment was for 8 am, just as the sun was coming up.  Taking a deep breath, Carl gripped the door handle and tugged, entering a short hallway.  There was a very small reception desk with no one behind it, although the computer was still lit.  There was a bathroom to his left, and ahead of him was a wooden door with the golden letters of Dr. Adams’ name nailed in.  Two folding chairs were leaned against the wall, presumably for waiting patients.  Unsure now if he was early or just plain way off the mark on his location, he pulled the seat of the chair out and sat down, twiddling his thumbs in the silence, biting his lip, wanting to get this over with.  He looked down at his lap, wondering if this was even worth obliging his friend for.

“Carl Morgan?” a voice asked sweetly from in front of him.  He raised his head to face Dr. Sandra Adams, who had just walked out of her office across the room.  She was slim, although not overly tall; she gave this impression, though, with a pair of black three inch heels that clacked against the tile as she stepped toward Carl, which allowed her to have a few inches in height over the depressed individual.  Despite being thin, her face was round, making her look a little younger than Carl guessed she was; he would have estimated she was only around five or six years older than himself.  Her black hair hung over her shoulders, wavy and shiny, curled slightly at the ends.  Her skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, particularly around her cheeks, which almost looked tan.  Her lips were a light pink, glistening from the dim overhead lamp on the ceiling, and they parted in a very wide smiling, showing off blindingly perfect white teeth, all in flawless rows.  Her breasts were reasonably sized, although not immodest, as they pressed against her shirt in juicy bulges.  She was adorned in a navy blue pressed business suit and skirt with a white dress shirt underneath, with tanned stockings hugging her admittedly toned legs.  She also wore stylish black glasses that framed her large, soft green eyes and long eyelashes, which she batted in a friendly manner as she extended her hand toward Carl, her fingernails filed smoothly.  Her long fingers gripped his hand confidently, while Carl just sort of let her do the work; he didn’t particularly want to be here, after all.

“Yeah… that’s me,” he grimaced, not able to look her in the eye from embarrassment.

“I’m Dr. Adams… but I prefer it when my patients just call me Sandra.  Why don’t you come into my office and we’ll have a little chat?” she asked, tilting her head and leaning over slightly to smile at Carl, but he didn’t look her in the eye.  Still gripping his hand, she led him like a small child across the room, where she pushed open her office door.  Carl quickly scanned the room with his eyes as the woman continued stepping into the room, her large hand still firmly gripping his own.  There was a small window allowing in sunlight on the wall.  A desk with a computer, phone, and piles of notes sat right in front of the window.  There were a few filing cabinets along the opposite wall, with a closet next to these.  In the center of the room was a leather recliner, facing the desk just a couple of feet away.  Sandra led Carl to the chair, placing her hands on his shoulders to have him stop.  She gave him an encouraging press down on his arms to make him sit down.  “Please take a seat, Carl,” she smiled as he obeyed.  She clacked her heels against the ground as she stepped over to her desk, taking a seat and leaning over as far as she could to speak to the patient.  She pushed a paper across the desk.

“Before we begin, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to sign this form,” she said, taking a pen from a cup on her desk and setting it on the paper.

“What… for?” asked Carl uneasily.  She smiled reassuringly at him.

“It’s really nothing.  It’s simply a form stating you won’t share anything that happens in this room with anyone, just as I won’t share any of your personal information.  It’s to keep my practice safe legally, so my particular medical methods aren’t utilized by my competitors, you understand,” she continued.  Carl nodded, shrugging, having nothing to lose anyway.  He leaned forward and scribbled his signature onto the paper, which Sandra whisked away immediately and slipped into a manila envelope.

“Thank you, Carl.  Now…” she began, steepling her fingers together in thought, her elbows resting on the desktop.  “Let’s talk.  I understand you were signed up without your knowledge by a friend of yours, Mr…”

“Wilson.  Brian Wilson.”

“Ahh, yes… Brian…” answered Sandra, her eyes lighting up in recognition.  “He was a patient of mine around four years ago, I believe.  He’s  a very nice young man.”

“He seemed to think you’re the best there is at this… stuff,” mumbled Carl.

Sandra smiled, pushing a stray curl out of her eyes.  “Well, that was very kind of him to say so.  He must be a good friend.  And I’m glad you decided to come and see me.  I know that wasn’t what you would have intended to do.”

“No, not really…”

“Carl, I guess I’d like to just start with the root of your problems.”

“Is this the part where you ask me to tell you how I’m feeling?” asked Carl, perhaps a little more snidely than he intended.  Sandra laughed.

