Kyle hunched, head bowed and ears covered for maximum sense deprivation, beside his mother's monumental foot on the spotless bathroom tile. Even with sight and sound averted, though, it was tough not to get a clear image of what was happening, considering the towering scale of the woman and her noisy willingness to get the job done in a timely fashion so they didn't miss a single minute of the discussion.
Her shrunken son supposed he should've been grateful that Roberta needed a trip to the ladies' room before the therapy session began, since any delay was welcome before re-engaging with the twisted group so his parent's head could fill with more disturbing methods to spice up her incestuous romance. Still, the fact that he had to enter the stall with her and camp by her shoes while Roberta sat comfortably on the porcelain throne and answered the call of nature, totally unbothered by her son's ability to hear everything as well as see the relief reflected in her expression, was bad enough to make the boy wish they could just enter the circle of therapeutic hell again and get it over with.
"So sorry, baby. Mommy almost forgot to ask you if you need to go. We don't want to have to interrupt the rest of the group if you suddenly need to have a cute little piddle in twenty minutes, do we?" Roberta asked down to the boy at her feet, a satisfied grunt slanting her words. She tapped her fingernail on the edge of the toilet seat between what little space was left over from the hocks of her plump thighs straddling the bowl. "Don't worry, we can kill two birds with one stone. I can just tuck you right here. See, there's plenty of room!"
Against his better judgment, Kyle looked up. While thankfully he was positioned close enough to the base of the commode that he could mostly just see his mom's leg flab swelling over the rounded white edge of the seat, he could also just barely spot the furry forest of Roberta's crotch. This of course reminded him that to use the facilities as she was describing would require standing on the toilet, bracing himself against the fleshy enclosure of her almost-nonexistent thigh gap, and utilizing a small opening between the seat and the giantess's hairy nethers, as well as coming into close proximity with other giant orifices currently performing their awful function. And though that opening between seat and womanhood was narrow for a six-inch-tall fellow, and Roberta was watchful enough that she would surely use her bush to catch her son if the unthinkable happened, Kyle still couldn't shake from his mind the slim but mental-breakdown-inducing chance of him accidentally slipping past his mom's fluffy labia and splashing down into the "used" waters. His mother was nothing if not wasteful, and tended not to flush until it became absolutely necessary.
This last image was enough to ignite the boy's fight-or-flight response, and there was no hope of fighting his mother nor any part of her no matter how soft and hairy, so he abruptly sprinted. After all, this was one of the few occasions during the day the boy wasn't being clumsily grasped, taped, glued, or otherwise plugged into his over-generously proportioned parent, so despite knowing how pitiful his chances were of escape, Kyle could often only think in terms of his moment-to-moment needs. And right now, his greatest need was to get away from his gargantuan mother, plus any thoughts of coming closer to fluids that may or may not have been exiting her body. Dashing under the divider between the stalls, the boy got away from his mother without being snatched or scolded, only to find himself at the equally-disconcerting altar of another colossal female figure seated on the next-door toilet.
Tangled around her feet, atop the rolls of her pulled-down short skirt, was a pair of panties almost large enough to be bloomers if they weren't intended for someone with so much backside flab to coat. Creeping closer to the woman's leg so as not to be seen, Kyle noticed the shape of a man half his size fixed in the wrinkled center of the underwear. While it was difficult to get a good look at the giantess on the can down here, he recognized the boy tucked in the undergarments as none other than permanently three-inch-tall Tommy from the therapy group, which meant he was currently standing beside that disgustingly open-minded loudmouth Joanne as she took care of business too before the hour of horrors began, though it was debatable for Kyle whether her current activity was any less horrific. Whether from her mouth or a different end, a lot of general awfulness was bound to be expelled.
Fitfully anxious of being caught by either his own mother or this even louder and more obese leviathan-lady who'd taken so much inspiration from Roberta, Kyle remained still and silent, observing poor Tommy strapped in place and facing up at Joanne. After a second glance, it became clear that the little guy was surrounded in a pool of gunk which extended in a sticky patch covering the whole front quadrant of the panties. He wasn't merely floating in the puddle of congealed sweat-and-cum stew, though, but abundantly greased with it himself, and topped off with more loose hairs than a cat in shedding season. The longer he stared in utter revulsion, the more Kyle came to realize that the pubes were actually fossilized in varying layers of slime, some glued down under older slickings, while others were still swaying freely, signifying just how many times the puny passenger had been blasted with salty-and-sexual excretions, not to mention caused pubes to pluck from extreme friction.
Though the underwear was darkest and wettest centralized around Tommy, it was clear that the entire garment, from the waistband's edge down to the silken highway which hammocked the giantess's taint, was dewy with perspiration. It certainly matched Joanne herself who, as Kyle gradually got the courage to look upward at her bulky half-squatted silhouette, was shining with sweat. Granted, the bathroom was stuffy, with hardly any airflow, but even that couldn't explain the volume of glimmering moisture oiled over most of the woman's exposed skin, from a damp sheen that matted her bangs across her forehead, to slow droplets traveling down her doughy inner thighs.
