The Tiny Scrubbing Bubble by Aborigen
Summary:

Cameron's a tiny little man in the service of a beautiful, mischievous giantess. To earn his keep with her, occasionally he has to perform certain "groundskeeping" functions.


Categories: Humiliation, Body Exploration, Butt, Entrapment, Gentle, Scat, Slave, Couples Characters: None
Growth: None
Shrink: Lilliputian (6 in. to 3 in.)
Size Roles: F/m
Warnings: Following story may contain inappropriate material for certain audiences, This story is for entertainment purposes only.
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 5 Completed: Yes Word count: 21545 Read: 52597 Published: March 17 2012 Updated: February 26 2018

1. Chapter 1 by Aborigen

2. Chapter 2 by Aborigen

3. Chapter 3 by Aborigen

4. Chapter 4 by Aborigen

5. Chapter 5 by Aborigen

Chapter 1 by Aborigen

Carlotta was lovely in a very sexual way. I distinguish that from "cute" or "beautiful," the latter being mostly the domain of models and beauty queens. Carlotta would never run for beauty queen but when it came to animal attraction she was irresistible. She was in her mid-30s, her raw sexuality shedding the untamed chaos of youth and maturing into a smoldering, libidinous gravity that drew men to her. That drew me to her. Her hair was a thick and full mane of raven-black locks, and it shimmied and danced down her back above a full, proud butt.

It wasn't a huge ass, just medium-sized as they go, but from my perspective it was enormous. Carlotta stood about 5'4", but she loomed over me because I was only 4" tall. Long story and I'm sure you've heard it before, so suffice it to say I was basically her property, her toy. I liked to think of myself as her lover, but I'm sure she'd call me her toy.

"Cameron, hop to it. Scrub me off, little man." She called out from the bathroom before entering the bedroom. Her strong thighs shook slightly with each step, swaying before me as I lay on the bed. When she knelt into the mattress, it sank beneath her weight and I had to grab the quilt to keep from rolling into her leg. I had rolled to my back and found myself staring up her massive, round thigh straight up to where she refused to shave.

It was just a small patch of hair but it was at least as dark, glossy, and thick as the proud mane that framed her alluring face. She smiled down at me, peeking over her breasts and her belly and that grove of ebony pubic hair.

"Got your mop and bucket?" she asked, smirking, as she pinched one of her nipples. "I think I'm pretty messy today." I groaned and she laughed harder, her titanic frame rumbling above me. The tools she mentioned were lying beside me, a miniature mop only slightly too large for me, and a plastic shell holding several gallons (to me) of warm water. It was part of our "thing." She flung her arms out ahead of her and I braced for impact: Carlotta bent at the waist and her palms struck the mattress, plunging into the quilt and springs like my tiny body never could.

This giantess' tan body stretched over me like an awning: the pillars of her thighs rose up beneath my feet, as I lay on my back, her round hips scooped inward to her relatively narrow waist. Her belly hung a little, some chubbiness from too much drinking and not enough exercise or vegetables or whatever. Her breasts hung down in little triangles, like stalactites. Even at my diminutive size, those were small breasts. Whether their size bothered her was impossible to tell, because she acted like she knew she was sexy all the time. And she was... I just didn't like the look of those pointy little breasts hanging down over me like that. And next to them were her armpits, then the generous swell of her caramel shoulders, leading down to her biceps and forearms, mounted over my head.

My mistress grinned toothily at me through full, red lips. "You like what you see, little man?" Her eyes flashed with the question, and I knew better than to say no. Last time I did that, she frowned and let her arms buckle, and her round little belly splatted into me like a... well, it was exactly like a belly flop. There was no air to be had, with the sheer tonnage of woman-flesh weighing upon me, so I had to force myself to calm down until her anger passed.

I had been kidding, but there was no kidding with a hot-blooded giantess. I told her how beautiful she was and it wasn't a lie. She purred and slowly lowered her body to the bed, but not straight down, like with her punishment. Her body swung forward and her belly glided above my head. Her thighs angled down and lay on the bed as the dense thicket of pubic hair nestled into position upon me.

Warmth pushed through the black grove, and glossy, thick hair matted all over my arms, chest, and face. I could breathe through this but when I did I could taste the musk of her arousal in the air. I would have liked to stay here, embedded in the warm vines of her crotch, but I had a job to do and so I struggled out of the underbrush.

I clambered to my feet, her furry thicket running up around her labia, which ran from my feet to just below my neck. To either side were the massive walls of her thighs, curving out to meet me and then arcing gently away far overhead. Heat was radiating off them, and I patted her inner thigh heartily, achieving no more than a slight wobble around my hand. Behind me, her slim calves shot off the edge of the bed, her feet hung suspended in the void. Ahead, the seam where her inner thighs met with her groin, that fold of voluptuous flesh where her butt filled out and pressed against her leg, was my next path. I had to haul my mop and "bucket" and climb up against her thigh to reach the peak of her right ass-cheek.

I admired her ass. During the brief moment I knew her while I was normal-sized, it was a compact, full butt, neither too small nor enormous. It was a cute bubble butt that would've looked fine on anyone, and on a short girl like Carlotta it had the illusion of being that much more pronounced, almost fierce. Yeah, a fierce little butt: I think that was my first impression. I cracked exactly one joke about it, that she had stolen someone else's amazing butt and its owner would be heartbroken over the loss. Weak laughter and a furrowed brow were Carlotta's response to that, as though she knew she was being complimented but wasn't sure how.

In return her joke was to threaten to eat me with her butt. Spinning on her heels, she thrust her ass out at me and charged me, ridiculously, running backwards at me. She gripped each of her cheeks (yes, we were nude) and made "OMM-NOM-NOM" noises. I collapsed in hysterics, crippled with laughter, and she was a little disappointed that she caught me so easily.

And then, somehow, I was shrunken down and I easily fit in her butt, entirely enclosed between her buttocks. That was months ago, the first time she actually ate me with her butt. Almost five months...

Where did we find ourselves today? I had just crawled out from beneath her shaggy rug of dense pubic hair, and she was lying face-down on the bed, her legs surrounding me in a narrow valley of sweet, smooth flesh. If I had to guess, far off in the distance, her jaw was propped up in her palms as she leaned on her elbows and watched TV. She wasn't necessarily present when it came time for me to do my chores.

Oh, I haven't mentioned: I have to wipe her ass.

It's as glamorous as it sounds, and it's geometrically complicated by our size differential. It'd be one thing to reach behind her while she's on the john and attempt to feel my way between her cheeks. That would be weird enough. Two months ago she hit on this "brilliant" idea, though, and now I have to mop up the area around her anus. Not with her help, though, no! Oh, never! The most she does is come out from the bathroom and lie on the bed. It's my responsibility to find a way to crawl up her legs, hauling my equipment with me, and scrub her orifice down.

First order of business: the urine. Carlotta does see fit to leave me some tools for my job, and one of these is small fragments of paper towel. With them, I simply daub away any remaining droplets of golden urine from around her pussy, clinging to her pubes, anything like that. It's done in less time than it takes to tell, and I toss the paper towels behind me.

I'd salvaged loose strands of her hair (from her head, not her pubes, which would've been too brittle to work with) to tie my mop and "bucket" and hang them from my waist. That freed my hands for climbing, at least. And she gives me certain liberties: I can rub against her pussy and get her a little aroused, and this I do. Placing both hands on either of her labia majora, snaking them deep in her pubes, I press as hard as I can into her flesh and struggle to make broad, sweeping motions, which she only feels as gentle rubbing. I have to admit, my upper-body strength has improved with this regular exercise, and I can keep this up long enough to generate a few beads of lubrication. They seep out from between the folds of her pussy, and I step up and place the length of my body against them. Turning my head, I slick my entire chest, arms, and legs with her vasocongestion (pussy juices, to you), but at no point am I allowed to insert myself in her vagina at all, not an arm, not a head. She's very strict on this point, though I don't know what worse punishment she could conjure than my semi-weekly task I'm doing now.

Sometimes she gets into it, and my work takes longer than it needs to. She responds to my tiny hands kneading into her labia, and if I ever climb her pussy (grabbing fistfuls of hair and digging my feet into her pussy), she seems to love that. Then I have to hold on tight while her hips roll around, rocking me back and forth. She attempts hip-thrusts to make me swing from her hairs and bounce gently against her pussy. I can't imagine I have any weight, but either she loves this feeling or she just likes making things hard for me. And yeah, I do get hard, my little cock standing out stiffly as I collide over and over into her tremendous pussy. Who wouldn't? It's a lovely pussy, with dark folds of succulent flesh writhing in a luxuriant bed, glistening with her juices, smelling very strongly of human musk and something a little sharp that my body responds to. But I digress.

Drenched and sticky, I'm now ready to begin my ascent. I reach as high as I can and wedge a hand in the deep crease of flesh where her ass meets her thigh, and I plaster myself against her inner thigh. With both hands reaching up and pulling me gently, I can gradually crawl up, replastering myself to her skin as we go. Now I'm three feet (to me) off the ground (bedspread), and I draw one sticky knee up, adhering my loins, my calf and ankle to a small patch of the skin on her leg. Hands and knees mounted, I raise my torso up another half a foot, then plant it securely and sneak my arms and legs upward again.

It goes like this for a very long time. I'll spare you.

My thoughts during this process usually run around what she may have been eating the day before. If, for some exceptional reason, she'd had a lot of fruit and vegetables, my job practically takes care of itself. I just swab the crevice between her buttocks, finish it off with a rag (there are three in my bucket), and we can get on with our days. But then there are days when she's had a lot of beef and, heaven forfend, hot salsa. Carlotta loves her habañero, I'm afraid, and she gets what I've heard referred to as "ring-sting." Her anus is swollen and inflamed, and the fecal matter around it is sticky and usually covers a broad area. Days like that are freakin' nightmares.

I used to ask her to lay down a towel, so the run-off from my job didn't stain the sheets. Instead, she'd just take us out to a local hotel, Greenville's own Royal Mill, and get a room with two beds: one for the shit-mopping, and one for her to curl up in at the end of the day. I did not get to sleep in the nice bed, even though I take up so little room. No, she makes me lie not far from the stains of her excretion. "Why ruin a perfectly good bed with such a shitty little man?" she reasoned. And if she woke up aroused, she wouldn't bring me over to her bed, oh no. She would prop herself up on the pillows on my dirty sheets, use me as she liked, then crawl back into her bed. Which left me shivering in her pussy-juices and trying to sleep near some massive shit-stain.

When I say it aloud like that, I wonder why I like her. But then, where else would I go?

If she were a teenaged girl, this wouldn't be so difficult. I could climb a lean little gazelle like that in no time: the back of her thigh would be only just above my head, so I could take a running leap and climb most of it in one shot. From there, standing on her thigh, her young butt would be the lowest of hills for me to trot up and get to work. Carlotta is almost twice as old as a teenager, however, so her thigh is that much fuller and rounder and larger, and her butt stands up proudly like a small mountain.

Nearing the top of her leg, I can leverage my feet against the low tuck of her ass, the bottom of her apple-bottom, and shove against it to move me up her thigh. Soon after this I find myself standing upon the back of her thigh (only a little cottage-cheesey, as many women's are) and I haul up my equipment after me. They drag behind me as I walk up to the mound of her ass, and they tickle her as they run lightly across her skin. It's okay if she giggles, but if she laughs--like now--my legs are knocked out from under me and I have to fling my limbs out to lie flat on her leg. When I wasn't so trained, I tended to tumble back down her leg, bouncing off either thigh before coming to a rest in her thick pubic muff. And I had to make the arduous climb all over again. Needless to say, I learned quick how to prevent that from happening.

"You okay back there?" her voice bellows across the horizon of her shoulders. Across the broad desert of her back she turns to grin at me.

"Fine, thanks. Don't worry about me."

"Let me know if you need anything." She gave her huge ass what would've been a cute little wiggle, if I were standing next to the bed, normal-sized, watching it jiggle. For me, of course, it was a 2.5 earthquake and I dug my tiny fingers into her ass-flesh, buried my face in her right butt-cheek, waiting for the tremors to subside. She is just no help at all.

