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.
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.