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Author's Chapter Notes:

Rated PG-13 for portrayals of excessive alcohol use. A bit more panty entrapment, masturbation, and vaginal insertion.

Holy shit, you got lucky.

Vivianne tripped over herself as she tried to kick off her shoes, and fell into her door, slamming it shut as she did so. She locked the deadbolt as an afterthought, and, back against the door, finished pulling off her shoes. Her left sock came off as well, and she was fine with that.

The squirming between her legs was impossible to ignore at this point. "Calm down," she muttered, "You'll get your turn."

That cop was right at the entrance to her neighborhood. When those lights went off, she thought that she was fucked for sure, but some poor sap had rolled through the stop sign behind her, and she was able to sail through without a problem. That third Irish Car Bomb... No... Irish Republican Army... That had been a mistake.

She'd never do that again. She had made it home safe this time, but she was a doctor. She should have known better.

If you're gonna get hammered, do it in the privacy of your own home like a proper alcoholic, and don't get behind the wheel.

Her little 'virus vector' was especially active right now, as if he somehow knew what was going to happen. Her left hand drifted up to her chest, and she massaged her nipple with a quiet moan. We got two days and a handle of rum, she thought. You ready, little guy?

She stripped her shirt and shimmied off her jeans as she made her way to the kitchen, leaving them both crumpled up in a pile in the hallway. Garbed in nothing but her bra, panties, and a single sock, she ripped open the door to her freezer and pulled out an almost-full bottle of Captain Morgan. She unscrewed the cap and was about to take a swig before she caught her reflection in the dark glass of her microwave.

The woman who looked back at her in that tiny window was someone she barely recognized. She grimaced. "You look like shit," she said at the other woman.

The stranger said it right back to her. Vivianne shook her head and tossed back the bottle, pouring far more of it down her throat than was healthy. She only stopped when the burn of the alcohol forced her to stop, and she doubled over, coughing violently, spraying a mouthful of rum all over her kitchen floor.

"Fuck," she sputtered, wiping her mouth. She looked at the bottle she had just quaffed. That was one shot? Two? Ten? Whatever. She screwed the cap on and tossed it back into the freezer.

"Alcohol poisoning. Whatever," she muttered. She knew exactly what she was doing but she was far too drunk to care. Her right hand drifted between her legs and started to gently massage the lump in the crotch of her panties. "You wanna have some fun, little guy?"

She liked to imagine that he said yes. He had volunteered for this, after all, and hadn't shown anything but satisfaction with their relationship over the last few weeks. Despite his insistence that he "liked it rough," she had been as careful with him as she could manage. She was a doctor, after all, and she had to trust the science. Through observational study, the science had shown that the most shrunken victims of the virus exhibited remarkable physical resiliency, which was why she was comfortable leaving him in her panties for so long in the first place. But the science said nothing about whether a victim of the virus could survive a night inside her vagina.

So she had been careful. And she would be careful tonight. She stumbled towards her room, then, leaning against the doorway, thought better of it, and stumbled back to the kitchen. After taking a second swig of rum, she bumper-bowled down the hallway back to her bedroom, and slid underneath the blankets. With the fan, the cool fall air, and the weighted blanket, she was as snug as she could be.

With a moan, her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her panties.

It wasn't the first time that Francis had felt the giantess' fingers slide into his cotton-bound prison of flesh. It wasn't the first time that he had watched those massive fingers, each one larger than his entire body, hone in on the sensitive button of sexuality that remained tucked invisibly under a layer of brown, wrinkled flesh. It wasn't the first time that he had been forced to suffer the uncomfortable treatment of her knuckles beating against his body as her fingers ran furious circles aroud her most sensitive organ.

The noise of it, the heat, the flecks of lubricant that splattered across his face as her fingers worked their furious task, none of it was new, but it was still absolutely incredible to see. The stunning flexibility of that soft flesh between her legs, the rich and diverse colors that were hidden between her legs, beneath the lithe figure of her body, it was what he lived for. It was why he had volunteered to serve the giantess like this.

What he didn't expect was her middle finger placed against his back. He didn't expect the insistent force of her hand pushing him deeper into her crotch. His heart stopped, his breath froze, and her probing middle finger slid his legs effortlessly into her vagina.

Francis' eyes bulged. He was inside her now, the place that he knew could very well kill him. He fought, he kicked and punched, but, to the giantess, he was barely even a toy. He screamed, begging for her to stop, but nobody could hear him.

He was buried up to his waist inside her. Her vagina wrapped tight around his lower body. In an ironic way, it was almost like a condom, but made of flesh. His arms and torso were free, and he could get a little bit of leverage to push himself out, but he was too small, and the burning hot, blood-flushed flesh was too soft. He tried to kick his way out, but it was like trying to kick his way out of quicksand.

Hot, wet, fleshy quicksand. Above him, the noisy, fluid-soaked chaos of her masturbation continued, seemingly unaware of his increasingly desperate situation. Around him, her hips rocked back and forth in pleasure, making it that much harder for him to pull himself to safety.

He heard the giantess' distant, breathy gasp as she reached some kind of plateau of pleasure. Her pelvic muscles clamped down hard around his legs and surged forwards, actually pushing him a little further out of her.

Oh, thank God. He kept pushing against her, and, when her muscles relaxed, he managed to avoid sinking any further in. With her panties still pressing against his back, there was only so much leverage he could get to pull himself completely free, but at least his situation wasn't getting any worse.

He heard her let out a moan, and then her middle two fingers pushed down on his shoulders. He yelped in protest but it was useless. In one, effortless motion, she pushed his entire body all the way inside her vagina.