Finally accessing the peak of Mt. Carlotta's Butt, I surveyed my landscape. A twin peak stood prominently before me, separated by a deep and plunging crevasse. To my right was the canal of her spine, dividing the broad and long span of her creamy, caramel back. Her shoulderblades flared--I could lie upon one with none of my limbs hanging over--and her ebony hair poured down over them like a flood caught in mid-motion. Just once, I wish she'd let me play around on her, explore her: I really, really want to wrap myself up in that luscious hair, for some reason.

And stretching away to my left are her sturdy, thick thighs and fiercely carved calves with zero fat on them. You can see her muscles working beneath her flesh, when she tenses her calves, and that can be very seductive or a little threatening, depending on how tall you are.

I have a seat on the peak of her butt, my feet dangling just above the deep crevasse, and I call up to her: "All right, Carlotta, I'm in position. Spread 'em."

This is the only favor she does for me in the whole chore. She reaches back, swinging those gigantic long arms through the air, and she clutches her buttocks with strong, slightly wrinkled fingers. She wears these garish, hideous, long fake nail tips that come in eye-stabbing colors and designs, and these plastic talons dig painfully into her ass-flesh. It looks painful to me, but she doesn't seem to mind. Easily, infuriatingly easily, she hauls her massive buttocks apart, the crevasse widens, and light finally shines down into the deep valley of her anus.

I rest my equipment near her coccyx and lower myself into the pit. It doesn't look horrible today: thick, putty-like smears of shit around her anus, but not a lot of it and her anus isn't sticking out. Just a standard job, looks like, and I haul my bucket down. Wedging it securely between her cheeks, I pop the lid open and douse the mop head in it, then begin pushing away at the smears. You have to loosen them up with lots of moisture, first, and then they wash away easily. If there are flecks, like oatmeal or corn, you have to dissolve what's holding them in place first and then they fall away. If she's been dehydrated, however, what remains is a dense and stubborn clay-like buildup, and sometimes the only thing that will dislodge it is my hand, wrapped in rags, prying it away piece by piece. In the worst cases, I actually have to pry it away with the handle of my mop. The area usually needs a good scrubbing down after that, or else the residue will burn Carlotta's skin where she's most sensitive.

I hate how good I've become at this job.

"You know," resounds the giantess, far beyond where I can see her, "I think I'm starting to like this."

The strands of my mop keep getting caught in the puckered folds of her anus. I ask her, "Are you starting to experience pleasure at having your asshole massaged like this? Is this gonna be a new thing?" If yes, then maybe she'll make this job easier, so I can get to it sooner, like lifting me into place!

She laughs so hard, the walls of her butt threateningly shudder around me. She's holding her cheeks apart but she laughs hard, and I don't want to think of what would happen if she lost her grip. My heart stops until the laughter subsides. "Oh no, no, no! You disgusting little man! That does nothing for me!" And more giggles, and work is halted again.

"Then what?"

I can hear the treble sharpen in her voice: she's smiling broadly. "I just love having a tiny little man in my butt, who has to do everything I tell him!" She breaks out into laughter again, and my bucket capsizes, dumping all the water and the rags out. They cascade over her anus, which trembles at the contact, and immediately they are lost in the dense thicket of pubic hair below. She's laughing harder now, and I drop my mop in an attempt to brace myself against her butt-cheek walls, palms there, shoulders here, as her hips rock and jostle in her merriment.

Then, disaster: she's laughing so hard she triggers a fart. I sense it coming and can hold my breath, but she's still laughing so in the one instant her anus flares, my legs slip out from beneath me. I reposition my arms to catch myself, but my left arm slips right into her anus and sinks up to the elbow. Immediately it closes up again and I'm held fast, dangling by my shoulder down the crack of her ass. My abs lie flat against her taint, and my feet just brush against where her vagina starts.

This is hilarious to her. She laughs so hard she loses her grip. Her massive, enormous butt-cheeks slam together, squishing me and closing off all light. I'm a tightly bound captive as her body convulses in laughter: I'm rocked back and forth, feeling her buttocks slosh and shudder around me, and I can't do a damned thing about it.

Gonna be a long night, I think.

Chapter 2 by Aborigen

So there I am, one arm lodged deep in Carlotta’s anus, dangling before the entrance to her pussy. Now I’m coughing and spluttering, unable to hold my breath as her sticky fart yet lingers in the vicinity. And it’s rancid, let me tell you, it’s no fun at all. I’ve been present for other, lesser farts, let’s say. Feminine little poots that are more adorable than anything else, just a little whiff of breeze and very mild musk to them. Those can be cute, and we can both giggle at those.

It’s farts like this one that are unbearable, the deep, rumbling eruptions that knock me off my feet and temporarily blind me. All I can do when those happen is lie flat, hold my breath, clench my eyes shut and just hide there for as long as I’m capable of. Eventually it disperses and fresh air replaces my lover’s chemical attack, but while I’m waiting for that she’s howling with laughter. Her entire body shakes, and her enormously fat ass just exaggerates every little motion she does. So depending on where I end up, either I’m clinging to her butt cheek or weathering it out deep in her crack.

She doesn’t care. It’s all hilarious to her. I don’t think she’s ever thought about what it’s like for me. Or, worse, she has and simply doesn’t give a shit. That’d be like her.

The clean air does come in, and Carlotta’s laughter has me bouncing gently against her labia, just kinda dragging left and right over her sensitive folds. My toes just graze the sheets on the bed, actually, and if her pink, moist membranes weren’t sucking at my left arm with a death grip, I would easily slip down. I’d let myself fall to the bed, suck in some clean air while I could, and make the most of the short break before resuming the climb back up her tremendous thigh and mountainous ass.

Except she’s not doing that. I can’t see most of her body, of course, as my entire world is her two massive buttocks and a pair of big, round thighs, but I can feel the muscles strain beyond her layers of fat and flesh. I feel gravity shift, and I swing away from her pussy and dangle between her thighs. She’s upright.

Her thighs begin to heave and churn against each other. She’s going somewhere.

Yards and yards down below my feet, as I hang in open space, I see the motel carpet fly past as though I’m looking down upon the earth from a passenger jet. Her slim calves swing into view, relaxing from each stride, and her heels kick up slightly before they swing forward again. The bed gets smaller and further away, the noise from her TV program gets quieter, and then the carpet is replaced with tiles.

She’s taken us into the bathroom for some reason.

“Sorry about your pail, little lover,” she calls down, her voice echoing off the glassy surfaces in here. I hear water blast in the sink.

“Are you getting me a refill?” I yell back up to her.

“Were you done mopping my butt?”

“Not if you’d like a really professional job done.”

“Then I’m getting you a refill.”

I’m surprised, and I say so. I can’t literally see her shrug but I can envision it. “I just don’t wanna walk around with no poopy butt, that’s all. You gotta finish your job!” So I thank her and I wait it out, dangling out of her massive butt-cheeks like… well, like any number of small, unpleasant objects that would be likely to dangle out of someone’s ass. There’s no beautiful poetic allusion for my position right now.

She finishes and we trot back to the bed. The TV’s playing a commercial for used cars, I note. My shoulder starts to get sore, wrenched from an uncomfortable position as it is, and I estimate from the angle at which I hang that she’s doing something on the bed. I can’t see until she crawls upon the mattress once more and my body passes over my cleaning utensils, laid out nicely in the center of the bed. That’s very kind of her and I say so; she doesn’t reply.

What’s different this time is that she doesn’t lie down like before. Instead my body lies flat over her thick pussy lips, her pubes brushing against my feet, and I’ve got a clear view of the ceiling now. Up over where my elbow disappears into her anus, her massive butt-cheeks have spread to either side on their own. Her hands and their horrible, garish talons are nowhere to be seen.

I factor the angle of my body, where I’m lying against her pussy and how much of the room I can see, and I figure that she’s just sticking her ass straight up in the air. We don’t see this position often: usually she lies on her belly and it’s up to me to fight for space between her cheeks. When she kneels on the bed and buries her face into the mattress, sticking her massive ass up, it’s usually an indicator that she’s feeling a little frisky. Which can be a good sign for me.

Her hips shift, and she carefully takes up my toy mop and the little plastic container for my water, and she raises these up to where I am. I’m able to seize the mop and fling it up to the peak of her ass. As for the water, I pick at the long black single strand of hair tied around its handle and I wrap that around my forearm.

“You all set, lover?” she says. I call back that I am. She flattens out her palm and allows me to stand on it, and at this point I’m finally able to tug and slip my poor forearm out of her asshole. I stand on her palm and spin my arm at the shoulder a few times, trying to relax my cramped muscles.

I figure the clock is ticking, so I scramble up her butt with little effort and haul the little bucket up with me. Her palm falls away and returns with a small pile of shredded paper towel.

“Very thoughtful!” I call down to her, quite sincerely.

“Nothing’s too good for my little janitor,” she purrs. “Now get to it. Janit my ass.”

Like hell if I was going to correct her faulty grammatical backformation. I simply brace my tiny, bare feet on each cheek and start working my mop. Fortunately, there really wasn’t too much left to do: I cleared all the skin that rose up on each side of her hole, just to be safe. Then I get down and start scrubbing away at the radial puckers of her anus, getting that area nice and prepped.

And in almost no time I’m at the last leg of my chore. I toss the mop off the cliff of her ass down to the mattress. I take up a swatch of paper towel, wrap it around my forearm and soak it in the water. Then I kneel just north of her anus and I get down and start scrubbing into every wrinkle.

You’ve got to do this kind of detail work, and it’s easiest to do it last of all. That’s just common sense, I think: if you wipe out the cracks and then slosh mop water all over it, you’ve got to go back in there and wipe it all out again. That’s no good. No, you wash the whole area down, soften up the crusty stains, pry off the stubborn chunks of fiber or whatever, go over it again, and by that time anything that’s waiting for you in those puckered wrinkles is nice and soft and ready to lift away. Hell, sometimes I wish she could sleep in this position—face down, ass up—so I could really take my time and do her up good, for once. I’m talking two trays of warm water and one tub of a nice aloe vera, vitamin D soap, you know? Something to soothe the irritated skin and nourish the collagen. Get down in the cracks, soap up that very tender tissue, rinse it down and dry it out thoroughly. Maybe even finish up with some lotion, really do her asshole up a treat. I bet that would feel like a hundred bucks, a whistling-clean asshole like that.

If you’re thinking I need to get a hobby, brother, I’m already in the middle of it. My whole life is scouring Carlotta’s ass in the hope of seeing as many as three of my human rights, on a good day. You better believe I’m deeply invested in her clean ass.

My face now is inches away from her asshole, so I’m hoping there’s some kind of warning if she’s going to fart again. Until then, I’m going through each wrinkle in her puckered anus, one by one, clockwise. My tiny little fingers slip right into those fissures, and like I said, most of the work has been done. I can wipe out four or five wrinkles before I need to find a new patch of paper towel, and I’m halfway around her anus before I even need another swatch of torn paper. I’m a little impressed with myself.

I’m kneeling above her anus and leaning over her hole, my other hand planted on her taint. My thumb is right next to that little seam of skin that comes up from her pussy, up to that little node of flesh at the south end of every anus. I dunno, maybe doctors have a name for that. I’ve just seen it in porn before and right now I’m face to face with it. It’s pink and soft, and it looks very smooth.

Curiosity’s getting the best of me. I pause in my duty and lean down, and I press my cheek against it, just to see. I’ve cleaned it dozens of times but I don’t think I’ve really gotten to know it, you know? I want to see what it’s like.

It’s as warm and smooth as it looks. It’s a tender little piece of skin, and it feels great where it presses up from my jaw to my temple. I don’t know if it’s pride in a job well done or what, but I turn my head and plant my face in it and kiss it. I even give it a lick, what the hell. Carlotta can’t notice something as small and subtle as that.

Except she does. No sooner does my fat little tongue wipe across the surface of this strange little node of flesh at the southernmost ring of her anus, than the dense flesh upon which I kneel begins to rumble with a distant but very deep purr. This could be anything from Carlotta humming to herself or saying “ooh” or anything. Her throat rumbles and it comes back to me, wherever I am on her, through all the water in her cells as a gentle aftershock.

Not sure how to take that, whether I should continue or get back to work. I opt for the latter and resume scrubbing at the tender little wrinkles that run up and disappear down her asshole. I can feel her shifting around, however, and I have to spread my knees to stabilize my position. Beyond the canyon of Carlotta’s ass, I see the bedroom sway slightly, the bathroom door in the distance pitches and wobbles. Then her fingertips come up from below, those garish talons surprising me as they poke up from beneath her bush.

