There’s no communication for a long time. There can’t be, until she slips one of her earbuds down into her panties. How would that even work? She’d have to be mic’ed to speak into her phone, or muttering into one of those Bluetooth earpieces with a condensor mic, so her smartphone’s in her pocket, maybe the headphones are running up her blouse and down the back of her pants, thin white cords disappearing into the deep crack of her full, round ass. I wouldn’t need both headphones, so only one would be cradled in her panties… yes, in that strange little pouch sewn into every pair of women’s underwear. I’ve never asked what that’s for, I assume it’s just an extra layer for absorption or something, though it could totally hold a little man, as snug as though he were in a sleeping bag. So one earbud goes there, and the other one would be slipped up inside her vagina. It’s small and smooth, no pointy edges, so it should hardly be noticed as it rested several inches into her pussy. There it would wait for a little guy like me to be thrust up inside her, and from her earpiece she could issue me orders, make suggestions, warn me what’s about to happen, etc. That sounds like a pretty sweet arrangement, actually. I’ll have to suggest that to her. The only issue would be if the earbud got all goopy, because Tana is a gushy girl. Lots of fluid, when she’s aroused. I wouldn’t want it to short out inside her…
Christ, my mind. It’s a wonder I can focus on anything, you know? Case in point: here I am, being relentlessly hugged from the waist up by the silken, sodden, steaming vagina of a lovely—if charmingly dim—woman in her early 30s, serpentine and long-legged even when regarding her from a normal height. But I’m just slightly shorter than the depth of her vaginal canal, at best, and so everything on her is exaggerated. Every curve is perilous and swooping; every length of shin or forearm stretches on for a mile; each nipple juts out boldly with more than enough surface for me to grip with my minuscule fingertips or my tiny thighs. And even as I’m thrust up into the molten core of her femininity, all I can think about is installing a PA system. My goddamned mind, I tell you.
My legs are bent and kneeling in the crotch of her dusty rose panties, right on that mysterious pouch I was talking about. My hips are lovingly cushioned by folds of swollen labia, hot and wet and accommodating, and everything from my waist on up is embraced, crushed, and sucked at by her pussy. This could be claustrophobic for anyone else, but I’ve never had that instinct. And really, I could escape at any time I wanted: Tana’s so fucking wet, I’d slip right out like… a slice of avocado out the back of a California burger.
I suck at analogies. I’m much better at tracking department expenditures and reconciling our quarterly budget. So I guess I’d slip out like questionable per diem spending for a two-day professional development seminar in Miami. But who can relate to that? On the other hand, most of us have had messy goddamn burgers that resist being eaten, so there you go.
It would avail me nothing to struggle against the lovely Tana Hands right now. In the first place, even if I were to escape, where would I go? I’d slip down her polyester pantleg, and if I didn’t dry up and get plastered against her thigh (not a terrible predicament, all things considered), I’d tumble out onto the sidewalk of wherever the hell we are. I don’t even know where we’re going for lunch, so I’d have to dodge the army of rampaging, crushing business shoes to find shelter in some corner, then orient myself based on immediate geographical cues, only to laboriously navigate my way back to the office, and I’d never get back before lunch break was over, so… it’s just easier to reside in Tana’s delicious pussy for the time being.
Fighting against her wouldn’t gain me any ground, either. Her pussy is enormous and infinitely more powerful than the whole of my person. If I punched her interior walls, she wouldn’t even notice and my fists would just slide helplessly across her slickened tissues. I’d just exhaust myself. Again, might as well ride this one out. It’s much easier to just relax, control my breathing (don’t ask me how I can breathe in here), and try to guess at Tana’s actions by how her pussy clenches and shifts around me. My upper body rocks and ways to the time of her long, ponderous strides, and her vulvic rings clench gently around my torso in time to something else I can’t perceive. Maybe there is no pattern, it’s just feedback from things she’s seeing or thinking. Maybe she’s just clenching at me to let me know how much she likes me. I asked her before, but she denied knowing anything about it, so either it was embarrassing to talk about or it really is unconscious behavior. Either way, it’s to my benefit because I love it. I love resting my face in her lovely pussy walls, hearing the distant yet pervasive thum-thum-thum of her heels pounding into the sidewalk. I can scarcely imagine the power of the shockwaves traveling up from her feet through her legs to resound around my body. And I can stretch my arms up above my head, up into her sultry tunnel, and I can run my hands over her skin. It’s remarkable how frictionless it can be, between the smoothness of her vaginal tissues and the amazing lubrication she produces. Better than the best Slip ‘N Slide®, seriously.