“That’s very funny, Carl, but no.  I became a psychologist to fix what I’ve seen wrong with other practices, in my own way.  And I feel I’ve been very successful.  So no, I don’t want to hear what you think you’re feeling.  You may feel conflicted about those feelings anyway.  What I really just need to hear is the story of you.  Talk to me about YOU, and what made it necessary for you to be here,” she answered kindly, completely disregarding his slight rudeness.  Carl grunted, slowly leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Umm… okay, sure, sure… it all started about five years ago, right after high school.  During the summer.  I started to wonder, I guess, about my future, and what’s going to be in it.  I know that might sound a little sad for someone to think they have to worry so much about that when they’re only 18, but that’s what I did.”

“It’s perfectly natural, Carl.  Keep going.”

“Anyway, it got a little better.  I didn’t get into the college I wanted, but I got into one that was okay enough for me, I guess.  I did well.”

“Was it during college, then, that you started having these feelings?”

“Yeah, I guess.  What really kick-started it after that was Gina.”

“Gina,” Sandra repeated, her eyes locked, unblinking, as she listened intently.  Carl gulped, feeling a bit odd having such an (admittedly) gorgeous woman paying such close attention to his words.

“Gina.  I’d… liked her since sophomore year of high school, liked her a lot actually.  Never had the guts to go for it, though.  When I found out we were going to the same college, she had no boyfriend, I made my move, asked her out.  And she… said yes, somehow, said she liked me too.”  Sandra smiled at these words, holding her fingers together as if in prayer, calm and collected.  “We went out all through college… until graduation day.  I… I was planning on asking her to marry me after graduation.  I knew we were young, but I loved her so much I almost couldn’t breathe if I couldn’t guarantee I’d be with her for the rest of my life.  Walked into her dorm room to give her a ride over to the auditorium.  She’s got her legs wrapped around my… friend… Todd, and nobody’s wearing pants.  Known the guy since middle school…” mumbled Carl, the painful experience relation drying his throat.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Carl,” answered Sandra sympathetically.  “Please continue.”

“Broke it off there.  With both of them.  Never spoke to them again…”

“What about after college?  The last year before now.”

“Well…” mumbled Carl.  “Had a decent job as an engineer, really great pay for someone my age, maybe six months.  Screwed up.   Really bad.  Kinda got blacklisted by the major companies.  I can’t find a new “real” job, I’ve been living off my savings.  Brian’s actually paying for this one session, and I’m not sure I can keep coming in after today…”

“Don’t worry about that right now, Carl, just keep talking.”

“I lost my house last week.  I crashed at my uncle’s old place, he almost never uses it.  Probably won’t be able to keep that up, either.”

“The suicidal feelings, Carl.  I know you’ve had them.  When did they start?”

He gulped hard again, his words becoming more wavy as he tried to get them out clearly.  “It… it was a couple months ago, I guess.  Passed Gina and Todd on the street.  They… they were picking out a tux for Todd to wear to their wedding…” he moaned, his voice trailing off.  Embarrassed, Carl actually felt a tear roll down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away but tried to cover up.  As the deep green eyes of Sandra were trained on him, her lips pursed in slight sorrow, he had a feeling she could see just about any detail on him that she wanted or needed to see.

“I think I’m seeing it all now, Carl.  So now, you feel that your life is no longer worth living to you…”

“Yeah…” he rambled, and as he sat there, thinking about it more and saying it out loud, it occurred to him how futile his existence was.  He wanted to end it soon.  Very soon.  “I… I’m going to do it.  I know I am.  I just… I just…” he blubbered.  A few more tears fell down his cheeks, and he began to tremble, clutching his face in his hands.  He hadn’t actually been able to relay this full account to anyone from his own lips.  Somehow, the serenity and comforting visage of Sandra had coaxed it from him.  As he continued clutching his face, he felt warm fingers gripping his shoulder tightly.  He looked up to see the woman looking down on him in his chair, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Just relax, Carl.  I’m listening, and I understand.”

Carl looked up at her blurrily, seeing the comforting smile on her lips, and yet he felt even more angered.  She had lied; she was just like any psychologist.  “No, you don’t,” he answered bitterly.  She sighed, continuing to stroke his shoulder with her long fingers.  She slid them over his neck and to his other shoulder, which she then began to work.

“Carl, I’d like to try something.  A meditation exercise, if you will.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Do you drink tea?”

“Tea?” he asked disbelievingly.  She nodded.

“Yes, that’s right.  I’d like you to just lie back in the chair, and close your eyes.”

“I really don’t…”

“Just try it, please.  Give me a chance,” she asked, almost pleadingly, walking in front of him and standing rather poised, cupping her hands together.  Rolling his eyes very apparently, Carl did as he was told, closing his lids.  “Wonderful.  Sit tight,” she said, striding confidently to the closet.  With his eyes closed, Carl heard the doors opening, the clinking of a glass mug, and the pouring of liquid.  As he continued waiting, he heard Sandra’s black heels clacking back toward him.  “Keep your eyes closed, just open your mouth a little,” said offered soothingly.  Feeling reasonably comfortable despite his still strongly suicidal thoughts, Carl did as he was told.  A few swallows of tea were poured over his lips from the cup, which Sandra held lightly against his lips.  It wasn’t particularly sweet, but it was warm on his throat.

