The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the clearing as the adventurers settled in for the night. Aella stretched languidly, her movements deliberate and unhurried, before stepping into her sleeping bag. Max, still molded into the shape of her thong, felt the pressure of her body shift as she reclined, her enormous cheeks settling heavily against him. His face was snugly wedged in the warm crevice of her butt crack, his torso flattened and his legs twisted into the front panel and straps that held him in place.
God, this is humiliating, Max thought, his tiny body squished and compressed beneath the weight of Aella’s muscular backside. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the faint dampness of her sweat clinging to him. The scent was overpowering—musky, earthy, and undeniably feminine. His squeaky voice was muffled, trapped between her cheeks, making any attempt to speak futile.
Aella shifted slightly, the motion causing her buttocks to squeeze even tighter around Max. He winced, the pressure on his malleable body bordering on painful. “Mmm… comfy,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. Her hand lazily patted her rear, as if reassuring herself that Max was still there. The gesture sent a jolt of humiliation through him, his face burning despite the darkness.
Lyra, lying nearby on her bedroll, chuckled softly. “Sleep well, Aella. And you too, tiny thong man. Don’t let the big, scary barbarian crush you… too much.” Her tone was teasing, her grin audible even in the dim light.
Mira, ever the voice of concern, leaned over from her own sleeping bag. “Are you sure this is okay, Max? I mean, being… you know… there? It doesn’t seem very comfortable for you.”
Max wanted to scream, to argue, to beg for release, but all he could manage was a faint squeak. Aella, already half-asleep, grunted dismissively. “He’s fine. Isn’t that right, Max?” Her hand reached back again, giving her rear a firm squeeze. Max felt his entire body compress further, his face sinking deeper into the warm, sweaty cleft.
“See? He’s not complaining,” Aella said, her voice smug. “Quit worrying, Mira. He’s just a tool. Tools don’t need comfort.”
Lyra snorted. “Tools don’t need comfort, but they do need maintenance. You might want to give him a break, Aella. Or at least air him out. I can smell him from here.”
“Lyra!” Mira scolded, her cheeks flushing. “That’s not very nice.”
“What? I’m just saying,” Lyra replied with a shrug. “If I were a tiny, squishy man trapped in Aella’s butt crack, I’d want some fresh air too. But hey, maybe he’s into it. Who knows?”
Max wanted to protest, to deny it, but the truth was, there was a strange, undeniable thrill in his situation. The heat, the pressure, the sheer intimacy of being so close to Aella’s body—it was overwhelming, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His thoughts were a jumbled mess of embarrassment and curiosity, his tiny body tingling with sensations he couldn’t quite explain.
As the night deepened, the camp fell silent except for the soft rustling of leaves and the rhythmic breathing of the women. Aella’s breathing grew slow and even, her body relaxed in sleep. Max, however, was wide awake, his mind racing. The weight of her buttocks pressed down on him relentlessly, the heat and moisture of her skin enveloping him completely. He could feel every subtle shift of her body, every twitch of her muscles as she dreamed.
Then, it happened. A low, rumbling sound vibrated through Aella’s body, building in intensity until it erupted in a loud, unmistakable fart. The blast of warm air rushed over Max, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet night. He froze, his tiny body rigid with shock and disgust.
“Oh, gods,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Please, no. Not this. Anything but this.”
But Aella, still asleep, seemed completely unfazed. She shifted again, her cheeks pressing even tighter against Max as she released another, softer fart. This one was longer, a low, drawn-out sound that seemed to go on forever. Max’s face was buried in the warm, damp cleft, the smell and sensation overwhelming.
Lyra, who had been pretending to sleep, burst into quiet laughter. “Did you hear that? Aella just defiled poor Max. Oh, this is too good.”
Mira, though clearly trying to be sympathetic, couldn’t help but giggle. “Aella, you’re… um… you’re being a little rough on him.”
Aella stirred, her voice groggy. “What? What’s wrong now?”
“You’re farting on him,” Lyra said, her laughter barely contained. “It’s like you’re using him as a gas absorber.”
Aella sighed, her hand lazily patting her rear again. “Oh, relax. It’s just a fart. Max can handle it. Can’t you, Max?” She shifted her weight, her buttocks grinding against him as if to emphasize her point.
Max whimpered, his body squished and contorted beneath her. He wanted to protest, to demand some kind of dignity, but he knew it was pointless. Aella was in complete control, and there was nothing he could do about it.
As the night wore on, Max became hyper-aware of every sensation. The way Aella’s body heat seeped into him, the faint stickiness of her sweat, the occasional shifts of her weight that made him feel like he was being flattened into nothingness. It was a strange mix of discomfort and fascination, his tiny body reacting in ways he couldn’t fully understand.
At one point, Aella rolled onto her side, her movement pulling Max’s legs and straps taut. His face was still buried in her crack, but now his legs were stretched wide, the pressure on his malleable form increasing. He felt like he was being pulled in two directions at once, his body straining to maintain its shape.
“Mmm… better,” Aella murmured, her voice thick with sleep. She gave her rear another lazy squeeze, her fingers brushing against Max’s body. The touch sent a shiver through him, his tiny form trembling beneath her hand.
Lyra, still awake, grinned mischievously. “Looks like someone’s enjoying themselves. Isn’t that right, Max?”
Max’s face burned, his embarrassment mingling with a strange, tingling sensation that he couldn’t quite place. He wanted to deny it, to insist that he was just a tool, a piece of clothing, but the truth was, there was something undeniably thrilling about being so close to Aella’s body.
Mira, ever the mediator, spoke up softly. “Maybe we should let Max get some rest. He’s been through a lot today.”
“Rest? He’s a thong,” Aella replied, her tone dismissive. “He doesn’t need rest. He just needs to do his job.”
Lyra chuckled. “And what a job it is. I wonder what other jobs you have in mind for him, Aella.”
Aella’s lips curled into a sly smile, her fingers tracing the edge of Max’s form. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something.”
Max’s tiny body tensed, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through him. He didn’t know what the next day would bring, but one thing was certain—he was completely at the mercy of the women who towered over him.
The camp fell silent again, the women drifting off to sleep. Max, however, remained wide awake, his mind racing with thoughts of what might come next. The weight of Aella’s body pressed down on him, her warmth enveloping him completely. He could feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the faint shifts of her muscles as she dreamed.
And despite everything, despite the humiliation and the discomfort, there was a part of him that… didn’t entirely hate it.
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