It had started out as a great day for Ricky. He’d slept soundly, wondered if he’d ever slept so well. It was nice to wake up in the arms of a lover, one thick leg draped over his hips in a tender show of possession. That was always one tender, magical moment in a string of fleeting sexual conquests. But that was nothing compared to being sucked on by a huge, intimate orifice, embedded deep within the most beautiful, proud, round butt cheeks of a hot Latin lover. Nothing could be more snug than this close fit in a very personal place on this beautiful woman. Waking up to the narrow strip of light, the slim band of vision to the rest of the room running over the curve of one beautiful butt cheek and compressed by another weighing down from above… it was deliriously lovely, in a way he couldn’t have imagined. In the past, he’d looked forward to and taken great pleasure in blinding and suffocating himself by shoving his face deep into Miranda’s butt, but to see the world from the other direction, from the inside out, was spectacular.
He looked forward to a long morning of lounging around with her. Maybe she’d just lie there in bed, stretched out on her side, purring to him pleasantly like she used to do when they were together. She had the best morning-voice, creaky and husky. Just listening to her quietly moan “good morning, lover,” in her one-quarter-awake drowse, was enough to fully charge his cock and set it off seeking her private spaces. Didn’t matter if that was deep inside her pussy, crushed between her supple thighs, or grinding playfully between her tits.
Her breasts… at this size, what must they be like? Maybe she’d pull him out and wash him off and let him check out her tits. Hell, he could roam all over her body, and all she had to do was lay there, admire him, tell him where to go. He smiled broadly, his head stuffed full of planning a day exploring a giantess. It was real, it was happening, and here he was, jammed deep into the crevice of heaven.
He heard movement, the relative roar of linens crumpling under gross weight and dragging against each other. Familiar, but so much louder at his size. He heard footsteps like distant thunder, and yet his goddess lay reclining upon the landscape of her bed. Ricky was still a little muzzy, intoxicated on the body heat and life force of his immense lover, so it took some moments to put the pieces together, until they rushed to the end when a gigantic, meaty hand gripped the upper butt cheek and peeled it away like a giant tearing up the earth. The dream of immense feminine buttocks was shattered by a thick, long, heavy penis filling his vision—and, secondarily, by the roaring bovine voice of his rival, now exponentially larger than himself.
Despite being clutched possessively by Miranda’s anal sphincter, Ricky’s body frosted over with terror.
Ricky’s world heaved aside, and the slim band of sight wheeled crazily up the length of Bruce’s muscular, outrageously nude body, careening between the ceiling, the rumpled sheets, and darkness. Miranda’s voice was a high, sweet mewl that vibrated meekly throughout her lower hips and his entire body; Bruce’s voice released like a pent-up thunderstorm directly overhead. This massive, furious giant would make short work of Ricky, and the tiny man’s brain went into overdrive to imagine how that could play out. He could pinch the little man’s body out like a bloated tick and pop him like bubble wrap; he could press one buttock down upon the other and suffocate the helpless little guy in minutes; he could simply poke him all the way inside her rectum with one thick, stern, unyielding finger and keep her from running away until his tiny life snuffed out in the small, dark chamber of feces.
He started to panic. The last thing he wanted to see was Bruce’s huge fingertips squirming into this private space to yank him away… no, actually, there was something he wanted even less to witness, but he refused to allow his brain to fully form that scenario. Terror turned to adrenaline, and he struggled to extricate himself from the giant butthole. Her anal wrinkles tucked nicely into his armpits as he strained to turn himself in such a way that he could leverage his exposed arms against the valley of her ass, yet this was asking for too much. He’d been snugged tightly in her sphincter all night long, and hours of its sticky kisses congealed into a significant bond: her moist ring clutched his ribs and stuck to his skin, making his desire to turn even a few degrees a distant dream, and his goal of pulling himself out, absolutely forbidden.
This was horrible. This was horrible! What was he supposed to do to protect himself? At least if Miranda could fart or something, maybe that would open up enough room to work with. Did she ever fart in the mornings, first thing? Was that a thing she did? Ricky struggled to recall: no, she was always bashful about that. She would actually get up out of bed and trot through his apartment to poot in his bathroom, with the door closed.
That would be great! If she had to fart now, she could run to the bathroom and take care of him! He’d hide himself somewhere securely, somewhere Bruce couldn’t reach without a crowbar or a power saw. But as the titans’ argument raged on, it came clear that Bruce wasn’t letting Miranda get away.
Damn. That was another matter entirely. If that big, stupid side of industrial-farmed beef hauled off and smacked her… Ricky couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t protect her, he couldn’t throw his spindly runner’s body into the brute’s midsection, in vain hope of toppling that chiseled marble tower. All he could do was nestle down where poop came out and bear silent, helpless witness to his beautiful, sweet lover getting brutalized by a first-generation upright walker.