“Dr. Adams…” he whispered questioningly, wondering what the benefit of this was.  “I really don’t think that I’m…”

“Shhh…” she murmured, pouring another sip into his mouth.  “Don’t say anything, just drink.  Relax your muscles.  Don’t move a muscle except in your throat.  Don’t think about anything…”  With the combination of Sandra’s soft, calming words and the hot tea, Carl actually found himself drifting off to sleep.

Carl’s eyes flashed back open as he stared forward, his vision blurry.  His head hurt a little as well, but it wasn’t awful.  He was lying on his back, no longer on the cool leather of the recliner, but on soft wood.  He rapped his fist against it, wondering what was going on.  As he blinked a few more times, he came to see Sandra’s face again, grinning at him.  As he looked at her face, he couldn’t help but notice a few more things than when he had been looking at her before.  Tiny pockets of skin cells all along her face like wallpaper under a microscope.  Laugh wrinkles around her eyes, the beginning of a furrowed brow on her forehead.  A few stray hairs around her black bangs.  A few smudges of make-up where she had stopped adding it to her face.  The slightest of black eyeliner streaks under each of her eyelids.  Her green eyes were like whirlpools, like spinning kaleidoscopes of olive and emerald, and they were transfixed on him alone.  Her plush pink lips parted, her white teeth glistening from sheen and from a thin layer of saliva coating them.  She chuckled, first in a low voice at first, and then it began to rise, becoming louder and louder.  Carl slammed his fists against his ears, trying to cover the noise, and suddenly everything came into focus: the reason why he was looking at such a detailed version of Sandra’s beautiful face.  She was right in front of him, sure, but even that wouldn’t have been enough.  She was big.

Very big.

Her face, like a stoic sphinx, towered over him.  He felt like he was looking up at a close-up shot on an IMAX screen, but he wasn’t.  It was real, all real.  Sandra was looking down at him from above, a smile spread across her lips, her hair hanging down in jet black cascades of shine.  Carl’s jaw dropped in shock as he eyes fell down her massive form, along her building-sized shoulders, following the creaseless folds of her blue business suit, lingering for just a moment on her mountainous breasts held in her white shirt, and then it stopped at the horizon of the brown wood desk.  He was lying on Sandra’s desk.  Then, he looked down at himself, and his blood ran cold.  He was naked before this gorgeous doctor who must have been well over 300 feet tall, if not more, to him.

His eyes shifted again as he heard a loud ruffling sound.  Sandra’s shoulder moved slightly, and over the edge of the desk far off, Carl watched fingers almost three times as long as himself crawl over the edge.  Her pale, peachy flesh smushed slightly against the wood, and she began to slide it forward, her fingers splayed.  Carl watched her clean fingernails reflecting light as they neared him, becoming larger and larger as she kept her palm flat on the wood.  He crawled back in terror, feeling a cold rush of air falling over every inch of his nude body as he did.  He felt more and more insecure, and suddenly found a shadow being cast over him as Sandra’s face neared his own, her eyes bright, her mouth still curled into an adorable but nonetheless absolutely enormous grin.  Fully stretched out, he guessed her mouth was nearly triple as long as his entire body.  He shivered; despite the woman’s comforting abilities and soft looks, seeing her so gigantic up above him, like a smiling and omnipotent monument, made her look like an absolute goddess of power.  Carl gulped, his heart fluttering with fear, and yet somewhere in the depths of his mind, he couldn’t help but want to stare at her in her magnificent, titanic glory forever.

“Hello again, Carl,” she said, smiling, sending a rolling wave of hot breath over his body as her face hovered just above him.  Carl guessed if he stood up on his tiptoes, he could have touched her hair, which hung over him like black, motionless waterfalls.  “Are you feeling all right?”

“I… I…”

“No pain?  A little is to be expected at first, but you should be feeling fine right about now,” she said kindly and softly, trying not to scare him.  She was correct; Carl’s pain was leaving, and he felt absolutely fine, besides the fact that his naked body was being exposed to this giant of a woman.

“Dr. Adams… what’s going on?”

“Please.  Sandra, remember?”

“Sandra, okay, okay… what… what’s going…” mumbled.

She smiled.  “Don’t be embarrassed.  I know you must have a lot of questions.  Maybe you’re even… afraid of me, yes?” she questioned sweetly as if he were sitting in the chair still with his clothes on.

“Where… where are my clothes?” he asked, suddenly remembering his nudity and covering his privates up with both hands, still lying on the ground underneath Sandra’s face.  She giggled again, the sound rumbling through his eardrums.

“Back on the floor over there, next to the chair.  I doubt you could use them, though.  They might be a bit too big for you.”

“Too… big?” Carl muttered, shaking his head in confusion.

