Lunch Buddies: Hard to Swallow

I ask Tana Hands, my titanic coworker, what’s for lunch, again. She’s gotten a burrito bowl, and I know what’s coming next. She picks up one of those new corn-plastic spoons that can be composted, and she shoves all the burrito ingredients out of one end of the recycled paper bowl. It amuses her to pluck me up by the shirt collar, between her thumb and forefinger. She would lift me to her face and dangle me threateningly over her open mouth, of course, but we’re out in public and she is denied this one single pleasure. Fine with me, because one time she lost her grip and I caused her a violent choking fit for which she wouldn’t forgive me for weeks, even though this was explicitly literally out of my control.

Instead, she deposits me in the corner of her bowl, and she commences to digging in. Now my shirt and dress slacks are stained with pussy juices, saliva, and guacamole. She can scrub me up in the bathroom sink, I guess, but I’m glad there aren’t any meetings this afternoon. Her spoon descends from the heavens like a meteorite and strikes not far from my thin and tiny legs, scraping across the coarse paper to shovel up a load of beans, rice, salsa, and shredded cheese. Tana’s eyes light up, from far above, and she slowly heaves the payload of Mexican mess toward my head.

“Eat up, little Archie,” she purrs, “so you can grow up to be big and strong.” She laughs inordinately at her own joke, like always. “Big and strong to give your Tana the love she needs…” Uh-oh. Her voice falters and the spoon slowly dips into my lap. I look up at her expression, and her eyes are growing distant and misting over. Her mood’s starting to slip from a peak into a valley, and if it plunges too deeply, too quickly, my safety truly is in question. Of course I’m concerned about my hurting giantess, of course, but she has no such consideration for me when she’s in one of her moods.

Thinking quickly, I holler up in protest. “Tana! You dumped your lunch all over me!” It’s true: her slackening grip on the compostable spoon let slip all her food onto my shirt front and slacks. “I’m a mess, look at me!”

She does, thankfully. Her eyes clear up and grow round again, and her puffy pink lips form a near-perfect O. Even her nostrils flare, and for some reason I find even this sexy, as though she could snort me up into her head… which doesn’t sound sexy, out loud, but le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.

“You’re a mess,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, I dumped that all over you. You’re a mess!” She laughs behind her massive hand once more.

 “What are you going to do about this?” I gesture sweepingly, indicating the entirety of my disaster.

One of her dark eyebrows arches mischievously.

I make a show of pretending to hide a smile. “I guess there’s only one thing to do, huh?”

She nods, her hair bouncing ridiculously around her tremendous skull. It bounces with an energy I find irresistible. Why are the crazy ones always the hottest? With all the warning flags that go off in my head every time Tana calls my name, I am nevertheless entirely under her spell. Her bright and shiny teeth glint in the fast food joint’s fluorescent lighting, and her compostable spoon slips expertly beneath my bottom. My shoulder blades rest around the stem of her flatware, my spindly legs dangle over the edge of the scoop, and I slowly gain altitude.

Tana’s huge eyes dart left and right, and then the corners of her lips spread in a smile, and her jaw spreads open as she ushers me into the darkness. Me, a tiny little businessman with a small hill of burrito stuffings atop me, my thighs spread open to her sharp, perfect teeth, to her thick, writhing tongue, and to the sphincter at the top of her throat that opens and twitches shut spasmodically. All of this is terrifying and hopelessly alluring to me, all at once, and I’d do anything for Tana to keep her happy and to remain in her possession. I know this, I’m convinced of it, as my feet drag roughly over her molars and darkness surrounds me. My head bumps against her upper lip, where it wipes the corn-plastic down and pulls all the food and all the tiny little businessman free of the spoon.

I lie in the sultry darkness, feeling Tana’s tongue twitch unconsciously beneath my dampened shirt. I tuck in my arms and legs as her rows of powerful, unstoppable teeth click and clamp into place. I’m locked in, absolutely, that’s her message to me. I couldn’t punch my way through her wall of pearly whites, and there’s only one exit open to me. I wouldn’t take it, myself, but she feels the need to remind me it’s there if I feel like causing her trouble.

Yet I’m unsure what comes next. Tana’s just sitting there, her tongue relatively motionless under me. I hear her roaring breath through the roof of her mouth, her sexy-ass nostrils sucking in air and blasting it back out, but the air in this cavern is humid and still.

I reach up and run my fingertips along the roof of her mouth, along that little ridge that starts from the node just behind her two front incisors and runs back to that bony mound right before her epiglottis. This is a mistake: she’s incredibly ticklish there, and she powerfully mashes me against the roof of her mouth, squashing me with the amazing muscles in her tongue. I can’t fight against that, so I have to patiently wait until she’s done flattening me, until the ticklishness in the roof of her mouth has died down. Worse, her throat opened up extra-wide to permit some deafening laughter into my little chamber. She won’t open her mouth, so it would sound like bursts of low humming to anyone else, but to me it’s a very physical vibration, an assault of sound. I clamp my hands over my tiny ears, for all the good that does: Tana’s laughter pulses through every blood-damp muscle and tissue in my body. I feel as though my limbs could explode, but then it passes and I pause to catch my breath.