No, no, no, no. It had happened so quick that he could barely believe it. His arms were hanging over his head, and, in a desperate last chance, he tried to grip onto her fingers, but his hands slipped, and her fingers pulled out in an instant. The fleshy pink walls, glistening with fluid and coated in milky white secretion, came crashing down on top of him as the bulk of her fingers left. The soft, pliant flesh slowly wrapped tighter and tighter around his body, closing in on every curve and pressing ruthlessly against his face.

If he looked up, or out, technically, it was the only way he could even have a pocket of space in front of him to breathe. But, as her vagina continued to relax, tightening around him, that tiny space got smaller and smaller, the fleshy walls squeezing together in the absense of the body of her fingers. His heart raced as he watched his tiny air pocket shrink, filling with the fluid that seeped out of every inch of the flesh around him.

He took in an unexpected mouthful of fluid, and coughed, twisting his head to get another unobstructed breath of steamy, sex-reeking air. He dragged his hands down and tried to push the walls aside in order to open up a pocket to breathe. But he was too small and too weak to get more than a few inches of space; what she had been able to do effortlessly with her two fingers, he couldn't do no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't even push far enough to lock his arms out, and his shaking muscles gave out after less than a minute.

She responded to his efforts with her pelvic muscles clenching hard again. The pressure was incredible; it enveloped his entire body, squeezing him tighter than anything he had experienced in weeks spent in her panties. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, competing in volume with Vivianne's, and it lasted for so long that he started to see stars in his vision before it finally let up.

When it finally did let up, he took a deep, desperate breath, but drew in more fluid than air, leaving him coughing violently. His limbs thrashed instinctively, seeking any reprieve from this claustrophobic, suffocating reality, but none came. With every breath, more and more fluid slid down his throat, hot, slimy, and salty.

At some point, Francis wasn't sure when, he came to the realization that he had been breathing more fluid than air this whole time. He could feel it sitting heavy and hot in his lungs, sliding in and out of his mouth. The unrelenting pressure of the flesh around him, the feeling of fluid coating his entire body, with no escape possible, still had his heart racing and his mind panicking, but he had some glimmer of realization that he was okay. Somehow, impossibly, he was okay.

Her vaginal walls squeezed hard around him another time, turning harder and squeezing tighter for a longer time than they had before. Air or bodily fluids, he didn't even have the room to draw breath. When it finally subsided, he gasped instinctively, and he realized belatedly that he drew in nothing but the giantess' vaginal lubricant, without a single problem.

God. He was alive! He had survived that thing that he was nearly certain would kill him. And, though his panic still nagged at him, still kept him involuntarily pushing back against the fleshy walls that surrounded him, he realized that he was, somehow, totally safe. He wasn't sure of the limitations of his survivability, and he wasn't really sure how to press the boundaries of it, but this was still a huge discovery. Suppressing his instinctive panic, he took a deep, uncertain breath. He felt the slimy, cloudy white discharge line his throat, and he felt its heat fill him, but he was totally fine.

Outside, Vivianne kept masturbating, seemingly unaware of the fact that she had just tried to kill him. He didn't care. This accidental discovery added a whole new realm of possibility to his relationship with the giantess.

Her pussy squeezed hard around him yet again, downright painful this time. But panic had been largly replaced with arousal, and he was fully erect by the time her pelvic muscles relaxed. This had gone from a terrifying death to the hottest thing he could imagine in seconds. The taste of her, the heat of her, the pressure of her flesh enveloping his entire body. She frantic beat of her heart, the sensation of being carried along with hips that rocked in wild pleasure.

He gyrated his own hips, grinding his dick against the soft walls that entombed his body. As Vivianne rode her path to pleasure, he could ride his own. What was one more tiny shot of bodily fluid amidst the endless flow that surrounded him?

The giantess' orgasm was abundantly clear. Through the infinite walls of flesh that surrounded him, he could practically hear her blissful gasps, and her pelvic muscles clenched down hard. Hard. Harder than anything he had ever felt. His joints cracked, his limbs couldn't budge an inch, his lungs were driven empty and he couldn't draw breath no matter how hard he tried. Fixated, immoblized, in a tomb of flesh that had turned to stone, he could do nothing but ride along as her hips twitched helplessly in the throes of impossible pleasure.

He had been just about to finish, but, even though he couldn't move, in this incredibly erotic, incredibly intimate moment, his cock flexed, trapped between his belly and her vagina, and his entire body shuddered as he came. The tiny dribble of semen was lost almost immediately to the slimy, milky white mix of vaginal discharge and lubricant.

Her descent from ecstasy was longer than his. Even after relaxing briefly, her vaginal walls clenched him over and over and over and over again, weaker and briefer each time. Finally, he heard a shuddering gasp, and it was over. His world was soaked in fluid and reverberated with her pounding heartbeat, the flesh around him was burning hot against his skin, but it was finally over.

Gravity shifted, and his soft surroundings ground against him as well. She was rolling over? Maybe she would get him out?

But then she was still. For one minute. Five. Ten. Her heartbeat began to slow, to grow quieter and quieter, and still she didn't move. He lay there, uncertain what was happening, what she had planned. But she wasn't moving. At all.

Ah, fuck. She had passed out, he realized. She was drunk, she didn't realize what she was doing to him, and she had passed out after masturbating in her own bed. Thank God he had survived it, but now he had to endure a night spent in her vagina.

He took a deep, experimental breath, verifying that he could in fact still survive filling his lungs with the goddess' bodily fluids. He had been breathing it this whole time, but it still seemed unbelievable. It didn't hurt him, it didn't kill him. In fact, after surviving the crucible of her masturbation, it didn't even seem that unusual.

He was buried head to toe inside her, completely and inseparably a part of her body, experiencing every texture and taste of her most intimate organ. In his own post-orgasm clarity, it wasn't really arousing anymore, but it was still incredible.

Although he would be lying if he didn't admit that it was a bit boring.

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