“Yes.  Actually, I doubt there are any clothes in existence that could fit you.  Well… maybe something from a toy train set, or a dollhouse, but not much else,” she answered slyly, loudly drumming her gargantuan fingers on the wood, causing Carl to jump in surprise.

“Don’t be nervous.”

“Wh-wh… what do you mean… dollhouse?”

                “What do you think I mean?” she asked, as if speaking to a young child.

                “What happened to me?”

                She pursed her lips, looking somewhat disappointed with his perception skills.  “It’s not very complicated, Carl.  I’ve shrunk you.”

                “Shr… WHAT?”

                “S-H-R-U-N-K,” she spelled slowly, lapping her tongue at her lips playfully.  “I made you smaller. Does that clear it up at all?”

                “But… but that’s IMPOSSIBLE!” he said, beginning to hyperventilate.

                “Just breathe in an out, Carl, in and out.  Relax.  And no, it’s not impossible.  How else do you think you could be sitting here on my desk like this?” she smiled.  Her other hand rose up from under the desk, and she balled it into a fist, resting her chin on her propped up arm.

                “A dream… it must be a…” said Carl hazily.  She laughed again.

                “No, Carl, this is as real as it can get…” she said.  The hand that was flat on the desk continued sliding forward, then pressed up as Sandra extended her pointer finger, which was thicker across than Carl’s entire body.  Before Carl knew it, she was laying her soft fingertip on his foot and stroking up along his leg, to his knee, and up to his stomach.  With a another gentle tap on his abs to remind him just how real the truck-sized hand before him was, Sandra retracted her warm, fleshy appendage, uncurling her fingers and continuing to drum along the wood.  “Still think it’s a dream?” she asked with a coy smile.  Carl shivered, both from the adrenaline and the oddly amazing feel the soft digit had on his body.  Even though she was big enough to kill him with a single flick of her fingers, he realized, she was still a woman, a beautiful one no less, and she had just touched him along his nude body with great care and tenderness.

                Carl’s breathing still wasn’t regulated, but since Sandra didn’t appear to want to hurt him, he had at least collected himself to speak up again.  “N-N-No, I guess not…” he breathed heavily.

                “You’re still very upset, Carl, and that’s all right, but again I say: you should just relax.”

                “Why… why did this happen?”

                “I was hoping you’d ask me that question…” she chuckled.  “I’m simply giving you what you asked for.”

                “What I… asked for?  But… I never…”

                “You’ve decided that your life isn’t worth living anymore.  And from listening to you, I don’t feel like I’m going to be getting anywhere convincing you to forget about it.  So instead, I’m going to help you.”

                “Help… me?” he said, shaking, feeling more and more uneasy.

                “That’s right.  I’m a doctor.  It’s my job.”

                “But… but surely you can’t mean you’re actually going to… I mean…”

                “Why not?” she asked, cocking her head.  “You seem so sure of yourself.  Why not make sure you do it in a way that isn’t hurtful to your loved ones, where there’s no trace of you left to find…” she said, raising a hand and tapping her teeth with a fingernail.

                “Because… because…”

                “There is no "because," Carl,” she finished, cutting him off and laying both hands flat back on the desk with a soft slap.  “You’re confused.  You’re feeling conflicted being here, right now, like this.  But don’t worry.  I’ll make it as comfortable as I can.”

                “W-What are you going to d-do?” stuttered Carl, standing up and cowering as he stepped back.  She laughed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as she leaned back in her chair, running her fingers through her flowing, silky black hair.

                She winked at him, and then licked her lips slowly and methodically, coating them in a gleaming layer of fresh saliva from her thick pink muscle.  “I’m going to swallow you alive, little guy.”  Her soft fingers rose from the desk, approaching Carl’s helpless form like pythons descending on the prey.

Carl stood frozen with fear on the desk as Sandra’s massive hand calmly reached forward for him, the creasing folds of pale palm flesh casting an ominous shadow over him as she flipped her appendage over him like a roof, her fingers outstretched.  Lowering her heavy, soft palm onto Carl’s head, she pressed down, forcing him into a crouching position.  For a terrifying and high-inducing moment, he felt like she was forcing him to bow before her.  Snapping back to reality, Carl tried to crawl out, but found a gigantic thumb smashing into the ground right in front of him, blocking his path.  He grabbed hold of it, trying to push it out of the way, and was amazed to feel the thickness of her skin, and especially the sheer, rock hard muscle underneath when compared to his own relative strength.  After tugging for a few seconds, he backed up quickly and found soft fingertips, each one easily large enough to cover his stomach, smushing against him.  Embarrassed, he felt Sandra’s pointer finger sliding casually between his legs, working up against his dick.  Her other fingers pushing up against him with just enough pressure to grasp him, Sandra lifted Carl up from the desk as if he were lighter than a thimble. 