What now, I wonder.

She shoves them into her pussy. I wince and turn away slightly. I don’t know how she can slip those godawful nail tips into her vagina without slicing herself up a hundred ways to Sunday. But she does! They’ve all disappeared between her thick pussy lips without so much as a drop of red, and now her fingers are churning and thrusting into her pussy. This is going on mere feet from my position: I can see her taint rise and stretch when her fingers enter her cunt, and I can see the glossy tension of her skin fade as she pulls them back out. Over and over, I watch this going on, and then I shake my head and refocus on my work. I’m almost done, I’ve just got the last quarter of her anal ring to finish.

But I’ve put her in a mood, it looks like. I can hear her humming lusciously to herself, off in the distance behind me. I can just hear it over the TV, where some golden-throated news anchor summarizes the week in pop culture. I wonder how she can watch this shit, how she can care so much about celebrities and their dramatic bullshit, but she just can’t get enough of it. Magazines, websites, news shows like this: she consumes them constantly.

Now there’s a new noise over the TV, louder than Carlotta’s delicious humming. This is the sharp, wet sound of her short fingers working away at her pussy. I lean over slightly, carefully, and I see she’s glistening wet all the way up to her first knuckles. My heart twinges just a little bit, watching the way she abuses her pussy, but she must know her limits better than I do. I just know I could never be so rough on such a tender, sweet part of her body.

I’m starting to get a little concerned, now. I’m kneeling fully over her anus, atop her ass sticking straight up to heaven, and a very short distance away from my tiny, fragile body is her large and brutal hand, stabbing away into her own cunt. I’m closer than I’d like to be to this activity, frankly, because all the force that’s going into mashing her pussy would crack my bones like little pretzel sticks. I finish up the last several wrinkles and give her huge asshole a once-over, just to make sure I haven’t missed anything. It looks good to me, and I toss the paper towels down. They flutter down upon her knuckles and quickly disappear within her pussy.

Chilling!

I back away slowly, putting more distance between me and her savage hand, her hungry vagina. There’s really nowhere I can go from here. Her massive buttocks are spread, and that’s handy, but either I crawl up each tanned hillside and ride out their frantic quakes, or I turn myself over and try to slide down her spine, into the cushioning safety of her mane of ebony hair. And that actually sounds like the best idea. I could crawl up to one enormous butt-cheek and lie flat, trying to cling to it. That can even be exciting, because God knows I love her big round butt, but just now I feel like playing it safe. Something’s wrong in the air tonight, I’ve just got the worst feeling.

Before I can move an inch further in any direction, her hand disappears, then reappears as her sticky, stinky fingers slap down on me. Her knees shoot out, and her huge, fat ass closes around me with the finality of a jail cell door. She withdraws her fingers but I’m not going anywhere: the residue of pussy juice is just enough to keep me pasted to her butt-cheeks, and her fat cheeks pinch me securely into place.

Gravity shifts and I sense she’s getting up.

Her buttocks sway and rock violently, throwing me left and right but my body never slips in the embrace of her ass. I can tell she’s moving quickly, though, scrambling for something. Likely something to heighten her passion.

That’s when my blood chills, and I take no comfort in my intuition being spot-on.

When her cheeks spread once more, I’m sitting upon her ass: she’s resumed her ass-up position in the center of the bed.

“You stay right there,” she says huskily. Her damp fingers swing around again, making the long trip around her massive hip to spank at my entire body where it lies. “You stay there! Don’t go nowhere!”

I should have fled while the fleeing was good.

Her moistened hand disappears. She’s moving, I can see Carlotta’s shoulders tensing and shifting from where I sit, but all the activity is underneath her. She’s desperate, I can sense that, lots of short jabbing motions, the occasional gasp for breath. My impression is that she’s super-horny right now and working frantically to set something up for a nice, big orgasm. I mean, all her orgasms are huge from my perspective, but she’s really ramping up for an event right now.

An enormous monster crests the horizon, breaking through the air with intimidating velocity. In Carlotta’s fist, the one with the milky film of her pussy’s lubrication all over it, is a tremendous monolith of glistening silicone. It bulges with veins and ripples with power, and it is nearly as completely ebony as my giantess lover’s hair.

She has retrieved the Grendel of sexual toys, the Goliath of the boudoir: the big black dildo. And here I am, sitting like a chump at ground zero.

There’s nothing for it. Her other hand reaches back and crashes into the valley of her buttocks, index and middle fingers straining to stretch the ring of her anus wider. The horrifying love missile cants in midair, retrains itself downward, and its broad, blunt head brutally mashes into her sweet ass. Once again, I’m awed at the savagery with which she attacks herself.

It doesn’t go easily. As I sit there on the beach of her ass, like St. John witnessing the apocalypse, the enormous girth of the dildo rams unrelentingly into her tiny, puckered asshole. And before my unbelieving eyes, the tender tissue I spent twenty minutes mopping and scrubbing slowly stretches and begins to admit the head of this malevolent phallus. Despite myself, I scramble backwards in alarm.

“Don’t you move!” Carlotta hollers at me. “Not a fucking inch!” Her speech gives way to labored moans and growls, as her fist clenches and strains, tendons standing out, and the unforgiving head of the dildo is swallowed in her anus.

I can hardly breathe. I’ve seen her do this a few times before, and each time it’s the stuff of nightmares. From my perspective, anyway: I mean, I could carve a door in the side of that big black dildo and hollow out the interior, and I could live in it pretty comfortably. It’s a huge beast, and Carlotta’s not a big girl, but goddamned if she doesn’t shove that whole thing inside her.

Eventually. It’s never easy, but she never gives up.

There’s nothing I can do, really, nothing I’m allowed to do. I have to sit here on her massive ass, in the spreading valley between her huge, blubbery ass-cheeks, and I have to watch and wait while she insists on shoving this tremendous foreign object inside her butt. Well, better it than me, I suppose, so I do watch, and I do wait.

Another inch of the device has gone inside her. I’m awestruck. She was lubing it up, apparently, all that business beneath her body when she resumed her position on the bed. The sides of the dildo glisten in the motel room lighting, slick streaks of blue shimmering with the TV’s light. I can’t even hear the set now, Carlotta’s moaning nearly to the point of screaming, as her pink asshole turns a bright, resentful red and another couple of inches are choked down into her ass.

Carlotta, goddamn it, why do you do this to yourself?

Another couple of inches, more screaming.

Her fist clutches it desperately, pulls it out a little, and I can breathe easier. But then she shoves it right back in another few inches, and my stomach just drops. I can’t watch this. I roll over and turn away, staring down at her head, at that vast mound of luscious, beautiful hair. Oh, I wish I could just leap down and curl up in there. Carlotta could go ahead and shove a fucking vacuum cleaner up her ass if she wanted, as long as I could bury myself within that lovely, glossy hair, bedding down in her body heat and smelling her wonderful scent, and never have to watch this freakin’ nightmare again.

No such luck. I lie flat upon her skin, belly down, and I turn my head to rest just above her coccyx. I spread out my arms and they bend back, where her buttocks rise out of the valley in which I rest. My legs go straight back, and my toes can feel the skin tugging just above her anus, as she abuses that sweet little ring by shoving a cruel chunk of silicone into it, against the order of the universe.

Several minutes go by. I’m no longer monitoring how much dildo she can force into her rectum. But she seems to be done—not that she’s achieved orgasm or anything, no. Her breathing is still labored gasping, and she’s still moaning with much intensity, but I didn’t feel the tension that seizes her body when she cums. There’s no mistaking that. It’s just that she’s done with the dildo: I hear it slurp slowly while she carefully extracts it from her punished asshole, and when she tosses it aside, it bangs into the floor with a solid thump. It is no joke, her big black dildo. You could choke a horse with it, if that’s what you’re into.

“Hey,” she gasps. “Hey, Cameron.”

“Yes, sweetie?” I call back.

“Cameron… Cam…”

“Yeah? Hey, are you okay?”

“You… you gotta…” She’s not finishing her thoughts. One of her arms is digging around beneath her. I’m a little worried for her.

“Tell me what’s up, Carlotta, please.”

“You gotta clean me up,” she says at last. Her arm comes up and sprinkles me with torn squares of paper towel.

I look back at her asshole. It’s gaping now, a huge black pit where once there was a sweet, puckered little orifice. The skin is glowing red, and it’s coated with a froth of lubricant and shit.

“Get in there, mop me up. Clean it all up.” Her words are halting, as though she were trying to hold her breath. I know what it means: she’s not allowing herself to relax yet. She doesn’t want to move too much, and she doesn’t want to draw a deep breath, because she wants her asshole to stay nice and gaping wide.

For me.

This is very bad. I’m not excited about this at all, but I take up the paper towels. I spin around on my belly and keep myself very low upon her skin. No more kneeling, definitely no more standing up. Not around this yawning chasm that shoots straight into the depths of her ass.

I approach it very carefully, wary of any sudden gesture she might make. If I were stupid enough to stand up, all she’d have to do is twitch her hips just a fraction to make me lose my footing, and down I’d go. Of course, there’s nothing to stop her from reaching behind herself and brushing me in with a thoughtless, casual swipe. I’m fearful of where her mind’s at right now, but there’ll be even more trouble if I sit on this, so off I go.

Now I’m at the rim of the chasm. Warm stench rises from the wide hole. It’s not nearly as wide across as that fucking dildo is, it couldn’t possibly be, but it’s about half the diameter. Maybe less than that. It’s just huge, though, and more than big enough to permit me entrance.

I start in on the lubricant, using the first paper towel to push it all to one side. I don’t have enough squares to absorb it all, so I’ve got to swipe it up into a few mounds, and maybe I can trap that paste into a few towels and toss them off to the side. That should be good enough, and that’s what I do. The paper is more than sufficient to protect me from the tainted lube, and I pile it off into three globs. I cover each one in a square, bundle them up, and I hurl them off the cliff of Carlotta’s tremendous ass.

I have two more squares and the opportunity to wipe it down. Carlotta’s not moving, thankfully, though I notice how her dilated anus twitches and shudders involuntarily. It’s kind of fascinating to watch, actually, this tremendous, tormented hole that wants to be closed. I can peer well past her anus and into her rectum, and every square inch is just trembling with her effort to keep it open, fighting with its own reflex to seal back up. It’s a demonstration of real power I’m watching.

“Cameron,” she strains to whisper. “Reach around in there, too. Wipe it all out.” She starts to laugh and her anus flexes, but she catches herself and her anus hasn’t lost too much in diameter. Good lord.

I gulp, take a deep breath in the low-lying, fetid mist, and with much trepidation I reach down into her anus. I’ve been here before: it wasn’t too long ago that her ass swallowed my arm up after a simple fart. If I didn’t know better, I’d say her ass had a stomach of its own and it was starving. What a thought.

But so far, so good: feeling my way around blindly (because like hell if I’m going to stick my head in her asshole), I carefully wipe in broad sweeps. It goes well, reaching a couple inches into her anus, dragging the paper towel up. And it appears there’s not much mess there to clean up: I suppose it all got wiped off by her poor, battered sphincter. Less work for me. I rub it all down with both of the squares and when I’m done, nothing’s coming off her skin. She’s clean, and I’m done.

“You done?” she says, quickly.

“I’m done.”

“How’s it look?”

“Beautiful, honestly. You could serve a meal off it, if the food wouldn’t all tumble in.”

She’s careful not to laugh, still, but she gasps happily instead. I smile and wad up the paper towels. The thought strikes me that I could just dump them into her ass, and she’d never know. That cracks me up, throwing these last scraps into her asshole like a trash can. I wouldn’t disrespect her like this, I don’t think, as I rise to my knees and swing my arm back to pitch them over the side.

Then she does laugh. Just one chuckle. Her pelvis jerks, my knees are swept out from beneath me, and my body pitches forward.

At the last second, my arms reflexively shoot out and grasp the rim of her gaping anus. The paper towels slip from my fingers and tumble on down into the enormous hole, on down into the darkness, where the red, inflamed tissues disappear into shadows. They’re gone, lost within my giantess. And I’m stretched across her anus, only barely holding myself up.

