Braden was in a living hell.

Sweat coated his body from head to toe, overwhelming, suffocating heat assaulting him from all sides. He was pressed facefirst against soft, squishy flesh that seemed to emanate heat almost maliciously. Like it wanted him to suffer. On top of that, the thick, heady, fishy smell that surrounded him made what little air he had almost impossible to breathe without gagging. He had to pull his head back from the flesh just to inhale, and every breath felt like he was trying to suffocate himself under a mountain of dirty panties.

And it didn't stop. It didn't get any better. He could feel this giantess, Anita, going about her day like he wasn't even there. He had to suffer the nauseating unpredictability of her motion, the sway of her hips, the sudden shifts in gravity as she stood, sat, slouched, lay down. He was a hidden witness to her life, only he had no idea what the fuck was going on. He could barely hear the outside world over the steady pulse of her heartbeat that pounded against his body from all directions. And all he could see was the pink flesh of her pussy, surrounded by the wrinkled brown flesh of her labia.

If he struggled, if he tried to escape, all he earned was a slow increase in the slimy wetness that seemed to leak from all around him. If he really kept at it, he would be punished by the giantess crossing her thighs and squeezing them together. Hard. He would be pushed brutally into the pliant flesh in front of him, the pressure at his back foreceful enough to be a punishment in itself. And, when she relaxed, he'd be stuck just a little bit further between the lips of her pussy. Just a little bit more heat, just a little bit more pressure, just a little bit more of that disgusting stench.

And the goddamn fluid. It seemed like it was everywhere. Braden knew that, when girls got horny, they got wet, but he figured it was either one state or the other. They were either living their life like normal or lubed up and ready for a good dicking down. Apparently, that was not the case. Apparently, women, or at least this fucking woman, were always a little moist between the legs. It wasn't much, it wouldn't soil a pair of panties, but it was enough to make every breath he took a serious effort not to draw a lungful of slimy fluid. It was certainly enough to coat him head to toe, to make every motion feel like he was fighting against a wall of jell-o while covered in canola oil.

He had no way to figure the passage of time, but he knew that it had at least been three days. He had to endure long, sleepless nights in the same prison he had to endure long, uncomfortable days, and he was acutely aware of how many nights had passed. He had tried his first escape when he realized that she was asleep, but he was far too small. Apparently, his struggling was enough to wake her before it was enough for him to get free, and she had punished him by inserting him headfirst into her vagina.

He had learned his lesson. It was the only place worse than her panties. His first moment of real freedom had come when she stripped the next morning to shower. He saw that she was in a hotel room, and a very nice one at that. So she wasn't a New Yorker, and she was clearly wealthy. That didn't tell him much about his situation, though, and it didn't really help him escape.

And she didn't afford him the opportunity. She stripped carelessly, leaving him buried in a messy pile of clothing that it would take forever for him to navigate, then dropped her heavy purse on top of it so he couldn't get out from under it even if he wanted to. When she finished, she plucked him out of the old pair of underwear, barely even looking at him, then dropped him into a new one before sliding it on, then went about her day apparently without even thinking about him.

Over those three days, he had seen her use the bathroom more than a dozen times. She showed no modesty over it; she barely even seemed to notice him, just staring at her phone until she finished her business and cleaned up. If he tried to escape, she just tightened her legs together. Her bare calves closed hard around him and put an immediate stop to that. If he had managed to make it out of the crotch of her underwear, he would tumble right back down into it when she pulled it back on.

He wanted to die. And that was before she decided that she wanted to masturbate with him. In those long, long minutes, he was forced to experience every inch and every texture of her pussy, her fingers pressing mercilessly against his back, unable to pull his head free to draw a breath of what fresh air he could. Frothy bodily fluids slid down his throat, and he coughed and sputtered, but there was no relief. He punched, kicked, and screamed, but he had no chance against the giantess, who expertly manipulated him with fingers that were larger than her entire body. After a while of this wet, noisy torture, she shoved him headfirst directly into her vagina.

Heat and pressure enveloped his entire body. He screamed, and his scream was answered by Anita's booming heartbeat. When he drew breath, viscous vaginal fluid flowed down his throat and into his lungs. But, somehow, he barely even noticed the heat in his chest, and breathed normally despite the bubbly mix of air and lubricant that he sucked down with every breath. The deeply-textured flesh that enveloped his body on all sides grabbed at him as Anita slid him in and out, in and out, in and out.

Anita's vagina seemed to unfold hungrily before him with every thrust inwards. Tight, fleshy walls on all sides parting as he plunged deeper and deeper, then closing tight back together as he was pulled out. Thick, salty fluid welled up from all sides, coating his face and filling his mouth whether he was being pushed in or out of her.

The giantess hadn't done him the favor of telling him when she had started masturbating, but it was abundantly clear when she finished. The muscular walls around him clenched hard, driving the mix of air and lubricant from his lungs, and he heard, through the seemingly infinite flesh around him, Anita moaning in pleasure. The writhing motion of her hips was an undeniable sign of orgasm, but he could barely tell what was going on amidst the crushing pressure of her pelvic muscles.