Cold air rushed over the parts of his body not being pushed in by Sandra’s doughy hand flesh, and soon he found goose bumps covering his skin as he stopped, right in front of the most incredible-sized mouth he had ever seen.  The deep crevices of the cracks in her smooth lips seemed to quiver independently of the rest of the pink, plush skin as the room light beamed off of her lips.  Slowly, she parted them, and Carl watched as her lips inflated slightly, no longer having pressure applied to them.  Darkness rushed away from her mouth, revealing her gleaming ivory teeth.  Inside the depths of her throat, Carl could make out her uvula, dangling like a sack of slaughtered meat.  Her tongue laid at the bottom of her mouth: porous, thick, mattress-like, with a small cluster of spit bubbles floating on its river of hot saliva flowing back towards Sandra’s throat.

She clacked her teeth together loudly three times as if chewing something, clearly to tease Carl, and then spoke, releasing another muggy assault of warm breath that smelled faintly of peppermint.  “It’s been a pleasure being your doctor, Carl, no matter how short a time it was,” she chuckled, poking her muscular tongue between her lips hungrily.  Carl shook violently, trying to free himself from his prison of grooved, plush fingertips, but it was no use; despite her soft hold, she had him so firmly in place, particularly on his crotch, that he couldn’t move at all.  He began to whimper pathetically, the reality of his situation setting in.

“S-Sandra, p-please… you… you can’t possibly actually… I mean…”

“Why not?  This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well… y-yes, but…”

“But what?”

“Why would you w-want to do this yourself?  Isn’t there something wrong with…”

She laughed.  “I’ve had many of my patients ask me the exact same question, and that, like this whole process, isn’t complicated.  I just like how little men taste,” she smiles.  “I’m a very simple woman, Carl, with very simple tastes.  I have a steady job, and a good life.  All I want now and again is a little… pick-me-up.”

“MANY?  But then you mean… how… I mean, many patients, that means…”

“I know what you’re thinking, believe me,” said Sandra, shifting her grip slightly, digging her soft fingertip a little harder against Carl’s genitals.  “And yes: I do this to all of my patients who talk like you do.  And since cases like yours are what I specialize in, well…” she sighed, smiling sunnily.  “…you’re not that hard to come by for me.”

“But… but Brian!” gasped Carl.  “He was fine, he told me that…”

“Brian was cured, these sorts of measures weren’t necessary,” smiled the bespectacled goddess.  “YOU, on the other hand…”

“Oh, God…” gasped Carl, out of breath, shivering profusely.  As he did, Sandra began to calmly knead his little body in her hand, running her smooth fingers along his sides and cheeks.

“Don’t be afraid, Carl,” she soothed.  “Trust me.  I don’t care how it was you planned to kill yourself.  Hanging?  Shooting?  Jumping off a bridge?  All of those can be pretty messy if you do them wrong.  But with this?” she said, opening her mouth wider and allowing Carl’s convulsing body to stare a back into the shadowy depths, a lake of frothy spit floating around her gigantic red muscle, which was sliding along the slick bumps of her teeth like a snake.  “This, I’ll pop you like a pill, and no one will ever hear from you again.  No need to complicate things greatly.”

“But… but won’t it feel like…”

“No, Carl, it won’t hurt at all.  I promise you that,” she cooed.  “I’ve done this many, many times before.  I know how to make sure you won’t feel a thing when you die.  It’ll probably be somewhere in my esophagus; you might manage to get some air for a little longer before you run out, but other than that, it won’t last long at all.”

“But!” squeaked Carl, pissing in utter, unknowable terror against the soft fingertip cage.

“Trust me, Carl,” she said reassuringly and slowly, while adjusting her glasses so she could peek seductively at him over the rims.  “I’m a doctor.”

With that, her tongue slid over her teeth and past the wall of her lips, sliming everything it touched as it crawled forward.  Sighing slightly, Sandra extended her tongue as far as she could outward, clenching and inflating the muscle, tubing it up as she hungrily advanced on her helpless captive.  A steaming dribble of thick saliva rolled down her tongue, sliding off the slick, taste bud-coated edge, but caught itself on a long, phlegm-soaked stream, dangling like a hot, smelly stalactite from her tongue.  Dribbling like a liquid yo-yo for a few moments, it broke the strand and plopped far below to the desktop, where it splattered with a soft squish against the wood.  Carl felt Sandra’s tough fingers shifting, bringing him closer to her expecting lips, which seemed to be quivering with excitement as she continued smiling as kindly as possible to him.  Then, she slid her tongue inside the tiny cage of fingers she had created, holding Carl precariously above it as she soaked her own palm in spit.  Gently, she released her hold on Carl, leaving him sitting like a bird on her extended, bent pointer finger, which still was clenched lightly around his genitals.  Grabbing his hands desperately against the grooves of her fingertips, Carl found himself slipping off of her finger. 