“Carlotta,” I call out carefully. My palms rest on the rim of her anus, which is fluttering and twitching beneath me. “Carlotta, hold on a second, baby.” My eyes widen in panic. I should just roll to the side, I think, but she could just roll me right back into her asshole again. I have to build enough strength to throw myself to one side, twist, and try to scramble up one of her trembling butt-cheeks.

But I’m thinking too long, just like I always do. Before I can even gather my breath and build up the tension I need in my shoulders and biceps, up comes a single, garish nail tip.

“Goddamn you, Carlotta.”

Her big, round fingertip plants itself in the small of my back. My fingers hold, my arms are strong, but she merely slides her fingertip up in a direction, she doesn’t care which, and my knees pull up and crest the ridge of her anus. With no effort whatsoever, with no obstruction, my legs fall into her anus. My hips and torso follow right behind.

It’s just my arms that hold me up. My tiny fingers dig into the wrinkles of her puckered anus, spread though they are by how she holds her gaping asshole. I’m just grasping for anything, really, and my body swings and slaps against a warm, moist wall of tissue. My hands have grasped that thin seam of flesh that runs from the base of the pussy to that strange little node of flesh at the bottom of the asshole.

I close my eyes, heave a sigh, and I kiss that little node.

Carlotta sighs and her asshole just seals around me in one smooth, mechanical gesture. Her anus is a few feet wide to me one second, and then the rim comes to life and shrinks and wraps around my chest in less time than it takes to tell. That strange node of flesh is tucked right below my chin, and my arms are pinioned up over my head.

Gravity shifts, Carlotta’s massive hips sway back and forth, and I’m staring at the motel room carpeting once more. She’s climbed off the bed, and I can see her tremendous, long legs swinging off in the distance as she carries us around the foot of the dirty bed, off to the clean one.

So this is it? My arms are stuck up over my head, reaching into the emptiness of space below my lover’s tremendous buttocks, and I can only watch as she turns the lights off, turns the TV off, and slips beneath the sheets of the second bed. Then I see nothing in the dark room, nothing through the bland white linen sheet that drapes over Carlotta’s ass. There’s plenty of space around me, inside the tent of fabric between her ass and her thighs. If I could move my arms, I could get them into a comfortable position and go to sleep along with her, because it looks to me like she’s going to sleep.

“Goodnight, Cameron,” she says.

I can’t say anything. Her anus’ relaxed position is clenching around my ribs and I can’t draw the breath to yell back up to her.

“I said goodnight, Cameron.”

I squirm, I wave my arms, but I can’t respond. I can’t free myself from the bear hug of her anus.

She sighs, and I hear the fabric shift. Soon her fingertip reappears and presses into the top of my skull. Placing tremendous strain on my neck and shoulders, she shoves me inside her. Her anus slides up over my arms, over the back of my head and over my face. The fresh air disappears around my wrists as her finger bears down on me, and her hot anus closes over my hands. Only then does her fingertip retract, leaving my own fingertips flailing just outside her sealed asshole.

This is absolutely no good. She must know I can’t breathe. What is she doing?

My fingertips claw at her anus. In response, her anus clenches and I hear something pop in my wrist. No pain, thank God, but she’s got a strong goddamned sphincter. It takes all my strength to spread my arms just a little, just enough to keep one slim channel of bedroom air coming down into her anus, to where I can suck it in.

I think I hear her laughing. I think.

Chapter 3 by Aborigen

So there we are, a man and woman in love, drifting off pleasantly to sleep in a hotel room, in each other's embrace. Romantic, no?

Well, that's one way to spin it. The other is that she's not embracing anything, and I'm almost entirely shoved up inside her rectum. My face and arms are sticking out like some undaunted weed in the crack of a sidewalk, and I'm peering out from between two massive round buttocks into the tent of bed sheets formed by  her tremendous and round hip. There's not much to see because the lights of the room are out as my Carlotta succumbs to sweet slumber.

As for being in love, well, I know I have some affection for this big hot mess, and I suspect there's some minuscule drop of fondness in Carlotta's heart for me, or else I wouldn't be alive as long as I am, not the way she takes care of me.

Otherwise, I can't explain it. I'm the one-man maintenance crew for Carlotta's poor, abused anus, but she could hire anyone she wants for this job. And by "hire" I mean "kidnap, shrink down in violation of known laws of physics, and yoke into servitude under duress of capital punishment".

I hear her breathing heavily. At least I think I do: that could just be an uncommon wave of late-night traffic, a couple dozen tires rolling slowly along the pavement some distance outside our window. I'm trying to gauge how long it takes for her to sleep. Usually it's not a pressing issue, as she just sticks me in the dirty bed beside this one, the bed where I mop her butthole down and scour every last fleck of filth and decadence away from every last crevice and fold of skin. I'm very good at this and, at my size, I have considerable resources to put to this task. I can make shreds of paper towels and dollops of water go much farther than a normal-sized person could, and I'm well positioned to pay close attention to fine detail.

That's detail into Carlotta's anus, mind you. Just have to be clear about that.

Is she breathing slower? It's so hard to tell, being almost entirely devoured by the powerful sphincter that usually holds back her solid waste from soiling her garments. A powerful goddamned sphincter, let me emphasize here: I think I broke my wrist on it, struggling for air a little bit ago. I'm glad I've got my arms stuck outside of it, or else I strongly suspect that otherwise cute and puckered little ring could seize up around my throat and, if not cut off my windpipe, snap my goddamn spine into two or more segments.

I just have to focus on breathing, that's all. Control my breathing. Not think about the tender, abused rectal tissues closed up all around me like an affection-starved octopus. Not think about the moistness of the lube I mostly wiped away, not think about the intense heat coming straight out of the core of this giantess' being. Definitely don't think about why it is doctors used to shove thermometers up babies' butts, way back in the day.

It's just that I don't wish to think I grew up solely to become a rectal thermometer. I had dreams, once, I had goals and aspirations. This wasn't one of them.

Not that Carlotta isn't beautiful, in her own way. She has thick, sensual lips and a dense mane of wild hair that drives me crazy. I can't see any of that right now, of course, just a shot of the backs of her thighs, one calf and one heel, which I can only dimly make out in the darkness. I know they're there, I assume that's what I'm looking at as I force cool night air into my lungs and force myself to hold it there, releasing it in a controlled hiss.

I can do this. I've been in worse situations, I bet.

Banking on the assumption that it's been enough time and she is, in fact, deep in sleep, I go ahead and start to take stock of my physics. That is, both my arms are sticking out of her hole, so that should give me some leverage. I spread my arms, or try to, and her asshole widens just enough for me to push my face through. Small victories! I take a deep breath, let it out, and in letting it out I strain to slip her sphincter down to my armpits.

This is successful. Now the top of my head slides out, and the wrinkled rim of her anus is just stroking my cheeks and settling below my jaw when I feel the giantess stir all around me. I freeze, waiting to see what comes next, if anything. But just when I think I’m clear, the gigantic cheek of ass lying upon me suddenly becomes weightless, lifts up and hovers above me.

“Cameron,” she moans quietly, sleepily.

“Yes, love.”

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” She releases her buttock and the massive tonnage of taut skin and bloated fat cells collapses upon me. Now, most of me is already stuffed into her anus, but my arms and my head feel the pressure as she lifts her ass cheek up, holds it, and sets it free, over and over again. When she lifts it up, her anus stretches ever so slightly, as though she’s really digging into it with her claws—I can’t see much, of course, between the darkness and the sheer massy buttock that sticks out and spreads in all directions—and hoisting it as high as she can tug it away from its sister buttock. Her anus stretches a little and I can pull a shoulder out, then the taut taint relaxes and her cheek comes crashing down once more. Again she grips her buttock, pulling it up and away, and in that tiny window of space I can shimmy my other shoulder out, and now my head and neck are free and clear before she can drop her butt cheek upon me again.

“Had enough?” she murmurs. I can hear her loud and clear, her voice booming across the mountainous ridge of her shoulder, waist and hip, booming through the sheets. I don’t respond, and I lie perfectly still as though dead. I wonder if she’d care whether I were dead.

She laughs and the titanic buttocks that sandwich me firmly in place heave and shudder with her mirth. “Poor little guy. All that work, for nothing.” Aw, dammit. Her garish goddamned fake claws come digging through the deep crack of her ass, seeking me out. One shoves my arms out of its way, she makes a noise of discovery, and then her fat fingertip plants itself on my skull, and she shoves me right back inside her anus. All gained ground is lost, the hapless little guy is lodged deep in her butt, for keeps this time.

That’s what I’ll let her believe. In actuality, she did a sloppy job of it, and I just tucked one arm inside her sphincter, giving her the illusion of having shoved more of me inside her. In fact, she gave up quickly and didn’t notice my arm and head still sticking out of her butt. She’s fucked herself so hard with that tremendous black dildo, her butthole has gained some resilience. When she tried to stuff me back into her rectum, all the skin around her asshole stretched and gave, and she thought she made much greater progress than she did.

So I celebrated my little victory in complete silence and stillness. No fucking around, boy-o, I’m seriously playing dead right now, and I keep it up for what has got to be an hour. Obviously I have no way of telling time, she didn’t jam her grandfather’s timepiece up into her colon (as far as I know), so I just have to bide my time, play songs in my head, try to remember as many jokes and poems as I can and recite them internally, and at the end of it I figure it’s gotta be an hour.

Once again, I take stock of my environment. The room’s still dark but my eyes are adjusting: ambient light from the street is making the bed sheets glow just a little. Somehow, snaking one arm back inside her anus and leaving the other one out next to my head took a lot of pressure off my chest. I’m almost comfortable in this position, and I’m pretty rested so my wrist’s not hurting too bad anymore. I’m in good shape, aside from renting the space like a living dingleberry.

Best of all, Carlotta’s snoring. I can hear her rumbling all the way across her hillside, and as she really gets into it I can feel the vibrations traveling all the way through her flesh and fat and bloodstream, to surround me in her ass. I’m so happy about this, I let her snore away for another five or ten minutes, just to make absolutely sure.

Now’s my second attempt at escape. The arm that’s inside her sphincter with me, I draw up very close to my belly and chest, bending it at the elbow, and I poke out my hand, my wrist, my forearm, and when the elbow clears the tight ring, it’s free. I hold still again.

The giantess is still snoring, undisturbed. Excellent. Pleasant dreams, Carlotta, you ass-greedy bitch.

I fold my arms down and rest my forearms upon the hundreds of skin folds that surround her anus. Taking a deep breath, I try to push off from my arms and haul my torso out of her clench. This is tremendously difficult, as now her anus is dry and sticking to me, sucking at me like some cocksucker that don’t wanna give up the cock. Carlotta’s ass ain’t done with me yet, is what it’s trying to say, and every time I pull my body up, her sphincter rises with me. I try twisting my chest back and forth, to try to free myself up from some of this clingy skin, but that entails some reflexive kicking of my legs, which I don’t even think about until Carlotta’s snoring halts with one loud burst, and then silence.

Shit-shit-shit! Did I wake her?

I freeze in place, waiting. Literally holding my breath for, like, a minute and a half, I bet. I freeze, my forearms and elbows still propped up on her anus, her puckered sphincter holding in mid-suck on my tiny little body. And when the rumbling resounds through the gigantic buttock upon which I lie and the voluminous buttock which holds me down, I know she’s back to sleep again. I let my arms relax and take it easy until I think she’s back in her deep sleep.

It goes on like this for another hour, maybe. Small victories in which I creep out by inches, her anus reluctantly giving me up as I slip out into the warm air trapped between Carlotta’s buttocks, and then all action stops when she sounds disturbed. Over and over again, and it takes a long time but I’m encouraged.

In fact, my abs have just hit freedom and her sphincter is locked around my pelvis when I’m frozen in place by a thought. Carlotta stuffed me here to keep me in place all night. What happens when she wakes up and I’m no longer imprisoned within the depths of her fat ass?

Silently I curse. As unpleasant as it might be to be lodged in the shithole of a beautiful and possibly psychotic goddess, it would still be much worse for said goddess to discover me missing, or even lying next to her, unconscious and vulnerable, expecting her to accept and agree with my freedom. Wow, that would just be the end of me. I bet she’d pop my empty little skull right off with the garish plastic talon of her thumb.

So I can’t free myself, after all this work. Goddamn it anyway. Well, fine, then. I’ll leave my legs inside her butthole, but I’m not crawling back in there, not after all this.

