By: maximally
PART 1
Rubbing his eyes and taking another groggy look around, Max immediately pieced together his location. To his right, he found a sleek leather couch littered with abandoned coffee cups and half-eaten pastries. To his left, a mahogany bookshelf loomed like a skyscraper, crammed with academic journals and framed photos of stern-faced women. Behind him, a massive flatscreen TV silently played a news segment about the Ventus varsity wrestling team's latest victory. Putting it all together, he realized he'd woken up in the faculty lounge of the administrative building—a place he'd only ever seen in passing during his orientation.
If Ventus's sorority houses were the beating heart of the school, the administrative building was its brain—cold, calculating, and utterly indifferent to the chaos unfolding elsewhere on campus. It was where the school's most powerful women gathered to discuss policy and sip espresso—and yes, they were mostly women. If Max's first month on campus was any indication, the university struggled to attract and retain male faculty members just as much as it struggled to attract and retain male students.
Realizing where he was, the freshly-shrunken freshman's stomach twisted. The faculty at Ventus were legends in their own right, each more imposing than the last. At a school like this, the staff who stuck around tended to be tough as nails—no-nonsense women who knew exactly what they wanted, and how to get it. For some reason, they also tended to be very, very big.
Thinking through all the teachers and faculty members he'd met in the last month, Max grimaced. None of them seemed like ideal candidates to help him out right now. Then again, he wasn't getting off this table by himself any time soon. Fortunately, or unfortunately, before he could spend any more time trying to game the whole situation out, he heard the door open on the other side of the room.
When Max turned around, his heart rate tripled. Standing in the doorway was a silver-haired Indian amazon, a woman he knew all too well. This was Riya Chandra—Ventus's top on-campus psychiatrist, the mother of House Juno's most infamous current member, and Max's Intro to Psychology professor.
Up until this moment, Riya had existed in Max's mind as little more than a distant fantasy, a voluptuous goddess whose curves he'd admired from the safety of the back row of her class. She regularly spent half of every lecture talking about her love for "troubled young men" with a smile that made the entire class squirm. Many of his more assertive male classmates had already taken her up on her constant offers to stop by her office after class—including his roommate, Zeke, who'd returned from their first "session" together so thoroughly drained that he'd barely been able to string a sentence together for several hours afterwards. Now, though, with all six feet, four inches and 217 pounds of her towering over him with an air of casual amusement, she felt like something else entirely.
As she surveyed the room, her deep brown eyes — sharp, knowing, and framed by smoky eyeshadow — landed on him almost immediately. Her gaze was paralyzing, a mix of clinical curiosity and something far more primal.
"My, my," Riya murmured, her voice a rich, velvety purr. "That's new."
She stepped forward, the click of her slip-on dress shoes muffled by the plush carpet. The scent of her jasmine perfume drifted toward him, mingling with a faint, musky undertone of sweat. Max swallowed hard as she approached, his gaze helplessly drawn to the way her frilly green blouse strained against her double D-cup breasts, the top buttons left deliberately undone to reveal a boundless expanse of cleavage.
Riya crouched in front of the coffee table, her black chinos stretching over her monumental hips, thighs and ass as she settled onto the couch. The furniture groaned under her weight, the leather creaking in protest, and Max found himself eye-level with her pronounced cameltoe. The sheer power she seemed to radiate was dizzying.
"You're awfully small to be wandering around on your own, aren't you?" she teased, tilting her head. A silver strand of hair slipped free from her elegant bun, brushing against her cheek as she studied him. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"M-Max," he stammered. "Max Calhoun?"
"Max…" She tapped a manicured finger against her lips. "I'm sorry, have we met?"
Max's face fell. Of course, she didn't remember him. Even at full size, he'd always struggled to get any attention from members of the opposite sex, even his teachers—and now, he had a feeling it would be even harder. The realization stung more than he expected. "I'm in your Intro to Psych class? Tuesday and Thursday mornings?"
"Ah!" Riya snapped her fingers. "Of course, I remember you now. Back row on the right, near the window. You always look like you're trying to disappear into the wall." She grinned, her plush, red-glossed lips flashing perfect white teeth. "No offense."
"None taken," Max muttered, wondering if he'd be in this position right now if he'd made more of an effort to put himself out there socially before last night.
"I suppose I didn't recognize you without the hoodie and sweatpants, either." She allowed her eyes to wander down to Max's nakedness, prompting the shrunken freshman to hurriedly clasp both hands over his groin.
"Oh, hah, yeah." Max forced a laugh, blushing profusely. "I, uh… I kinda just woke up like this."
"I can tell." Riya chuckled. She leaned forward slightly, her cleavage deepening into a cavern of soft, perfumed flesh. "I'm sure this is all a lot to take in."