He landed with a disgusting slop on the slippery mass of flesh and writhing muscle, his body hanging sideways along the thing.  Wincing as he hit it, the entire front part of his body instantly becoming caked in Sandra’s gooey mouth juices that were slathered all over her tongue, he suddenly realized how precarious a drop it was, and in terror, clenched his arms and legs around it as tightly as he could.  His fingers began slipping almost immediately as he stretched himself across it, trying to grasp onto the tiny handholds of her taste buds, but these were like rubber soaked in swamp water, because he couldn’t hang on, no matter how hard he tried.  This was quickly remedied, though, as Sandra helpfully tubed her tongue up around him.  Instantly, the rest of Carl’s body that hadn’t been soaked already by the titanic doctor’s tongue was clenched tightly in her sopping pink flesh, working him into it tighter like a burrito of pure, dripping muscle.  His drenched hair hung stickily against his face as if he had been dunked in a vat of Gorilla Glue, because as he reached his arms forward and gripped at his hair, trying to move it aside, he realized that Sandra’s mucus-lined solvent was so thick, it had actually managed to stick his hair to his forehead.

He shuddered, moaning quietly, wanting to yell, but knowing he hadn't the strength to do it, nor a good reason to do it: he and Sandra were the only ones for miles around, except for passing cars outside on the road, driving simply by the unassuming, tiny, privately owned practice of Dr. Sandra Adams.   Unaware that she was about to end a real, human life in the depths of her toned stomach with a friendly smile and a sigh.

As Sandra’s tubed tongue more tightly clenched itself around Carl’s puny body, dribbling saliva into his nose so much that he almost couldn’t breathe, he became conscious of the taste buds vibrating almost independently of the tongue.  It was subtle, and he doubted he would have noticed it if he weren’t so small.  They were surely releasing digestive enzymes onto his body, the process of his consumption having already begun.  He gasped, trying to push against the rough flesh, but only found the slightest bit of give in the pink walls before his hand met the tightening, throbbing muscle underneath, which quickly clenched against his frail fingers and forced him back into an obedient fetal position.  Then, slowly, Sandra began retracting her tongue back inside her mouth with a soft sucking sound.

“N-No…” breathed Carl, hardly daring to believe what was happening, as he placed a hand on her cushy lips as he slid past them, still held tightly in her tubed tongue.  With a soft pop, her tongue slid upward toward the roof of her mouth, and his grip was broken as her lips were pushed slowly back together, a deep, pleasurable sigh echoing through the damp, hot cave as darkness covered Carl completely.

Carl slid off to the side of her tongue, bonking his head against one of her perfect teeth, and landed face first at the bottom of her mouth.  Her tongue quickly slid up, coming down slowly on top of him like a hippopotamus sitting down on him.  He tried to crawl out, digging his fingers into the soggy floor of Sandra’s mouth, but this only quickened the tongues descent.  A second later, all that could reach the edge, and oxygen, was his face, his entire body being compressed tightly between the base of Sandra’s mouth and her slaver-laced muscle.  She held him there for a moment, rubbing her tongue from side to side, digging his dick against the rippling, fleshy floor while flexing the impressive muscle of her slimy tongue.  Carl squirmed under its heavy, scalding embrace as wave after wave of gummy drool slid down his face, dripping from the roof of Sandra’s mouth, and the center of her bone-crushing molars.

After a few minutes of this, Sandra finally lowered the rest of her tongue across her unfortunate patient’s body as he screamed for mercy, unheard by anyone.  His face was then dunked completely downward; this buried his nose and mouth in the flowing river of glistening sputum, warming his body so much he began to sweat, saturating every inch of his frame in Sandra’s damp enzymes and mucus-mixed mineral water.  He felt the base of her mouth rumbling like a heavy vibrator, hurting his ears and shaking his entire body.   She was laughing; he could tell, he could almost hear her doing it, and he guessed she probably looked sweet and gorgeous as she did it.

Running low on air, Carl had no choice but to gasp desperately for breath directly into the pool of slobber surrounding him, gluing him down under Sandra’s oppressive, steaming tongue.  Waves upon waves of hot spit began falling into his mouth and down his throat, providing no air, and instead bringing choking heat and sliminess to his system.  He sputtered in surprise, his oxygen running low and his lungs being compressed, and accidentally blew a bubble into a large globule of Sandra’s mucus, which was floating through the clear lake.  It instantly attached itself greasily to Carl’s face; his arms were pinned to his side, so all he could do was suck hungrily for air against the thick phlegm wad like an air bag.  It was no use.

Just as he felt himself begin to die, however, Carl felt the incredible weight of the tongue lifting off of his body.  He watched, shrieking with delight as Sandra’s lips parted again, allowing a cool breeze to rush in and, more importantly, air.  He sucked it in greedily, feeling his lungs return to normal, as he clawed his way toward Sandra’s lips.  He didn’t even want to think about the explanation for this right now, but it looked like she was going to have mercy on him.  She was going to release him.