My legs are snug and warm, anyway. I position my arms to wedge open a little space between Carlotta’s titanic buttocks, and then I wedge myself into that space. My stomach and chest lie flat against her taint, and I daringly slip the whole of my face into the corner of her pussy.

Yes, a faceful of pussy, while she sleeps. A thief in the temple of the goddess.

I stretch up my arms overhead and gently, very gently begin to stroke her labia. They are thick and plush where I am, with a few deep folds for me to slip my fingers into. Only a little stubble scrapes at my forearms as I work at her. And I’m not trying to wake her up: this is partly to arouse her in the middle of her night’s sleep, and partly to amuse myself if I’ve gotta spend the night in the crack of her ass.

As I lie there, massaging her pussy, rubbing my cheek against her smooth and warm orifice, I wonder why life can’t be like this all the time. You know? There’s a lot to love about Carlotta, all bullying and taunting aside. I even think, if I were normal-sized and we knew each other through friends or work or something, we might get along. We’d take shots at each other, joke around, take a couple digs at each other’s expense, but I think there’s some real affection there. I like the sweetness that lies beneath her tough exterior, and I like the toughness that protects that sweetness. I don’t know, maybe I’m stupid, but… yeah, I have some affection for my jailer. I’d probably even clean her asshole out just because I wanted to, not because my life’s being threatened.

Carlotta moans. My hands go dormant, deep in her pussy’s folds. I turn my head so one ear is clear to hear anything going on (but the rest of my face is surrounded by her vagina). She’s stopped snoring. Then there’s a horrible scraping noise right next to me, right fucking next to me! It scares the shit out of me until I realize it’s just the big-ass woman scratching her big ass, with those god-awful fake nails she so favors. I wonder if I could date a woman who insists on wearing those expensive, trashy things. That depends on how much time she spends sitting on my face, I guess.

When she’s slaughtered the offending itch through her advanced warfare, her arm slides noisily beneath the sheets to rest once more. But she doesn’t snore yet. Carlotta draws in a long, deep breath, grunts, and then my world spins all around me, slowly but inexorably. I try to hold perfectly still, relying on the clench of her buttocks to hold me in place, but her cheeks spread for a moment, and then I’m lying on the one that was above me, and the one that I once lay upon now weighs me down irresistibly.

She just rolled over. That’s all. The noise from the street is slightly louder, so I figure she’s turned away from the window and the dirty bed beneath it, and her ass is now pointing at it and—therefore—so am I.

While she’s rolling over, I let one of my arms slip inside her vagina, where it lies moist and hot. I run my hand pleasantly inside the tissues of her pussy, a rare indulgence for me. I’ve worked many hours right next to her pussy and never been allowed in, but here we are: one arm and one face buried in Carlotta’s cavernous vagina.

 

I let myself revel in my delight for maybe ten more minutes before I pass out from exhaustion.

 

Chapter 4 by Aborigen

I'm in pain. My body's in pain. Oh God, how did I sleep last night?

At some point, my arm slipped out of Carlotta's pussy. She never rolled back to her front, I don't think, so falling asleep partially inserted into her like that was a bad idea, especially when the rest of me was still jammed into her ass. Which meant that once I broke free of her sexy little slit, I bent backwards and dangled out of her shithole, arms all flailing, head lolling about. Probably there was some cushioning factor, where her enormous bubble butt compressed against the mattress and swelled up in two delectable little tucks of flesh between her thighs, maybe. That would matter to me, sitting at the outpost of the rest of her butt, so yeah, I've been draped over the lowest segment of her ass for...

How long have we been asleep? Well, she's been sleeping for much longer than I have. I'm surprised I woke up first. I needed it more. I must've been uncomfortable, dangling backward and upside-down out of her ass like that.

Staring up the bulging valley of her inner thighs, I wonder what my next move should be. My head's full of blood and starting to tingle. The ceiling is the wrinkled bed sheets and mattress, and the floor is the cloudy, gauzy sheet stretched over her firm, round Latina thighs. I can see daylight through it, blue skies shedding bright light upon her legs as this lazy lump of outrageous sexiness just lies there, snoring away.

Except she's not snoring. Usually Carlotta snores if she's on her back, but she's not right now. Is she asleep at all? Is she just lying there? I'm not eager to find out, as last night was hallmarked with terrible ideas on her part. I'm not trusting she got rid of them all, and there may be some discouraging surprises for me yet to come.

Paying attention now. What's going on out there, outside of my mischievous personal goddess?

I don't hear the TV. If she were awake, she'd be watching TV, that's for sure. Can't keep it off, even when she's not watching it. All of last night's escapades had crappy programming blaring at us throughout. Distracting for me, when I'd rather have some soft music, maybe some of Candletone's latest album. Turn the lights down low, maybe some scented candles... and then just leave me to mopping up her asshole. That would be nice. I liked how she did it last night, sticking her big round butt up in the air and giving me plenty of room to do my work.

I don't care for what happened next, the events that led to me getting lodged in her rectum, but right up to that point it was lovely. Too bad that's not how she wants it, and too bad she's not up for suggestion.

Too bad lots of things. Just too bad all the way around.

Okay, no television, no radio or anything. Umm, there's traffic outside, sounds like a lot of it. Angry traffic. Bright sunlight. It's a weekday, so maybe it's rush hour out there? Let's say it's around seven o'clock. Okay. And we passed out around 11 p.m., she before me. We should both be fully rested, despite my contortionist suspension. And she's not up yet?

No, I hear something else. Someone's crying. A woman, next door. These walls... not paper thin, but they don't offer much protection. I can hear a woman weeping. She sounds youngish. Well, what can I do about that? I'm stuck inside my girlfriend's ass, and I'm only a few inches tall anyway. I could rush out into the hallway and try to slip under her door, then somehow attract her attention without getting crushed like a bug, and see if she wanted to talk about her problems with a tiny stranger. That's not likely, but maybe Carlotta would help.

That's it, it's time to get up. I'm done sticking out of her abused but spotlessly clean sphincter. Shit, the whole lower half of me is probably puckered like a prune, or covered in diaper rash or something. Not looking forward to seeing this.

"Carlotta!" I shout as loud as I can. "Get up, sweetie!" She's not really my girlfriend, so much as my owner, and depending on her mood, a term like "sweetie" will piss her off as often as charm and amuse her. It's likely she can't hear me, so I've got to improvise.

I tense up my core, bend at the waist, and raise my upper body to the entrance to her pussy. As soon as I can, I embed my little fingers deep into the folds of her labia, seizing them firmly. I made a mental note about trying to do crunches with her help like this (though I'd rather be waist-deep in her pussy, instead of pasted in her poop-chute), but another time. Now I reached higher with one hand for a better hold, then up with the other hand, almost climbing up her pussy except I was stuck in her butt.

Fortunately for me, Carlotta's opposed to shaving altogether. She believes she should be loved as the Creator made her, and I don't feel it's my place to argue with that. Certainly not to tell a woman what she's supposed to look like or what she can or can't do with her own body. As it happens, this just comes in handy right now because, bending upward and reaching as high as I can go, I can just barely run my fingers in her small hairs. Like the expression, yes. I get one fistful of her coarse, black pubes, and then another, and now I can get this gorgeous, sadistic giantess up and at 'em.

I draw a deep breath and holler, "Carlotta! Wakey-wakey, honey buns!" I start kicking my legs inside her lower rectum, even as those internal tissues are plastered to my skin. It's hard going, but I'm well rested, apparently. I kick and pedal inside her butt for all I'm worth. On top of that, I start hurling my body backward. How do I describe this? It's like I'm straightening out the full length of me, but I'm just throwing my shoulders back, as if I were trying to tug her pubic hair out by the roots. That's what I want it to feel like, anyway.

So I'm bucking inside her anus, yanking at her pubes, and screaming her name as loudly as I can. This goes on for a surprisingly long stretch of time before her hand comes down to swat at me. The only thing that protects me from several broken bones is that bed sheet stretched over her muscular thighs: it slows her sleepy hand down just enough so I receive nothing more than an admonishing pat on the head.

Grinning, I fall limp again and collapse against the lowest tuck of her buttocks, my head resting in the tight little valley where her ass crack starts. Sorry to be explicit, it's just extremely important for everyone to know exactly where I am and precisely what it's like. It's not enough for me to just repeat "oh yeah, and I'm jammed up inside my lover's asshole." I want whoever's reading this to also feel like their oily, messy hair is getting pinched between two caramel hemispheres of firm butt cheeks, too.

The giantess moans. "The fuck you want," she says, and "knock that shit off."

"Carlotta, wake up! There's something going on! You gotta take care of it, I can't do anything!"

"Well, you're fucking useless, aren't you." Her voice is heavy with sleep, and her thighs start to shift. She thinks she's just going to roll over and go back to sleep, I bet. And that'd be bad for me too, don't get me wrong: if she sandwiches me between her inner thighs, I'll be plastered into motionlessness and probably lose my breathing air.

So it's with great reluctance (not really) that I must fold myself up again and tear at her glossy, kinky hairs with much vigor.

She screams and swears at me, but she does get up. "Where the hell are you, anyway? Why aren't you on your bed?"

"You shoved me up your ass, remember? Twice. I'm lucky to be alive."

Her anus clenches around my chest as she laughs. "Oh, that's right. Well, you're gonna hate this, then." Before I can ask what, I watch her thighs rise off the bed and swing to the side, and then the mattress beneath me turns, and then darkness descends and her bubble butt closes on me with a fierce embrace. The full weight of everything from her hips up to her scalp is pressed upon me as her ass squeezes and clenches poor little men. I can't even scream in protest. I can barely breathe.

Fortunately, it only lasts a moment as she gets up and walks around the bed. It looks like she's taking the bed sheet with her, wrapping it around her like a toga, because I can't see anything else but her firm, churning thighs and glimpses of her sculpted calves as they swing past, far below me. Beautiful woman, she is.

"So what's the big deal, anyway? Why'd you get me up?"

"Just listen a second," I call back. She stands still and I hang motionless for a minute. "Hear it?"

"Is she in pain?" Good, she hears it. I tell her I don't think so, she just started weeping a few minutes ago, and does she want to check on it.

Of course she does. Whatever Carlotta does with me, making me scrub down her anus, and making that job as difficult as possible for me, she still has a huge heart for other people, especially women in trouble. Her long legs swing beneath me rapidly and the carpeting races by. I hear the plastic room key slide off a pressboard counter, then our own door click open and lock shut again, and then Carlotta pounds on her neighbor's door.

"Everything okay?" she calls against the barrier. "You okay? Hey, honey, you wanna open up?"

It occurs to me she's really taking a chance. We don't know what's going on in there. Maybe the woman just got a bad phone call, or maybe her significant other abandoned her under cover of night. Or, less likely but not impossible, maybe it's a trap and my beautiful, sexy owner's going to run afoul of whatever heat this neighbor's packing. And I really don't like what that spells for me, being her prized possession and only partially hidden in her pretty little butt. Well, huge and enormous to me, but just a curvy little butt to the rest of the world.

Surprisingly, the door opens. An unfamiliar woman's voice, raspy with sobbing, asks, "Am I in trouble? I'm sorry, I'll keep it down."

Carlotta's tone is warm and motherly. "No, honey, you're not in any trouble. I mean, I hope you're not! I heard you crying and, I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but are you okay? Did someone hurt you?"

The woman laugh-sobs and says, no, no one's hurt her. "It's hard to explain," she says. "Look, it's a personal issue. I don't think anyone would understand. I'm really sorry if I disturbed you−"

Carlotta cuts to the chase. I admire her intuition and her forward nature. "You'd be surprised what I understand, sweetie. Why don't you let me in and we'll talk about it? I just want to make sure you're okay." But don't mind me, just sticking out of your butt like this, Carlotta. Dangling behind her inner thighs... not quite like a tail, and in the wrong place to be a penis. Just sticking out of two round buttocks and looking down the backs of her developed legs as she talks to someone we don't even know.

The woman lets her in. I see the backs of Carlotta's thighs reach back and disappear ahead, one after the other as we make our way inside the other woman's room. It's a fancy room, darker than it should be at this time of morning. She must have the curtains drawn. Red carpet, it looks like. I didn't know these rooms varied so greatly in decorations. Makes sense, I guess, if people don't want bland rooms to... no, that doesn't make any sense. That would mean that this is some kind of sex hotel, and the Royal Mill Hotel makes a big to-do about how classy and professional they are.

