Dylan lay pinned in the tight, warm crease of the teacher’s shorts, the fabric and skin forming a snug cocoon around his rice-grain-sized body. The teacher’s weight pressed down, unyielding, as the classroom’s noise faded to a distant hum. The faint scratch of a pen echoed above, signaling the teacher was grading papers. “Great,” Dylan muttered, his voice muffled. “Teach is in for the long haul.”
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The heat was stifling, the teacher’s cologne and the lingering fart creating a bizarre sensory mix. Dylan’s thrill began to wane, replaced by restlessness. “Can’t just sit here,” he whispered, wriggling against the fabric. His tiny movements were barely perceptible, but the teacher’s body tensed slightly, a subtle shift in the massive frame above.
Dylan froze. “Uh-oh.” The teacher’s hand moved, a shadow passing over the chair as fingers brushed the seat. Dylan’s heart raced as the teacher’s deep voice muttered, “What the…?” The world tilted. Massive fingers plucked Dylan from his fabric prison, the sensation like being lifted by a crane. Air rushed past as he was hoisted upward, the teacher’s face a distant blur. “Just an itch,” the teacher grumbled, assuming Dylan was lint or debris.
Before Dylan could react, the teacher’s hand moved, placing him on the chair’s cushion—directly behind himself. The teacher’s plump ass loomed like a descending moon, casting a shadow over Dylan’s tiny form. “Oh, crap, not again!” Dylan yelped, scrambling to decide his next move as the teacher began to sit.
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