"I… yeah." Trying to steer the conversation away from his own growing humiliation, Max cleared his throat. "Aren't you… I mean, shouldn't you be more surprised? About me being…" He gestured helplessly at his shrunken form. "You know… like this?"
Riya raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting into something between pity and amusement. "Oh, Max." Her tone was almost fond. "You really don't know what's happened to you, do you?"
He shook his head.
"Well… short answer is, you've been dosed with shrinking serum." She said this matter-of-factly, as if discussing a common cold. "It's a bit of a problem on campus here, especially with certain… especially enthusiastic members of House Juno." Her lips twitched, a flicker of something dark passing through her eyes. "You're lucky I found you before my daughter or one of her ghastly little friends did."
Max's stomach twisted at the thought. If Riya was a Ventus legend, her daughter Kali was well on her way to becoming one of her own—and not the good kind. A six-foot-four, 280-pound goth dominatrix with a reputation for breaking men both physically and psychologically, she was widely considered the most dangerous young woman on campus. That was the story he'd gotten during his orientation, at least. The idea of ending up in her clutches at this size was enough to make his blood run cold.
"Is there—is there a cure?" Max blurted, his voice cracking with desperation. "For the serum?"
Riya sighed, her expression betraying that she was about to drop even more serious bad news. "Not as far as I know. Most of the serums people use around here are permanent."
The words hit Max like a punch to the gut. Permanent. He'd been holding onto some faint hope that this was just a nightmare, a bad trip, something he could sleep off. But the way Riya said it — so casually, so final — left no room for denial.
"Don't let that get you down, though," Riya added, her tone softening as she reached down to stroke his back with a single, enormous fingertip. "I've got plenty of experience with shrunken guys your age, and I'd be more than happy to help you get… adjusted. "
Max blinked. If Riya had meant for this to sound like a consolation prize, he wasn't exactly feeling it yet. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by "adjustment," either—and was very curious where her previous shrunken patients were now. But he had no luck working up the courage to ask.
"So," Riya continued, "how about we take this back to my office?" Her gaze dropped meaningfully to his naked form again, lingering just long enough to make him squirm. "Unless you're waiting for someone?"
Relief washed over him. "Yes! I mean, no. I mean… please take me with you."
"Good." Riya smiled, then paused, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. "Now, the real question is… where do you want to ride on the way over there?"
Max hesitated. "What?"
"I mean, front, or back?" She gestured first to her cleavage, then to the generous curve of her ass, the fabric of her chinos pulling taut over the swell. "I've seen the way you look at me in class, you know. I'm not blind."
Heat rushed to Max's face. He opened his mouth to deny it, but again found himself struggling to form words.
Riya's knowing smirk widened. "Relax, sweetheart. I don't mind." She waved a hand dismissively, her ruby ring catching the light. "If I did, you'd know."
Max's mouth went dry. Riya wasn't just teasing him; it almost seemed like she was savoring his flustered reactions, reveling in the power she held over him. Clearly, Kali had come by her infamous tendencies quite honestly—although her mom seemed to have a slightly lighter touch. And the worst part? A small, strange part of him was loving it. The way her voice dripped with amusement, the way her gaze raked over him like he was a specimen under glass—it sent a thrill through him that was equal parts terror and arousal. He really wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"I, uh…" He hesitated again, then pointed weakly at her chest. "Can I… ride up front?"
Riya laughed. "See? That wasn't so hard." She reached down, her fingers — manicured, elegant, and enormous — closing around his tiny body with surprising gentleness. "I like a man who knows what he wants."
Before Max could process the compliment, Riya lifted him toward her chest. The world tilted dizzyingly as she adjusted her grip, her thumb brushing against him in a way that was almost affectionate. Then, with a playful wink, she dropped him into the warm, perfumed valley of her cleavage.
After eighteen years as a kissless virgin, Max found the sensation of suddenly being buried between his professor's boobs to be utterly overwhelming. Soft, pillowy flesh enveloped him on all sides, the heat of Riya's skin seeping into his own. Her scent filled his lungs, heady and intoxicating. Above him, her blouse stretched taut, casting him in shadow, the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat a steady drum against his back.
"Comfy?" Riya's voice rumbled through her chest, making his face go redder than ever.
Max could only nod mutely, his face pressed against the smooth, sweat-slicked swell of her breast.
"Good." She shifted, and the world lurched as she stood. Her breasts swayed with the motion, jostling him gently, the friction of skin against skin sending sparks of sensation through his tiny body. "Now, let's get you somewhere a little more… private."
***
For Max, the journey back to Riya's office was nothing short of total sensory overload. Between the warm, smothering embrace of her breasts and the rhythmic swaying of her hips — which sent aftershocks through his fleshy prison with every step — it was all he could do to hang on for dear life.