Wait, the carpet isn't red. The lights are: the white bed sheet wrapped around my gigantic lover is glowing crimson. Her tanned legs are auburn and orange. It's an interesting effect and I'd be totally into it under any other circumstances. It kinda plays into my quiet music and incense scenario, but why is this woman sitting in a room like this first thing in the morning?

Carlotta compliments the decorations. I'm intensely curious as to what she's seeing. I hope like hell she doesn't take a seat and have a long talk with this person. "So what happened to you, honey? I was just waking up with my, uh…"

My ears perk up. How is she going to describe me? Boyfriend, lover? What do I mean to her anyway?

"Anyway." I'm disappointed to hear her fumble through it. She crosses one leg behind the other, leaning against a wooden desk chair it looks like, and sandwiches me between her thighs. Like I'm going to do anything. Or is this an apology, a show of affection? She goes on: "I didn't mean to overhear you. It just sounded like your heart was breaking, and I wouldn't be okay with myself if I didn't try and do something, you know? Some people, they call me nosy, and I guess that's right. But I heard you there and I had to do something."

I could just picture her with a well-practiced lopsided grin and a shrug. That fake, entirely fake helplessness was one of the things that hooked me, when we met at that ill-fated party. The one where I awkwardly complimented her ass, right before she pretended to gobble me up with it and cook off that strange burst of magic that shrunk me down. Totally an accident, she said, she'd never done anything like that before. Didn't know how it worked. The upshot of it was that I was her ass-toy from that day onward, and goodbye to my former life, as far as Carlotta was concerned.

"It's really complicated. I wouldn't know where to begin." The woman wasn't done crying, but she wasn't going to do it in front of this pushy Latina, I could hear that much.

"Just give me a try! I've seen a lot of weird-ass stuff in this world, believe me."

"No, it's… it's really weird. I don't even understand it."

Just tell her all about it, I telepathed at the strange woman. Carlotta wasn't going to give up until she knew everything. She was relentless, tenacious. A bad quality when paired with her far-ranging curiosity.

Carlotta shifted her weight to her other leg. I watched her ankle unhook from behind her other, her bare foot swinging just above the carpet, and then her other foot making the same gesture in reverse. The calf of her one leg bulged slightly as it bore the full weight of this obnoxious woman. Yet I couldn't stop staring as her ankle rubbed against her calf. Again, was this a little treat for me? Was she telling me to be patient with these little gifts? Because as mad as I was at her, as resentful as I was about being locked up in her asshole, she was still a fatally beautiful woman to me and I couldn't resist her wiles in every tiny gesture. My self-preservation hoped that she didn't know this, yet how else could we explain this? Was she just casually, perpetually sexy? Was that possible?

"Look, sweetie," Carlotta said, dropping her voice. "How about you show me yours if I show you mine?"

The blood in my body chilled. Yes, even my legs, currently being sucked on and partially swallowed by her impeccably clean anus.

I heard the woman's bed creak. She was probably sitting on it, probably shifting her weight uncomfortably at Carlotta's impertinence. "I… I don't know what that means…"

Carlotta chuckled and my worst fears (currently) were realized. She planted both cute feet on the carpet, and my ears were filled with the slithery, raspy noise of her gathering up her bed sheet toga.

"What are you doing!" This was the loudest I'd heard the neighbor speak, like she was genuinely alarmed. "I don't want to see this!"

"Oh, calm down, honey. It's not what you think." Carlotta's voice was amused and dismissive as she blew off the woman's concerns. Glad to realize I wasn't the only one who got such treatment, I guess. The bed sheets cleared and I could see the rest of the room: one queen bed, men's clothes crumpled at the foot of it. The hell? Where was the man? Did he run out of here naked?

Carlotta slowly turned around, facing the desk, turning her back to the strange woman. No, more accurately, turning her butt to her. Her toned legs were bathed in red light, and behind her heels, I could see the pale, painted toes of the other woman. Were her nails actually red or was that another trick of the atmospheric lighting in here?

The woman gasped. I heard this behind my head, as I dangled with my back to her. I really didn't have much leverage to push against, in order to turn around and see her. Carlotta's inner thighs were too far forward for me to reach, and even though I could swat her bulbous buttocks with my tiny palms, I couldn't latch onto them to lift myself up. All I could do was a kind of reverse-crunch, straining to curve my spine back and look at her, but I couldn't see anything above her slim calves against the foot of the bed.

Until she got closer. The woman kneeled on the floor, and I saw she was wearing one of the Royal Mill's plush terry-cloth robes. I heard a very quiet clap-clap when she placed her palms upon Carlotta's butt cheeks, which I thought was pretty bold of her. Carlotta only chuckled, waiting patiently.

"What the fuck is this?" The woman's voice was quiet and amazed.

"That's my little ass-toy," Carlotta told her. While I was excited about being acknowledged, I wasn't, ah… delighted to hear my job title shared with someone new, like this was the whole of my definition. "I make him clean my butt, and he loves it."

The woman gasped. I twisted around, and I could only barely see her jaw, her fingers resting against it in surprise, deep red lacquered nails against pale skin, and deep red lips hanging open. White teeth flashing behind them. Glistening tongue behind those. Lots of emotions flooded through me in this moment, ranging from wanting to crawl into that delicate mouth, to intense shame at being lodged half-in, half-out of Carlotta's ass like she was caught in the middle of taking a shit.

"I don't understand." Phew: the woman's breath was stale with red wine, probably getting drunk the night before. "What's he doing in your bottom? How did he get there?"

"He loves it in there!" Carlotta's voice was getting cheerier by the second. "That's where I keep him! I got a little butt-janitor to keep me nice and clean down there!" She laughed, and her sphincter seized around me rhythmically.

"But how is this possible?"

Carlotta hummed theatrically. "You know, I don't even know. It was just, like, some kind of supernatural moment, you know? He made a comment about my butt at a party, and I just really wanted to teach him a lesson somehow. And then he just shrunk!" She laughed, and the room echoed with her mirth. "I took that as a sign that he had to live in my ass for the rest of his life." Really? The rest of my life? I wasn't sure I liked what I was hearing.

"Does… does he have a name?"

My giantess lover barked sharply with one laugh. "If he does, I've forgotten it."

"I'm Cameron!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

I was rewarded with a savage clench of her anus. I coughed badly, straining to keep the air in my lungs. I heard two loud clapping sounds as Carlotta slammed her palms to her bubble butt and clenched her cheeks around me. "Shut up, little man!" she laughed. "Don't listen to that little prick. He's just my ass-toy and nothing else. All he's ever gonna be."

The woman's voice sounded profoundly sad. "That doesn't seem very kind of you to do to him."

"He loves it! Ha ha! It's all he wants!"

"Is that true?" Her breath was warm upon my back. She was leaning into Carlotta's buttocks to whisper to me.

"No, it's not," I yelled back, straining to breathe. "I love this woman and I wish she'd let me love her, but−" I cried in pain as Carlotta pressed her buttocks harder around me.

"Let him talk!" The woman sounded upset.

Carlotta merely laughed at her. "Oh, don't listen to that little freak. He loves being in my ass. If he didn't live in my butt, he wouldn't have a purpose in life! Do you want to deprive him of purpose?" She laughed harder and turned around, swinging me away from the kindly woman. As for me, I was crushed, and not just physically. It hurt to hear Carlotta talk about me so badly. Was that really how she felt?

"Why don't you ask him what he wants?"

"Who cares what he wants? He's my ass-toy and that's all there is to it." Carlotta's tone turned harsh. "Anyway, what would you know about it?"

"My boyfriend is tiny!" The woman's voice stabbed the air. I heard her scramble to her feet. For her sake, I mentally begged her to not lash out and slap Carlotta, because it totally felt like that's where this was going. "I made him tiny! And now he's dead, in-insah…" She broke into tears, and I heard the bed's springs creak abruptly with heavy weight.

I couldn't see any of what was going on. Carlotta was leaning her butt against the desk chair, and I could see the chair legs and her legs and that was it.

"Tell me about it." Carlotta's voice was strangely soft.

"He's dead. Inside me."

"What happened?"

And the woman told us the strangest goddamned story I've ever heard. Well, second-strangest to my own. She used her own menstrual fluid to cast a powerful spell that shrunk her boyfriend down. He wanted it, he was into this, and she was intrigued by the idea too. But it went wrong and he shrunk too small and she lost him inside her. I mean, from what I could hear in her tone, there was something else going on but I wasn't in any position to ask.

"I'm so sorry, honey."

"I don't know what happened. I didn't mean to−" The woman broke into renewed sobbing. Carlotta moved from the desk, turned around and took a seat on the bed as well. Bad for me, because that cut me off from the world. When I felt her start bending at the waist, I had just enough time to gather two lungfuls of air before darkness fell. I folded myself up against her pussy, or else her perch would have snapped me in half. But there I lay, mashed up against her pussy lips, the cheap mattress pressing into me like it resented me.

Well, that explained the clothes, anyway. I couldn't hear what they were going to do about those: I couldn't hear anything they talked about, just the deep murmuring of two giantesses conferring with each other. I had to fight for breath, cramped against Carlotta's sexuality like that, digging my arms into the folds of her skin to fight for a small pocket of air. I didn't want to do this too much because it would probably mean more punishment from her later on. This wasn't the right time or place to be stimulating her pussy, I knew, but good lord, I had to breathe didn't I?

They talked for a long time. I struggled to survive for the duration. Eventually Carlotta heaved herself up off the bed and I presume they hugged, making goodbye-noises at each other. Slowly Carlotta padded out of the room, asking if she was going to be okay. She said she was, but they understood it was an emotional time, a really hard thing to have to deal with. The woman said she'd figure it out somehow and thanked Carlotta for her concern.

Strange fucking conversation, if you ask me. But we ended up in our own hotel room and Carlotta made a comment about the time and checking out. She shed the bed sheet and trotted around in the buff. She even started to use the toilet, bending over that ceramic pool of frigid water until I could see my own reflection, and I squirmed like holy hell and screamed at her.

"Oh, sorry," she said, laughing. "Forgot you were in there." I knew this wasn't fucking true, but I cooperated as she fished me carefully out of her butt, tugging at me, spreading her cheeks, giving me room to work myself out, only to tumble into her palm.

She scrunched her face at me. "Wow, you stink! Guess you didn't do such a great job on me after all!" She thought this was hilarious, and she laughed over my swearing at her. She finished her business on the toilet and ran warm water in the sink for me. "Aw, why're you upset, my little ass-toy?" Guess my facial expression was clear enough even for her.

"Carlotta, that really hurt, in the other room."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sit on you for so long."

"No, Carlotta! What you said hurt me! You really just think of me as your ass-toy? Seriously?"

She shrugged and her little breasts swung above me, in the warm, soapy water. "That's all you are. What did you think you are?"

"No, it's what we are supposed to be, Carlotta! You and me! You pretended you didn't even know my name!"

She raised her eyebrows at me. "Do you have a name?"

"You called me by the name at the start of our session last night. You know my fucking name."

"Hey, watch your tone with me, ass-toy." She gently swiped at the water with a few fingers, sending a vast wave of soapy water over me.

I sputtered and wiped my face clear. "You really don't care about me at all? After all the time we've spent together, all the intimate places I've been? All the moments we've shared?"

Her brow furrowed and she frowned. "What moments? All you do is clean my shitty asshole and that's it. That's all you're supposed to do, little ass-toy, so don't you get uppity with me."

Despite the hot water, my blood ran cold. I stared up at her: she was no longer looking at me, not into my eyes. She just scrubbed at my legs with a washcloth, rinsed me under a stream of too-hot water, and set me on the chilly counter. I swore and stood up, minimizing my contact with it.

"Well, then why don't you just kill me?" I wrapped my arms around myself and tried not to shiver.

"What?"

"Just kill me. I don't want to live like this, with some heartless cunt who doesn't even know my name."

She laughed at me. Laughed! "But you don't have a name! What, am I supposed to give my toothbrush a name? Am I supposed to name each of my tampons?"