Then the thunderous drum beats stop. Tana’s vagina ceases squirming and clutching me. Everything in my limited perceptual world halts. All the activity, anyway: her hot blood still threads through the tender tissues all around my body, her juices continue to seep and they’re endlessly slick. But I have to wonder what’s going on outside of Tana’s hips.
Her footsteps resume. Were we waiting in line for something? Was someone blocking a doorway? She pauses again for a longer time, then two gentle footsteps, then another pause and her pussy twists around me as she shifts from foot to foot. We’re in line for something, probably her lunch.
Thanks for asking if I’m hungry, Tana. Guess I’ll have what you’re having.
More footsteps, and then even I can hear the piercing whine of the legs of an aluminum chair being dragged over tile. When my waist is forced to bend and my legs start to rise up before me, around the same time all her meaty tissues compress upon me, I realize she’s seated herself at a table. I try to squirm within her, wrenching all the greater muscles in my entire body to register a complaint, and that actually works: my body straightens out and I hear her footsteps quicken as—presumably—she sprints off to the bathroom.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Tana babbles as daylight explodes around me and I slip into her waiting palm. “I totally forgot you were in there! Can you believe it?” I absolutely can, as a matter of fact, though I don’t share this with her. She giggles and pulls up her panties and slacks with her free hand. Her eyes are so merry and her grin so psychotic, I just don’t have it in me to rain on her parade.
“What’s for lunch?” I shout up at her. She lifts me up to her face, an enormous billboard of girlish delight, her clean, white teeth flashing dangerously before my feet.
“Oh, you’ll love it! If you love Mexican.” Her jaws open broadly and her thick, rolling tongue springs from her mouth to lap me up. I practically adhere to her tastebuds, and she draws her tongue back in and locks her puffy lips around my waist, and between some overwhelming suction and her overly eager tongue, all the pussy juices coating me are replaced with saliva. Tana spits me back into her palm, declares me clean, and closes her fist around my entire person. I rattle and rock in her grip as she returns to her seat in the Mexican fast food joint, you can guess which one.
Tana has always been far too trusting, from my perspective: at her table her food and beverage are laid out in the open (for anyone to dose with whatever insidious powder the kids are using these days), and her e-reader is standing upright and unfolded beside her plate (just waiting for anyone to walk away with). But then I try to remind myself this is a nice part of the city, and no one would be so bold right out in the open, with hundreds of witnesses and several cameras around. Anyway, nothing bad has ever happened to Tana, that I’m aware of, so I shouldn’t worry about fixing what’s not broken.
Her huge hand tilts and dumps me behind her e-reader, a more than sufficient screen to hide me from everyone around us, even people next to us, yet leaving me quite out in the open with room to stretch. I do, and she stares at me with that huge, goofy grin of hers.
“I love watching your tiny arms and legs work like that!” She strokes me gently with one fat fingertip. No calluses or scabs or anything, just perfectly smooth, soft skin. Believe me, I notice these things. “You look like a tiny wind-up toy or something, just much more complex. You know?”
“I promise you I’m meat and bones, baby.” I flex for her and she cracks up, slapping her palm over her mouth, huge round eyes rolling around the room in surprise. I could have been in that palm, and she could’ve popped me into her gaping maw without effort. The thought of this provokes a sudden and powerful boner, right in my pants. Yes, I’d much rather be naked inside Tana’s pussy or wrestling her tongue, but it never occurs to her to pull my clothes off. She’d just lose them anyway, and how could I go back to the office like that?