Just as he placed his hands on her teeth to pull himself out, though, Carl watched in abject horror as Sandra slammed her wet lips back together with a sloppy smack, taking away his light, coolness, and oxygen in one swift motion.  On the verge of tears then, Carl felt the saliva around his feet and legs bubbling slightly as the squishy cavern of Sandra’s mouth began to vibrate.  He was knocked helplessly over as Sandra’s cheeks began popping in and out, the squishy skin slamming into him and sending him skating through the swamp of boiling spittle before sloshing against her other damp cheek.  She was swishing him in her spit, he realized, as he slammed his head against her top row of teeth rather painfully.  Strings of thick mucus began to hang themselves along his arms like velvet badges, coating him and allowing even more soupy saliva to cling to his sweating body.  With a final smack against her cheek, he felt her sweltering tongue grasping loosely underneath his body, jamming him upward.  He crashed hard against the ribbed roof of her mouth, her tongue pinning him powerfully against it, utterly immobilizing him.  He struggled to continue getting breath from the little supply of oxygen still resting in her muggy mouth, but there wasn’t much left.  Finally releasing him back onto the top of her tongue, Carl yelped in surprise as he found himself rolling painfully along her tongue, back toward her throat.  He yelled lightly, the sound almost swallowed up completely into the jungle-like environment, another intense throatful of churning spit rolling into his mouth as he was dragged roughly by the sticky, soggy adhesives onto Sandra’s tongue one final time.  He grasped painfully at her taste buds, but found them slipping out of his squishy reach, his body becoming so thoroughly covered in juices that he couldn’t hang onto anything, his skin beginning to prune as if he had been in the bathtub for a long time.

Every muscle aching, he crumpled himself into a ball, powerless as he was lodged against the opening of Sandra’s throat, feeling it pulse like a heart valve against his legs.  Then, with a groaning rumble that reached up from the back of Sandra’s throat and culminated in an ear-popping gulp, a massive glob of mucus and broiling spit pile-drove Carl into her throat as she swallowed him.  The thin tube of Sandra’s throat began to hug at Carl, the slick, sticky walls so condensed that they pushed his entire body against itself as the gigantic doctor’s mouth muscles slowly worked the poor patient down into her esophagus, her grimy throat walls rippling like waves on an ocean as they calmly drug the defeated man toward his bubbling, putrid doom in her stomach.

“Oh, please God…” begged Carl in his mind, his lungs so thoroughly crushed inward he didn’t think he had much left, so he decided he had better act fast.  “I didn’t mean it, what I was thinking about.  I swear I didn’t…” he thought, and then realized how wrong this sounded.  “Okay, okay, I know… I know… you know, too… I did mean it, and I was going to do it.  But I never thought to understand… I mean, I never understood…” he struggled in his mind, his arms pinned so tightly against the throbbing walls of Sandra’s esophagus that it forced all the blood from his limbs.  Carl thought hard as hard as he could, forcing the lies he was trying to tell himself and whatever higher power was out there out of his mind, purifying himself.  He figured it would be best to go out with these particular thoughts in his head, rather than the fact that he was lodged tightly, preparing for death, in a woman’s oily digestive tract.  He pictured his warm bed in his uncle’s house.  The calm street outside.  His worrisome, financially broken yet caring parents.  His neighbor’s friendly dog.  His friends, even including Brian, who had gotten him into this mess on accident.  Food.  Clothes.  The wind.  The sunshine.  A kind word.  A smile: from anyone, even a stranger.  “Please.  I want my life.  I love my life.  Please, please, please… just give it back…” he wept, his microscopic tears becoming lost in the endless raging, sticky waterfalls of Sandra’s throat slime. 

As he felt himself taking his final breaths, shaking with pitiful sobbing, he heard a deep grumbling emanating back up from the dark tube of Sandra’s esophagus.  Then another, and another.  Wet gurgles, rushing upward.  He felt the gooey walls shaking, convulsing against him, pinching his body against their rubbery material.  Then, suddenly, along his feet, he felt the rushing liquid becoming thicker, and more dense.  Then it began to engulf his entire body, drowning him in some newer, thinner liquid that smelled like rotten food.  As it rushed past his body, completely encasing him in the goopy goods, he was dragged not downward, but back upward at a rapid pace.  Before he had time to blink in the pitch blackness, Carl found himself rocketing back into a wider tunnel: the opening of Sandra’s slimy throat.  He was tossed mercilessly over her rippling tongue muscles, which bopped hard against his legs as he bounced his way forward.  He felt his body ram hard against Sandra’s teeth as the flowing, rotted liquid began to engulf him again to a high level.  Then the wall of Sandra’s lips parted, letting light in, and gravity shifted downward as she began to spit out what must have been bile from her stomach.