I walked up to the edge of the counter, not far from her side. I looked over the edge, then at the toilet beside the sink. I could probably hop down to the seat, then to the floor, and if this awful woman didn't stop me…

"What're you looking at?"

"I'm going to go find that woman next door." I didn't look up at Carlotta. "She sounds like she still has a trace of humanity in her. Unlike some people around here."

"Watch your tone, ass-toy."

"Fuck off, Carlotta. Kill me or let me go. Because I'm not going to clean your ass or anything, anymore." Now I looked up at her, over her little belly, over her little breasts, up into her dark Latin American features. "Kill me or let me go, because I don't want to live like this."

"You love it. You know you love it."

"What is wrong with you!" I stomped the counter. I really did. I was so frustrated, I didn't know what else to do. "Are you some kind of goddamned robot? Because you sound like a broken record, and you're not listening to me. So I'm outta here." I wasn't at all confident I could land on the seat of the toilet without bouncing inside, but that would've solved my problem anyway. Either I made it out of the hotel room, or I could try to drown myself in the... ugh, she didn't flush. Goddamn it. Well, I wouldn't be alive in there long, if I did this right.

I didn't step back for more distance. I just turned and ran to the side, and I leaped from the very edge of the counter. My aim was good, it seemed. The white acrylic toilet seat was directly below me, slowly growing closer as I reached my arc and began to descend.

Carlotta's palm swiped through space with frightening speed and caught me. I coughed violently with the impact, with being squeezed like this. Stunned for a moment, I regained myself and started pounding with tiny, ineffectual fists against the base knuckle of her index finger. Useless, I knew, but I was so furious, I was so pissed. I had to let it out somehow.

She lifted me away from the toilet, above the sink counter, up, up, up. I felt heavy, hot skin press against my head and neck. When the goosebumps ran up and down my entire body, I realized she was kissing me. Her fat bottom lip was curling around my neck and the base of my skull, and her upper lip crowded over my brow. The tip of her tongue gently poked at the back of my head and ran thickly over one ear.

"Carlotta, what the fuck." I hated how my body was responding to her. My arms and legs twitched with needing what she was doing to me. I wanted more of her mouth, I wanted to embed myself between her lips. I wanted to make long, passionate love to her tongue. But I also wanted the fuck away from this horrible person. "Let me go. Take me out of your mouth, unless you're going to bite my head off."

Her voice was warm and milky as it washed over my skin. "Cameron, I would never." She turned me in her grip so I faced her. There she was, face as big as the side of a house. Nostrils cutely round and flared, full lips twitching slightly in anticipation, slightly parted. Up above, smoky brown eyes, looking a little wild as they stared down at me, slightly crossed.

She chuckled to herself. "Cameron, my little lover. My boyfriend, mi dulce amor. You are the most adorable thing in the galaxy, but you are awfully stupid sometimes." She held me closer to her mouth, centimeters away from where she licked herself, running her tongue over her succulent, plump lips... no, stop it, Cameron. Don't think like that. She just insulted you again.

"The hell's that supposed to mean? Look, are you going to eat me or what?"

"Oh, I'm going to gobble you down, every bite." Her lips pulled back and her teeth gleamed wetly at me. "But not until you understand. Cameron, that was a woman in pain, a pain so big and so deep that she couldn't talk about it, not to just anyone. I had to show her that I understood, do you understand? She thought she was in the middle of something so weird that no one could possibly relate to her. With all that grief she was going through, after losing her beloved in so supernatural a way, how could she possibly find the energy to make an outsider understand?

"So I had to show her I understood. I got to show off my incredible, perfect ass to a beautiful woman," and here I noted a certain dreaminess pass over her eyes, like a low ceiling of clouds about a mountaintop, "but I got to show off my beloved little lover, too." Her cheeks dimpled, and her eyes twinkled. I almost believed she meant it. "I got to share our little secret with someone else. Cameron, I've been waiting for this for months! It's been driving me crazy, not being able to share this little miracle with anyone else on the planet! And then that woman? She has the same experience, a tiny little lover of her own? I also needed someone who understood!"

"But how did you know? She wouldn't even tell us what was going on."

Her massive head tilted, her beautiful black hair shifted to the side in a sensual avalanche. "I could sense it, somehow. I don't know. Something in the air told me it was more than a cheating boyfriend or a one night stand. I can't explain it: it's just my strong Latin heart, and it's never wrong." She glanced at me and smiled, then puckered up for an unbelievably plush and deep kiss. "It's never wrong."

My body was fighting against me. Between her second and third fingers, I was springing a little erection. I hoped to God she didn't notice. All the muscles in my chest and arms craved to reach out to her, grab what I could and gather it against me. But she wronged me. "What about what you said to her, about me just being your ass-toy, about forgetting my name?"

She laughed quietly and licked the side of my entire head. "That was another chance I was taking. I wanted to sound like I wasn't taking you very seriously, to... I don't know, breathe a warm wind upon her dying embers. Does that make sense? She was so in love with someone who just died somewhere inside her, deep inside her, but she had no way to express that. Not in a cold, neutral environment. So I had to show her my sweet little ass-toy, but I also had to make it sound like I didn't know what I had, like I didn't appreciate you. I wanted to provoke her to lash back with her own feelings." Carlotta shrugged her smooth, caramel-colored shoulders and I thrilled at the sight. "And I was right! She did, and she told me everything."

"Was that when you were sitting on me? Because I couldn't hear a fucking thing under your fat ass."

She arched an eyebrow and clucked her tongue. "If I didn't know you loved how fat my ass is, I might take that badly." As though she suddenly noticed where we were, she looked around, then turned on her heel and walked back out to the beds. She sat on her bed, the good one, the clean one. The one I was allowed to share last night, only because she stabbed me deep inside her ass and wouldn't let me go.

"Oh, my sweet little Cameron, I love you more than you'll ever understand." She rested me between her boobs, clasping both palms over my little body. I didn't fight, I didn't try to slip away. I just rested against the wall of her sweet skin and felt her increasing heartbeat tapping at me. "And maybe I'll never say this again, but that woman affected me. To hear her lose her true love, the conflict of an act so intimate, taking him up inside her in a gesture of supreme love and desire, and then to feel his little flame snuffed out like that? Cameron, it took all my strength not to burst into tears right in front of her. I felt her love and her loss so strongly, and then I thought about what I'd ever do if anything happened to you." She curled her fingers around me and held me up to her face again. "I would happily keep you locked up in my huge ass forever, a lifetime of forevers, if I thought that would keep you safe and protected from everything this awful world has to offer. Do you understand?"

In a way, I did. "Carlotta, I think it's clear that I love you deeply. You have to know this by now. I fucking adore you, and only someone who adores you as much as I do could put up with mopping the shit out of your asshole like I do. I don't know why I love you so much, but I do, and I don't want to live without you."

"Not even with that brokenhearted woman next door?" She smirked at me.

"Not even with her. I couldn't replace her love, I'm sure."

"You should have seen her skin, though. It looked like pure cream. Nice little breasts, too, bigger than mine." She glanced down. "I bet they had pink little tips, too. Stood out perky and everything."

"Carlotta, you are my entire fucking world. That's why it killed me to hear you talk like that." I might have blushed. "Sorry I'm not very clever, but I totally didn't understand what you were doing. I get it now, though, and I admire the shit out of you."

She preened. "So we're good?"

I paused and stared up at her. "Tell me you love me. Tell me so I believe it. I'm still a little shaken."

We didn't speak for a long time after that. We cried, we laughed, we shouted and groaned, but no coherent words came out. It was just an hour of her jamming me into her pussy like no tomorrow, thrusting me inside her, closing her thighs around me, clenching me up and down my body. Sometimes she got up and danced around the room, with me submerged deep in her pussy. We even showered together like that, water running over my head while I swam up and down the length of her vagina, making her knees buckle in the tiled shower. Could've been dangerous, but we made it out alive.

We came several times, and then we packed up and left. Carlotta stuffed me into one of her bra cups and hustled her own overnight bag out of the building, to the parking ramp, into her car.

She turned on the stereo but I grappled with her nipple until she turned it down to listen to me. "So are we ever going to do this again?" I craned my head to look up through her blouse.

Her cute round nostrils gusted hot air over me. "I don't know how to grow you back up, ass-toy, so this is all you've got to look forward to for the rest of your life."

I nodded and nestled against her boob to think about this. On the surface, it sounded wonderful, being the possession of a sexy, fiery goddess like this.

On the other hand, those nights when she went out for spicy food...

 

End Notes:

====================

For reference, you may want to read "Blood Magic" (http://giantessworld.net/viewstory.php?sid=6038) to go along with this. I'm tying my worlds together, is what that's about.

Chapter 5 by Aborigen

"Camero-o-o-o-on!" she called to me. "Mami's home! Time to earn your paycheck!"

I sat up and rubbed the back of my head and sighed. What I would never tell her: first of all, I don't get paid jack-diddly-squat for my labor. If I brought my grievances to management, Carlotta would only spin it to suggest that my continued presence on her glorious and sacred ass is payment enough. If I pushed those complaints, she assures me that I may find recourse in sharing my concerns with HR, which she says stands for "index finger and thumb."

Only a profound moron would try to straighten out this glaring discrepancy.

What I can do, perched in my little jewelry box of containment, is execute a cold read on my mistress. Sometimes, there are very few seconds between being aware of her and being thrust into the center of activity, so I've learned to look for telltale signs that indicate how the winds of the evening will blow. No pun intended.

For instance: listening to the tone of Carlotta's voice, I can tell she's in a great mood. That bodes well for me, as I like to sustain those good moods as long as I can. I certainly wouldn't bring up an HR violation, as long as she's high and bubbly and playful. Who would do that? Only a dedicated, career moron would do that.

But the sustained note in "ho-o-o-o-ome" is some cause for concern. Point one: we live in a hotel room that she's checked out indefinitely, due to a massive inheritance from a former husband, now deceased. You can put those puzzle pieces together yourself. And let the record show I tried to explain how much more economical it would be to simply rent a double-bungalow in an unglamorous part of town, compared to reserving an expensive hotel room in the center of Downtown, but that went over as well as my first HR complaint.

Point two: when Carlotta sings that long, when she plays around with extended vowels... well, if the reader will permit me to extrapolate from historical data... she's probably drunk. By itself it doesn't mean much, it's only a positive indicator, but if she laughs at her own jokes, she's likely gone out to her favorite tequila bar and either hooked up with old friends or befriended a squad of nobodies and strangers, depending on how deep into her cups she was when the good times struck her.

I can see her now. The jewelry box in which I bed rests upon the otherwise unused writing desk, and I'm sitting up in it, nude but comfortable due to her thoughtful temperature control. And as I scratch the rear of my scalp, I watch her curvy body dancing its way to my corner of the room, clawing hands tearing off the clingy, Lycra bonds that hug her tits and constrain her hips. I've seen this before, this is fine. The city gets sultry, the room is warmer than she likes when she shows up, and if she's had a few shots, sure, she'll tear her clothing off in a very theatrical need to get comfortable.

"There's my walkin', talkin' butt-plug, ha ha ha-a-a-ah!" she says. "Guess who found a new taqueria tonight! Guess whose belly doesn't agree with habaneros, ha ha ha-a-a-a-ah!"

I... am so fucked.

She stands above me, showing herself off. A demonstration of power, I've seen it before. Sweetly rounded belly thrust at me, bare and caramel. Modest tits ensconced in enticing black lace. A perfectly shaved armpit as she reaches back to tousle her thriving mane of black hair, turning her face aside in a silent moan, proffering bee-stung lips to the night's entertainment. Her other hand twists behind her back, her other hand disappears to cup her profound buttock, which I can't see, but then she smacks her ass savagely, three sharp cracks that make me wince. Her broad, white teeth pinch her fat bottom lip in a paroxysm of sybaritic delight, and then she turns her smoky, sultry eyes to me.

Now, Carlotta is a beautiful woman, make no mistake. At normal size, I fell for her without a hope for self-defense. It was her ass, you see, that plump and burstingly perfect set of succulent buttocks, churning within the tensile veil of painted-on jeans. And now that I'm small? Forget about it. A modest ass would be enticing, but a large ass from my unique perspective is positively, incontrovertibly addictive. And this delightful, spicy, unpredictable seductress lets me enjoy hers... at a price, and within a very narrow context.

