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.