Carl clung tightly a slippery row of perfect teeth, but the ruthless waves of backwash took hold of him and he tumbled out again into the colder world, although his body was still warmed mostly by a thick, dried layer of goop and mucus that surrounded every inch of his body.  Sandra’s gigantic hand shot out, and he bounced against her plush hand heel for a moment before rolling, exhausted and short of breath, into her soft palm.  Dizzy beyond belief, he closed his eyes, blurring out the feeling of cold water suddenly rushing over him, Sandra’s tender fingertips working over his entire body, flipping him over calmly and gently onto his back so she could rub along his shoulder blades and ass with the water.  The feeling was so amazing and cool, that Carl began to convulse, hardly daring to believe what was happening to him as Sandra calmly worked her finger flesh over his battered body to clean him off.  After a few minutes of this, then, he felt cold air rushing past his body, and then Sandra’s soft hands falling away.  He grabbed at the ground, finding himself on cool, marble tile of the office’s hallway bathroom. 

He blinked, looking upward at the 350-foot-tall goddess of a doctor, her business suit still perfectly pressed, not a shining black hair out of place, her cute glasses still resting on her nose as she stared down at him with her swirling green eyes, clasping the arm joint of her glasses between two long fingers. She seemed miles high, so terrifying, her feet like leather-heel clad school buses.  Carl’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he blacked out.

Coming to, Carl looked around, still naked, but did a double take as he realized that the bathroom was no longer a miles high cavern, but instead an average room.  He grasped at his sides, trying to gauge how real it was, his body still dripping slightly from the cold water of the sink.  Then, his fingers found his clothes, folded in a neat pile right next to his body.  He quickly pulled them over himself, covering his exposed junk in case anyone would see him, but there was no one in the bathroom, not even his carnivorous doctor.  He dressed himself quickly, panicking, as he raced for the door.  He had to escape while he had the chance.

As he slammed the door open and turned to his right to leave, he found Dr. Sandra Adams leaning against the door, one leg bent and curled behind the other, her arms folded, her long fingers resting comfortably on her forearms.  She smiled sweetly at him.  Completely shocked and terrified by this development, Carl fell to the ground, cowering at the feet of the woman, shaking.

“NO!” he screamed.

“Carl…” she said, smiling reassuringly in a lower voice.

“NO!  Just… just shut up!  You can’t… you can’t eat me, you… you just CAN’T!”

“I can’t?  And why not?” she asked smarmily, grinning at him.

“Because I want to LIVE!” he bellowed so loudly it echoed through the walls of the entire tiny office.  He started breathing heavily, silence suddenly cracking through the sound.  Both of them waited, Carl’s chest rising and falling steadily, Sandra’s fingers drumming against her arm.  Finally, she opened her mouth (which made Carl shake a little in terror just to see it in action again) and she spoke.

“Oh, you do, do you?” she said, practically staring into his brain with her drilling green eyes, giving him a knowing smile, and suddenly Carl understood everything in one blinding, painful epiphany.  He conked his head against the ground, his breathing returning to normal.  Sandra clacked over toward him in her heels, extending a large hand to help him up.  He clasped it and stood up, brushing himself off from the ground.

“Dr. Ad…”

“SANDRA,” she said with emphasis and a laugh.

“Sandra… I just don’t know… I mean, I can’t…”

She raised a hand, pressing a finger against his lips to silence him.  “I know.  Don’t say anything about it, Carl.  You’re here now, and everything is all right again.”

“But…” he said, speaking against the cool flesh of her finger.  “Why am I back to…”

“It was only a temporary effect; about half an hour long, and you become normal again.”

“HOW did you…”

“The tea.  Special family recipe,” she said, winking.  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more.  Nor can you tell anyone what happened here.  Don’t forget your contract,” she said somewhat sternly while still smiling.  Carl nodded profusely.

“Of… of… of COURSE I won’t, never, but… but…”

Before he could finish his sentence, Sandra had placed both of her large, soft hands on his shoulders.  She leaned in and kissed him lightly goodbye on the cheek before letting go of him and moving toward the door.  He stumbled after her, dazed.

“I think we’re done here, then, Carl,” she said sweetly, opening the door.  “Promise me something, though.”

“I… of… of course, anything…”

“Enjoy your life.”

“Enjoy…”

“Yes.  I want you to go out there and be happy.  Be everything you could be and wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t decided to show up here today.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, knowing he was telling the truth.  “I’m glad.”

“Thank you… Sandra,” said Carl, stepping out into the sunlight with an entirely new lease on life, the pain of his trials still a lingering force in his mind, but not overwhelmingly so anymore.  The thoughts of goodness he had experienced while lodged in Sandra’s wet throat were at the forefront.

“You’re welcome, Carl,” she answered simply, batting her gorgeous green eyes, blowing a quick kiss to him, and shutting the door to her office softly behind him.