Finally, it was over. Lungs full of lubcricant, body sore with abuse, Braden just wanted to die. Until he found himself being ripped out of the massive woman's vagina and hoisted into the blinding light of the outside world. His eyes adjusted slowly, blinking sticky lubricant from his eyes. By the time he realized what was happening, Anita was holding him over her head, staring curiously at his tiny body.

Her mouth opened, and he fell into it in an instant. The heat, pressure, and stench of her vagina was replaced by the heat, pressure, and stench of her mouth. He thrashed around, but her tongue played with him effortlessly. He had no chance to fight against it at his size. She tossed him into her cheek, sucked on him there, then tossed him into her other cheeck to even it out. The whole time, he was flailing desperately, kicking and punching in a completely futile effort to escape.

Saliva was everywhere. Hot, clear, and slimy, he could only tell the difference from the woman's vaginal lubricant by the taste of it sliding down his throat with his shallow, panicked breaths. The bodily fluids that coated his body didn't really make a difference to him, but she seemed determined to remove every drop of lubricant off him and replace it with a thick coating of spit.

When she let him lie on her tongue, pressing him up against the roof of her mouth to keep him from struggling, he could see straight down into the dark pit of her throat. She could just swallow him now, effortlessly, and there would be nothing he could do about it. What would happen to him? Would he die in her stomach or would the protection offered by whatever process shrank him keep him alive in the heat and darkness of her stomach? Stomach acid probably didn't taste great, but at least he would have a respite from her abuse.

Unless he died. Slowly. That was not how he wanted to go. In that moment, he would rather she keep him as her sex toy for life than be dissolved in her stomach. If you have to eat me, just bite down on my head, he begged. Get it over with quickly.

No point in begging, though. He knew, but hadn't fully accepted, that he wasn't a person to her anymore. You didn't treat people the careless, neglectful way she was treating him. You didn't leave them trapped in your underwear for long, uncomfortable hours. You didn't abuse them without warning just to get off. She treated him like an object, no more important to her than any cheap rubber sex toy. Was that all he was now? For how long?

Before he could start feeling too sorry for himself, the giantess opened her mouth and plucked him out, stunning him once again with the blinding light of the outside and the chill of the air on his skin. When he finally managed to get his bearings, he saw her staring up at him, studying his tiny body up and down. He was upside-down, so it was a bit hard to get a read on her actual expression. Despite his miniscule size and apparently insignificant weight, though, he couldn't right himself any more easily than if he had been full size in the same situation. Eventually, his core muscles failed him, and he just hung there, staring back at her.

"You got lucky," she decided. Relief and fear washed over him simultaneously. The tone in her voice and the look on her face told him that it had been a coin flip. She looked almost as if she wanted to pop him back into her mouth and swallow him now. "You'll live. For now."

How long? He wanted to ask. But her left hand came up and pulled back one of the bra cups of her dress, revealing her slight breast along with the the pad that she had stuffed in there to enhance her bust. Her dark brown nipple was just barely visible. He knew he was going in there, and he squirmed a bit, fearing the hot, claustrophobic confines of yet another piece of underwear, but he was a bit relieved that he'd be free from the slime and stench of her pussy for a time.

He tumbled down headfirst and landed... somewhere. He didn't have the time to figure out where before she closed the bra cup on him, enveloping him in heat and darkness and pushing him facefirst into the smooth skin of her breast. The first thing he noticed, when he finally settled, was her heartbeat. He could actually feel it against his body, and he realized that he was barely inches from her heart.

This wasn't great, but it was definitely better. It was better than spending the rest of the day stuck beneath her crotch, and it was far better than dying in a pool of stomach acid. But 'better' didn't mean much when he was still a slave. When the hell did this end?

*****

Hours passed. Maybe? It could have barely been half an hour. It was impossible to tell, without a single sign of the passage of time beyond the giantess' heartbeat. And that rose and fell in pace so erratically that, even if he had been bothered to count, there would have been no way to mark time anyway. Stuck in her bra, the rhythmic motion of her gait took a very different character. There was no sway, no sudden, jarring shift as her heel struck the ground, there was just a slight, slow lift, a brief, equally slight fall, then the distant thump of her foot landing.

In short, despite the way that her breast bounced just slightly with every step, it was a much smoother ride.

He kind of fell into a bit of a lull, despite the oppressive heat and stench of her flesh. His awareness drifted off, and he didn't even know it had happened until he snapped back when he heard her speak, and suddenly realized that he didn't remember a single moment of the last.... how long? Hour?

Her voice was deafening. He could hear it as if it came from all around him, he could even feel it through the skin he was pressed up against it. He understood every word she said. And, even though she hadn't said anything more than "thank you," he realized immediately that he was in a unique position to learn as much as he could about this woman. Who she was, where she lived, what she did. At three inches tall, none of it would help him escape now, but there was no telling what the future held.

He was alert and aware as she carried on to whatever business was next. He knew that the 'thank you' could well have been someone holding open the door to her hotel, and his next experience would be the giantess fishing him out of her bra before disrobing to go to bed. But there was a chance, however small, that he would get some insight that would potentially give him a chance to escape from this giantess' life. Maybe even to drag her in front of a court of law.

Assuming she didn't eat him alive first.