On a whim, I grip the tips of the premolars on my right, bracing myself with slim fingers on sharp and polished bone, and I slowly roll over on her tongue. All the food is now plastered over her papillae, which should please them, and I can wrap my arms around the broad, pink bedding of her tongue. I can latch my knees just north of the base of her tongue, and I can hug her with all of my limbs, no errant limbs dangling above the void of her esophagus. I’m more or less secure here, and once secure, I nuzzle my face into the soft, squirming tip of her tongue.

Tana responds well to this. The tip of her tongue caresses my cheeks, running over my eyes and forehead, rubbing bluntly into the side of my skull in her attempt to tease my ear. It’s cute, in a way. Her tongue narrows and becomes firm, and I clench it as hard as I can; it widens and flattens and becomes much softer, and through the sour cream and guac I thrust my hips into it. I don’t know how sensitive her feeling is there, if she can tell the difference between my tiny erection and an al dente black bean. Yet her tongue arches and tenses right beneath my hips, and it grinds against my hips, making up for in massive force and pliant tissue what it lacks in fine dexterity, perhaps. It’s delightful, is what I’m trying to say, and I hug her tongue gratefully, sour cream and puréed beans gooshing out from under my abs and chest.

Now she’s purring. That’s what I call it, that low, rumbling hum that would sound childish and sweet outside of her head. Here, in this moist, soft, smelly chamber, it reverberates everywhere and sets my skin in goosebumps… in a good way. If I’m going to be completely honest, I like the way the deep noise in her throat rattles up my butt. It’s a little invasive, but it’s coming from someone I adore so I tolerate it through the initial surprising moment, and then I welcome it. It’s a kind of paradox, that this beautiful giantess can still reach up inside me, so slight and delicate, and tease me from the inside out.

I’m done apologizing for how my mind wanders, by the way. Caveat lector.

That deep-inside purring/rattling is intensely arousing, and my cock is just getting harder and harder inside my pants. Hugging Tana’s wriggling tongue with my strong right arm, I snake my left hand down below my belly and unlatch my belt, unbutton my fly, and cinch my pants down over my hips to mid-thigh, exposing my throbbing cock to the rippling surface of my giantess’ tongue. And then I just go crazy, digging my fingers into the soft tendons beneath her tongue, dragging and grinding my penis into her taste buds, which is just an amazing sensation at my size, let me tell you. All those thousands of soft little nubs racing up and down against the most sensitive underside of my cock, it’s just insane.

I have no idea what she’s doing outside of her head right now. Maybe her hands are resting on the table, maybe she’s pretending to read her e-reader, or maybe she’s frozen in the middle of lifting one more spoonful of food into her mouth, eyes half-lidded, lazily grinning as though truly savoring that last bite of burrito insides. Exquisite, the interplay of seasoned rice and tender chicken, that’s what she’s trying to transmit to the rest of the restaurant while a crazed and microscopic businessman just goes to town on her tongue, behind those tender pink lips. Whatever she’s doing, she’s going to have to keep doing it until I’m done.

Which is coming up soon. I cry out, not caring who can possibly hear me, and I drive my bare face into her taste buds. The tip of her tongue curls and cups around my head, hugging me in its way, and her moaning goes straight up my butt and up my spine, electrifying my brain. My thighs flex powerfully, even for a tiny guy like me, and I clamp down hard on her tongue as the tension builds up in my hips. My butt clenches, my arms throttle her struggling tongue, and I run my own tongue through her taste buds as the spasms start, my hips buck, and my orgasm explodes.

I hold my breath through it all. I’m not a screamer, I’m dead silent when I come. I don’t know why. I have my arms double-locked around the narrow part of Tana’s tongue, clenching my jaw and screwing up my eyes as I lock two lungfuls of air in my chest. My legs are kicking, still clutching the thick base of her tongue, but kicking and bucking as the semen just spurts and spurts all over her papillae. She must taste this, through the sour cream and guac and everything else, I must be producing so much semen that she has to taste it. There’s no way she can’t.

I’m hugging Tana’s tongue, and it massages my little body into the roof of her mouth. I’m hugging her tongue and it flattens and spreads over me, covering me like an eiderdown. I’m hugging her tongue, coming so hard and spraying all over her tongue, all over my shirt, just everywhere, and she starts sucking on me.

My orgasm’s not done and Tana’s sucking me into the back of her throat. Now I’m clinging for dear life, which only kicks up the intensity of my orgasm, and I’m coming harder and struggling to stay in her mouth, but my arms are getting tired. Her tongue is working me now, slowly rippling over my body, working me as though I were a penis and not her diminutive coworker. Her tongue strokes my face and chest, and it pulses around my sides, wiping everything off my shirt and belly, and it flexes and ripples and drags me back.