Even from this distance, Kyle could all but feel the humidity wafting from the panties and Tommy in particular, who looked so miserable and scarcely conscious it actually took a second for the "taller" boy to confirm his compatriot wasn't conked out or even drowned in the gel-like pool. The warmth was small potatoes next to the scent, however, throat-punchingly potent and almost instantly dizzying, even while the source of the smell was so much higher above them, meaning Tommy himself and stacked-up tiers of goop alone were packing the aromatic heat.
Kyle was so used to finding himself in similar circumstances with Roberta, at first he didn't even notice that Tommy was stripped naked and lashed in place with elastic bands. At this point, witnessing such a thing was becoming commonplace for the boy, a realization which hit him almost as hard as the heady fog of Joanne's cunt juices. His own distorted perceptions aside, though, Kyle felt for his fellow therapy victim. The whole scene was almost too pathetic to look upon. While Roberta tended to keep her son around six inches so she could "feel" him better in their various activities, Kyle didn't envy Tommy the no-doubt doubled torment of being so small he couldn't even resist being submerged by the slowly-oozed sludge, damned to be worn as a panty ornament and only receiving an oxygen break by being given (almost) the worst seat in the house for witnessing his mom emptying herself of undesirable substances.
The relative quiet of the ladies' room was shattered, then, with the ripping of a full-bodied fart into Joanne's bowl so gnarly it made Kyle fall over from surprise. The sound was undeniably that of cheese-cutting from a woman with girth ample enough to really trumpet her pre-bowel movements, especially because Joanne grumbled with relief to remove any doubt of the culprit, but it was especially unpleasant hearing the windy force echo off the porcelain interior of the white throne, like a carnivorous animal growl and a shrieking ghost at once.
"Geesh, would it kill ‘em to crank the AC up in this building? Feels like a sauna," Joanne muttered in the puttering wake of her egregious gas-pass. She huffed, fanning her ruddy face, though it didn't appear to do much good. "Some of us tend to run a little hot-blooded, after all."
Once Kyle recovered and stood again, since the fart had startled him with the same ferocity of a nearby gunshot, he chanced another peek up at Joanne. After spending so much time with Roberta in all her plush frumpy glory, most other women seemed like rail-thin supermodels by comparison, yet the boy was flummoxed to discover up-close-and-personal that this other mammoth mother truly had his own beat in terms of sheer lardy scope. The toilet seat, large as it seemed to someone of Kyle's size, was grossly insufficient to contain Joanne's hindquarters, which spilled over the edges like a muffin top, especially while the cellulite smushed out in all directions from the weight of her gut and those enormous sandbag-breasts drooping all the way to her quads. Her collective pudge, from her calves to her tits, glimmered with sweat and vibrated while Joanne gritted her teeth with concentration, grunting and twisting her plain-jane features like a hideous Halloween mask until she found relief.
Kyle pinched his nose and turned his gaze back to the heap of skirt and panties at her feet, his stomach turning from the grisly chorus happening above, not to mention the stench, which somehow reached his lungs no matter how tightly he clamped his nostrils and lips shut. Though his odds of escape were still remote, the boy knew he had to get a move on before Roberta either discovered him wandering, or the zesty air of Joanne's business made him puke.
Right when Kyle's attention diverted back to poor hapless Tommy mired in the stagnant muck, however, he saw the smaller prisoner writhing and struggling to speak. The cum and sweat had crusted over his face, making it impossible to do more than softly squeal. Though it seemed the worst idea ever, Kyle knew from personal experience that he'd have given anything in the universe for a whiff of fresh air in such a position, and so he compassionately snuck up the pile of Joanne's discarded underthings into the hot zone. As he'd guessed, the terrain of the panties was soggy and stuck to Kyle's feet like a pub floor, but he muscled past the disgust to reach the three-inch victim. Biting his tongue to withhold a retch, he scraped away the semi-dried pussy glop sculpted around Tommy's little head, until the guy could gasp up much-needed air.
Those gulps turned to tortured coughing, which put Kyle instantly back in pre-panic mode. Though any sound Tommy made was mousey, reflective of his size, and the boys "luckily" had the thundering background noise of Joanne's groaning and toilet-splashing to disguise any shrunken whines from down in her underwear, even a slight chance of being caught made Kyle's insides flip, and this time it wasn't just the giantess's intestinal behavior making him sick.
"Quiet..." Kyle hissed as mutedly as possible.
"Oh, it's... it's you!" Tommy mumbled, immediately ignoring Kyle's advice by laughing aloud with soul-depth gratitude that could only come of seeing another human face after a dreadful cum-guzzling ass-burying week of experiencing nothing but his own fat-bottomed mom's raunchy privates. His tic-like show of happiness quickly returned to cold-eyed trauma, though, his expression empty as a marionette's. "Y-You... You gotta h-help me, man."
"Seriously, keep it down," Kyle whispered back.