He lay there, wrapped up tightly in her intimate tissues, listening with a mixture of dread and needing to know. After a minute it came apparent that, somehow, the lovely, sweet woman was talking the stupid giant down. Ricky couldn’t hear the details, but he was familiar with his ex’s wiles, her gift with language, the way she could reach into his troubled chest and play his heart like a Spanish guitar until everything seemed fine again. He was so impressed with her right now, putting her skills to the test by placating this nescient beast. Gently he stroked one immense hillside of succulent flesh, encouraging her, thanking her for her heavy labor.
More noises, laughter, shouting. What was going on out there? Abruptly his personal world upended: the giantess sprang from the bed and stood, turning Ricky almost completely upside down. Now, from between her hanging caramel spheres, he saw the backs of her thighs and the broad landscape of hardwood floor. “Now, Miranda,” he spoke, “run. Go for it. Lock yourself in the bathroom, get me out of here.” Just below him was the vast stretch of her thighs, marked in places where they lay against the folds of messy bed sheets. “Just step back, say what you have to to calm him down, and sprint for the bathroom.” Her thighs ran down to the irresistible mounds of her slim calves, hairless, glowing in ambient morning light. Ricky wanted to shout loud enough for Miranda to hear him, but not loud enough for Bruce to hear his coaching. “Throw yourself across the room. That lummox can’t move fast enough to catch you. Just zip on over to the bathroom, lock the door, and we’re in the clear.” Below her calves, her bare heels peeked cutely, pressed against the floorboards. One or the other squashed subtly as she shifted her weight, arguing with the brainless ape on the other side of the bed. If anyone could steer the locomotive of Bruce’s unthinking fury, it would be her, but there came a time when you had to cut your losses, realize the ape was just an ape, and fucking get out of there. “Just fucking get us out of here,” Ricky pleaded. His thin voice got lost within the narrow valley of her buttery-sweet ass, and the storm outside raged on.
Gradually, the storm abated. Ricky’s eyes went huge, trying to take in more information, but all he could see were his ex’s pleasingly plump thighs and a snatch of discarded clothing, in the narrow gap where her planetary butt cheeks didn’t squash together. No… the scene changed. One mountainous buttock tensed, the other swayed, and the floorboards slowly glided far below his roost. “Yes, yes! Miranda, get us out of here!” His diminutive palms smacked against the interior of her immense butt cheek, though there was no way she could detect his enthusiasm, certainly. Then one heel raised up, grew closer to his perspective, exposed one pink and tender sole as the edge of the mattress drifted into view once more. What was… no, no, no! She was climbing back onto the bed! How could she? This had to be part of her plan, some master scheme to lull Bruce into a false sense of security, yes, to make her escape more effective and less risky. Miranda was smart, that had to be what she was doing. She wouldn’t crawl right back into bed with her tormentor. Other women would, sure, but not Miranda. Ricky knew Miranda was as smart and cunning as she was lovely. She was a strong woman who knew how to stand up for herself (obviously, as she tossed Ricky to the curb the one time she caught him cheating on her). She wouldn’t crawl back into the arms of an abusive Cro-Magnon. How could she?
The yelling was done, at least. Miranda murmured, vibrating ticklishly throughout Ricky’s body, and Bruce murmured back. There was no anger in his voice, and there was no worry in hers. Okay, good, she was winning him over, but any minute now surely she’d excuse herself and step into the bathroom and take care of him. Right? That had to be what happened next. He trusted her, Ricky had faith in Miranda’s judgment and abilities. She wouldn’t let him down.
The room spun around once more, and Ricky could see the ceiling again. That meant the bed was “behind” him, or under him actually, because Miranda’s butt was poking up like she was about to lie down on her front. Prone, that was, lying prone and not supine. What was supine? The opposite of prone? Yes, Miranda was getting prone, and Ricky was positioned supine, on his back, facing up at the ceiling that, somehow, he could see unobstructed.
The huge butt cheeks parted once more, allowing cooler air to flow into the valley and wash over his body. He stared at the ceiling a moment longer, wondering why her butt cheeks didn’t close up once she lay flat upon the bed. No, she was sticking her rear up in the air and her cheeks were spread, but that would expose him to…
He arched his neck and looked behind him, where Bruce’s malevolent face hovered, upside-down, larger than a house. The brute’s breath was hot and stinky, and his voice growled in a basso profundo to shatter any stones in the miniaturized man’s kidneys. “Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Fee-fi-fo-fum, and all that bullshit.” Large nostrils flared above Ricky’s head, spreading pits of shadow that threatened to suck him up, which still would’ve been preferable to the spreading maw of gleaming white teeth too, too close to his head. “You’re going to die way too soon for me to be satisfied with it. Are you ready?” The teeth split and exposed a perilously large cavern of slimy, pink tissues, and Bruce’s large, thick tongue twitched horribly as the tunnel of his throat flexed with cruel laughter. Ricky’s screams bounced off his molars and sailed down his throat, “nothing but net” as the expression went.