Now my legs are finally dangling in her throat, having gone over the last ridge of her tongue. My arms are expended, only my fingertips can desperately claw at the tip of her tongue or her lower row of incisors, tucked neatly behind her upper row, but there’s no room for grip, and then my fingers are too weak from trying. And my cock is coming all over the last ridge at the base of her tongue, before it drops off into her throat. My cock is starting to spurt down her throat, I’m sure of it.

My head is dizzy, I’ve forgotten to breathe. The carbon dioxide explodes from my lungs and I gulp fresh lungfuls of air… but it’s only Tana’s exhaled breath. She hasn’t parted her puffy lips to let any air in, I’m only breathing her leftovers, heavy with Mexican spices and meat. There’s not enough to nourish my own lungs, so I begin to hyperventilate, trying to get enough oxygen, and her tongue is working me into her throat, her goddamned throat.

I can’t go down there. Tana, you can’t eat me. You can’t, I have to go back to work. They’ll miss me, Tana, and you were the last person seen with me. What will you tell them, Tana? How will you tell them I disappeared? When they pull the security recordings, and they see you bending down and shoving your full, round ass at me, and they see me disappear inside your pussy, mostly, how will you explain that?

Is the scant nutrition I could provide you worth losing your job, Tana? Is it worth murder charges?

She can’t possibly hear my thoughts, but Tana starts to laugh. It rumbles gently around me, making my skin shiver. My damp pants bunch up around my ankles and I think my wallet falls out of them, tumbling into her insatiable throat. Goddamn it. She’s not going to look for that in her poop, not as a special favor to me. Goddamn it, Tana, and now my weakening arms slip around the thickest part of her tongue, the base, as my abs and my chest slide down over the ridge and my legs dangle and my feet feel… I can’t think about it, I won’t… my feet bump up against…

Light floods Tana’s mouth, her lips and teeth part, and one thick finger with one glossy, painted nail races into my little cavern. Tana coughs, her throat seizes around me and pushes my legs upward, and I do my best to wrap my arms around her index finger. She scrapes her nail over the bumpy papillae to make sure I don’t slip off, and my tiny body comes sliding over her tongue into the cold, fresh air. She quickly cups her hand around her lips and I tumble into her palm. She slips me surreptitiously into her recycled paper bowl, as though I’m so much unwanted gristle.

I collapse in the coagulating chicken juices and sour cream, panting desperately, my tiny chest rising and falling as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings, surely. I look up to see Tana regarding me in her barely contained amusement, as she does. She’s smiling, her eyes are glittering. She doesn’t have any idea that she nearly killed me. Or else she does, and that’s just the punchline for her.

Well, I knew she was simple and crazy when I got into this with her. Should I someday find myself dissolving in her stomach, I’ll have no one to blame but myself. Warning flags, and all that.

Tana finishes her lunch, grinning at my distress, cooing over my complaints and insistence she not kill me. Literally cooing, like an affectionate and monstrous pigeon. What the hell’s up with that?

“Tana, you really nearly killed me this time!” I shout, knowing full well the ambient noise of the fast food joint will drown me out. “You nearly swallowed me for real! Do you know that?”

“Ooh, coo-coo-coo,” she says. What the fuck.

She finishes her lunch, scoops me into her tender palm and trots off to the ladies room. She blocks the drain with paper towels, fills up a basin of warm water and spurts liquid soap all over my fully clothed body and legs. (I did lose my wallet, by the way, down Tana’s uncomprehending gullet. I have to call my credit card companies when I get back to the desk. Again.) Couching me gently between her palms, she rubs her hands back and forth and gets me all frothy, and I have to hold my breath as the artificial lavender suds rise up and overpower me. A flood of warm water carries it all away, and Tana tumbles me from palm to palm to rinse all the soap, food, spittle, and girl-juices off. I can’t describe what I see, not just because I’ll get soap in my eyes but because the action is so violently spinny I’ll get sick if I watch. Tana’s hands are warm and soft, however.

And then she wraps me up in a paper towel and wicks off most of the moisture, and I cup my palms over my ears as she holds me beneath the largely ineffectual hot air dryer. Tana does a good job of it, however, and by the time she sets me back at my desk, I’m as lightly damp as I’d be if I’d gone out for a hard walk in summer. She takes care of me, I have to admit.

“You have to be more careful with me, Tana,” I tell her before she leaves my cubicle. “I really love our time together, but I don’t want to die.”

She kneels on the floor before my chair and rests her head close to me, her huge round eyes leering at me, her sensual lips split in a crazy grin. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to you, Archie,” she whispers, “and you’ll like it.” Her body shoots up to the heavens like a rocket, she spins on her heel and gives me a flash of her plump butt before striding off to her desk.

I wish she weren’t right.

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