So when she begins rolling her hips, bunching and smoothing the rolls of flesh around her waist, slowly rotating upon the hotel room carpeting as though guided by samba music from the motherland, I can only regard this as the prelude to a job that must be done.

I sit there dutifully attentive as she swirls and gyrates before me. It's a beautiful sight, but I can only think of what comes next. And when she stretches one well-fleshed arm down to my velvet-lined station, I should be thrilled by the attention of the goddess, but I can only think of what comes next. And when she dances, step by step, over to the enormous (to me) bed, sets me down and continues her sensual writhing immediately above my tiny, frail, wretched little body, all I can think about is what comes next. I try to enjoy myself, sure, watching those abundant buttocks swing and sway just above me. But it's that deep and plunging crack between her succulent buttocks, partially visible behind the scrim of enticing black lace panties, that concerns me more than anything else and snaps me out of any lurid fantasy I might entertain.

Then she slows down, her hips rocking grinds down to a pause in the action. She presses her plump thighs against the edge of the mattress, not far from my tiny little feet, and a thin seam of light from the rest of the room peeks between her inner thighs. Just above me is the bold and pronounced curve of her butt cheeks, wrapped in lace, and I hardly want to look up at all, yet the curves and lines command my gaze. Sitting on the clean, bleached hotel linens, myself unblemished and only slightly humid from a comfortable sleep, I stare up at the abutment of her massive thighs to the savage curve of the tuck of her ass. Her butt cheeks literally shelter and shadow me, directly above my little body, and...

I hear a hiss, and then a loud rumble as butt cheek applauds against ample butt cheek, inadequate to hold back a steaming jet of fetid gas, blasting straight out of her asshole. Her huge ass looms over me, is what I'm saying, and then she farts directly upon me, copiously upon me. Intestinal byproduct replaces all breathable air around me, and even though I know it's coming, it's too sudden. My eyes stink, my lungs burn, and my throat clenches shut, but it's done. Carlotta has farted upon me, and all those foul bacteria, the questionable blessing of her intestines, are inside of me now.

I collapse to my side and clap my hand over my mouth, trying not to puke. Far, far overhead, somewhere past the impressive bulge of one magnificent buttock, Carlotta laughs with hilarious abandon. She brays, she cackles for about a minute before she can catch her breath.

"You like that, pequeño?" Her voice is rich with mirth. If she had farted around a normal-sized companion, she might blush or even leave the room. But with me? She brags. "I'm afraid you've got quite a night lined up for you, my little lover! I haven't had such spicy tacos in months! I guess my poor guts have softened up, lost their tenacity. But that just means more work for you, doesn't it, my little Cameron?" I can only watch her butt cheek shudder with her immense laughter and hope she doesn't shit on me right through her expensive panties.

When she turns her planetary ass away from me, and I'm staring up the vast expanse of her cute belly and reasonable breasts, she looks down upon my wretched, crumpled form. And she throws her head back in laughter, guffaws echoing off the popcorn stucco ceiling of this cheap-ass, overpriced room. Her belly shudders with her hilarity, almost directly overhead, and all I can do is wait for the tremors to subside. Carlotta loves to laugh, however, and she savors these moments, the unhappiness of her little man and the awesome potency of her curvy, biochemically reactive body upon me.

Now it's a flurry of activity. While I gasp for fresh air, Carlotta peels the straps of her bra off her shoulders, loops her arms above them, and swivels her bra 180° to better unhook it. Her pointy little tits poke far above me, and she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She successfully tugs them over her ample hips, but I'm too slow to scramble out of the way as she bends in half and dumps her tremendous booty upon the edge of the bed (where I lay, sickly and weak). Drunk though she might be, she nonetheless fits me right up the seam of her ass to pile the full tonnage of her body upon me. I can't see it, but she shucks her panties off her legs and flings them away; I can't hear it, but she laughs harder at my sad fate. I'm not aware of anything until the light of the room floods my body and the ceiling spreads above me: Carlotta has kept me trapped between her abundant buttocks until she crawled upon my bed, parked herself on knees and elbows, and thrust her magnificent ass up to the skies.

And now I sit upon her lively, puckering anus, and there is only one thing left to do.

I have to begin to clean it.

First of all, I survey the damage. It looks not too bad, to begin with, just the normal, ordinary engorged asshole of a beautiful woman who likes a lot of attention to her ass, but who has otherwise spent the day working a job, walking around town, etc. Nothing exceptional. I crawl to my knees and get down on all fours: she's pretty clean so I'm not worried about soiling myself. Slowly I make my way around her asshole, checking out for any stains, detritus. She was talking about a spicy dinner, so usually that means trouble, but it doesn't look like−

Her sphincter rises slightly, and before I can dodge I catch another hot, steaming blast of air full in the chest and face. Her anus looks like a dumbfounded drunk's expression, mouth hanging slack, but instead of vomiting on me it's just the exhaust of her digestive process. And true to her word, there's a stream of pepper spray in there for good measure.

Lying snugly within her pronounced ass-cleavage, there's no way for me to collapse and roll away. I grimace all my facial orifices shut, turn away, and hurl myself to lie flat upon the hillside of one massive butt cheek. I can't swear, I mustn't swear right now or she'll just laugh her ass off at me, and I don't want to encourage that. Because it's not her ass that would come off, but likely my tiny little body would go tumbling down to the sheets, and that earns me a special punishment. Right now, however, I can't think of a worse punishment than getting these hot and spicy farts dead in my face for hours.

The giantess giggles and sings "sorr-ee" at me, like she's doubtlessly going to do a dozen times tonight until she's as tired of it as I already am. Grunting, I wipe my face off on the skin of her inner butt cheek and pull myself up. Gotta be a good sport about these things: if I can't handle her at her fartiest, I don't deserve her at her horniest.

"Hey, babe," I shout at the top of my lungs. "I don't have my cleaning equipment."

No response.

"Hey! Sweetie? ¿Amiga hermosa? I said−"

"I heard you!" she snaps. "I'm just... oh, shit. Bad, bad, bad!" Her hand soars up over the hemispherical and, sloppily, her fingers just brush me away.

I try to lie flat and dodge her fingers. "No fair! Come on, give me a chance! You're cheating!"

"¡Dios maldito, get the fuck outta there!"

Her tone surprises me, and when I poke my head up to look around, her middle finger gets a lucky strike at me. Her fingertip catches me under the jaw and peels me away like a sticker, and I tumble to the mattress. I lie there, between her huge, round knees, staring up her monstrous thighs and wondering what happened.

My question is answered when she heaves her colossal bulk off the bed and sprints to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. What happens next is a gastric megaton of destructive firepower. And the longer it goes on, the more my heart sinks, because she's just making it worse and worse for me. Good thing I slept all afternoon, I guess, because there'll be no sleep tonight, not for me.

Sure enough, after an eternity she comes coiling around the door frame of the bathroom, grinning at me wickedly. "Someone's got their work cut out for them, little lover," she purrs. One fingernail trails down the jamb with a grating, raspy noise.

Protesting or objecting would land me in the shit right now, no pun intended. She has me trained well, honestly: "That's all I'm here for, lover. I've got one job to do, and I love to do it well for you." I rise to my knees and hold out my arms, as if I could embrace any part of her body.

She simpers, eyes glittering. "I didn't make a mistake when I stole you, did I?" Her massive hips roll in a supreme gesture of comfort and opulence as she returns to the bed. "That's why I'm giving you a little break: I fucking devastated that toilet, so I wiped myself off for you." Then she winks and produces from behind her back a drinking glass and a moist towelette. "Just not very well, is all." Oh, she thinks she's clever.

I put on a brave smile and she climbs back onto the mattress. "And, no punishment for losing your balance and falling out of heaven. That's my gift to you." I swallow my reaction and sing praises of her generosity. She tears off my first square from the towelette, plucks me up and places me between her cheeks, and off I go.

Foul. Fucking foul, that's what this is. My knees fight for space in the thin pink seam at the base off her ass's cleavage, right before it all turns caramel and spreads out in all directions. I dig one elbow into one enormously fat buttock and start mopping up the residue of her explosive diarrhea. It looks like Carlotta did indeed scrape most of it away but there's plenty here for me. I rub away at it: good, it's still coming up because it's fresh. Immediately my little square is stained to uselessness and I toss it down, aiming well to deposit the scrap into the drinking glass. Carlotta has been shredding more cloths for me, and I take them up one by one.

The smartest thing to do is to clear my own path, right down in the deepest part of her rear's valley. I wipe up a space slightly wider than my own body, creep down into her ass crack, closer and closer to her anus. From there I can reach up and wipe quite a lot, mopping down the walls of her vast cheeks until her healthy, glowing skin loses all its blemishes. No more greenish-brown paste mucking it up, no more flecks of red and green peppers, undigested throughout her GI tract. I'm getting a good rhythm going, running a new cloth between the deep radial wrinkles of her anus, when it pushes out at me.

I'm quicker, this time. I throw myself to her buttock and searing air roars up my shoulder and back. "Goddamn it, Carlotta!" I scream, beyond thought. She only laughs, though, shaking her massive ass like an earthquake. I bounce off her buttock and collapse upon her anus, and I swear I can't get up fast enough. Scrabbling uselessly with panicked arms, I'm pressed flush against her sphincter when it opens and spurts three in a row: BRAAP-BRAAP-BRAAP! I can actually feel her asshole rubbing over my chest, flexing around my sides. It's fucking disgusting, it's all-encompassingly disgusting. Her putrid gases seem to wind around me, flowing over my armpits, my biceps, snaking around my neck and slithering down my spine. Oh fuck, my skin crawls to feel it!

"Did I get you, honey?" she calls back mockingly. I fail to respond, going back to work as she sings her apology to me. It's just hilarious to her. Her only regret, she told me once, is that she can't see my expression when it happens. She'd like to see my hair flowing in the breeze. I refrained from response.

I'm kneeling over her anus, one knee on each side, when she blasts me again. Her fart gushes straight up into my cock and balls, and... I would never admit this to her, but that kind of felt nice. Hot, moist air breathing around my scrotum? It was sensual in a way I wasn't expecting. I pause in wiping the film of her diarrhea and regard the now-red and swollen asshole between my legs, wondering if I could slip my genitalia in there, mid-fart, and let her close up around me... Naah, I can't do the splits. That's the only way that'd work.

Everything around me is clean, as I toss cloth after cloth over the cliff of Carlotta's boundless rump (and a couple into her rectum, for my mild revenge), so I have to get the stuff farther away. I'm so intent with standing up, getting my feet to splay and line up with the crevice of her buttocks, that common sense flees my head. I'm not even mad when she giggles, knocking me off my feet, and rips a huge one. With tedious predictability, her stinging, swollen anus opens up like a gaping maw, and in goes my foot, then my shin, my knee, my thigh right up to my balls. When it seals around my leg, I can feel the burning tissues of her asshole. I almost feel bad for her, for this tender, sensitive little orifice. It looks abused, and my heart goes out to it, until another round of very deep flatulence burbles up all around me. Swearing my head off, I struggle to free myself. Mostly successful is still a failure, however, and her asshole clinches around my ankle.

I wait for her to fart again, but she's just laughing to herself, laughing harder when I jerk at my leg in an attempt to extricate it. She knows what's up, so she's not going to break wind until it's absolutely unavoidable. Sighing, I resume reaching up the sides of her ass where her shit has splattered like... I don't know, like the innards of jack o'lanterns thrown from a car window at 30 mph. Like a murder scene, if the victim was a water balloon filled with runny feces. I mean, I get it, she's gassy and her guts are punishing her for the peppers, but how did she even get it all the way around like this? For fuck's sake.

Down goes another piece of moist towelette, filling the valley of buttocks with the piquant sting of lemons, cumin, and shit. Out comes another fart, for which I'm uncharacteristically grateful, and I yank my foot out and dance lithely down her ass crack to finish up my work. I'm down to my last square, it seems, and I really economize this one, sopping up the drying film off her skin like I'm brushing it to the side.

But at last: "Done! Done, sweetheart, it's all clean."

"It's all clean?"

"Every last square centimeter, my delightful lover. Anyone could eat off of your ass."

She chuckles to herself. "That's too bad, mi pequeño amante," and before I can ask why, she flicks me out of her butt once more and traipses to the bathroom for a second round of destruction.

It's going to be a long goddamned night.

 

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