And yet, despite the fear, something else stirred in him. It was impossible to ignore the way his body responded to every aspect of her multisensory charm offensive, the traitorous arousal coiling low in his stomach. He tried to shift, to press his thighs together, but there was no hiding it—not when he was pressed flush against her.
"Someone's enjoying the ride," Riya purred.
Max flushed. "I—I'm not—"
"Relax, dear," she chuckled. "It's perfectly natural."
Before he could stammer out another denial, Riya adjusted her stride, her breasts shifting around him. He bit his lip, willing himself not to think about how her skin felt against his. It was a losing battle.
By the time they reached Riya's office, Max was painfully hard, his cock straining against his stomach. He barely had time to register the room — the rich wood paneling, the shelves of academic journals, the plush leather recliners — before the Indian amazon plucked him from her cleavage and set him down on the claw-footed coffee table.
The sudden exposure made him flinch. He scrambled to cover himself, but it was too late. Riya's sharp brown eyes had already zeroed in on his groin.
"Well, well," she murmured. A wry smile curled her glossed lips. "You really enjoyed that, huh?"
Max's face burned. "It's—it's not—I didn't—"
Riya waved her hand again, cutting him off. "It's alright, Max. This is a judgment-free zone." She leaned back in her recliner, crossing her legs at the ankle. "In fact," she continued, her voice dropping to a velvety purr, "I'd be happy to help you take the edge off, if you'd like."
Max's stomach lurched. "What?"
"Consider it part of our first session," she said, reaching down and closing her fingers around him again. "My treat."
Before he could protest, she lifted him toward her face like the world's biggest cat catching the world's smallest mouse. Her plush lips parted, revealing a glimpse of a big, hungry tongue and teeth. Then, darkness.
Her mouth was hot, an oppressive, wet cavern that swallowed him whole. The fear of being crushed — or worse, swallowed — flared in his chest, but the way Riya's tongue kept pressing against him suggested that she had no intention of turning him into a snack. It was slick and relentless, exploring every inch of his tiny body with practiced ease, curling around him and locking onto his groin again and again—almost like she'd done this before.
The realization should have terrified him. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in his gut. Her huge tongue flicked over his tiny cock, and he whimpered. It was overwhelming.
Riya chuckled around him, the sound muffled but unmistakably smug—and Max gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily. Between the heat, the pressure, and the sheer dominance of the woman toying with him, he came undone in seconds. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, his back arching as he spilled into her mouth with a choked gasp.
Riya didn't even flinch. She held him there, letting him ride out the waves of pleasure, before finally pulling back.
Cool air hit his skin as she deposited him into her palm, her lips glistening with saliva. She regarded him with another amused smirk before reaching for a silk napkin on the coffee table.
"There," she said, gently dabbing him off. "Better?"
Max could only offer another weak nod, his limbs still trembling. Of all the ways he'd imagined losing his virginity, he'd never pictured anything even remotely close to this. Not that he was necessarily complaining.
Riya set him back on the table, her smirk growing. Then, with a sigh, she slipped her feet out of her shoes and propped them up beside him. The scent hit Max immediately—warm leather, sweat, the faintest hint of something musky beneath. Her toes flexed, the polished red nails glinting in the office light.
"Now," she said, stretching her legs out, "my feet are feeling awfully sore right now… perhaps you'd like to rub them?"
"Huh?" Literally overshadowed by Riya's huge peds, Max couldn't help stumbling back.
"No need to be shy, dear." Riya wiggled her toes encouragingly. "Many of my other male patients find it… therapeutic."
Max swallowed, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of sensations. The heat of her mouth. The weight of her gaze. The way her foot dominated the space in front of him, reminding him with every idle movement just how small he really was. Whether he needed it or not, that scale imbalance came with perspective. At a moment when he was suddenly unable to take anything for granted, he understood that he was lucky to have happened upon someone like Riya—someone he could — hopefully — trust. And if this was what it was going to take to stay on her good side, he knew what he had to do.
Reluctantly, he shuffled forward, his tiny hands pressing into the soft, warm flesh of the Indian amazon's sole. The moment his fingers made contact, Riya let out a little hum of approval, her toes curling in satisfaction.
"That's it," she murmured, leaning further back in her chair. "Good boy. Now… how do you feel about all of this?"
"Y-you mean… shrinking?" Max frowned, his field of view overwhelmed by Riya's plump toes. "I guess I mostly just feel… small?"
"Alright," Riya cooed. "That's a start, but I think we both know there's more to it than that."
Max winced, his fingers stilling against the soft arch of his professor's foot. The truth was a tangled mess in his chest—fear, humiliation, and something else, something he didn't dare name. "I… I don't know what you want me to say," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
"The truth," Riya said simply, paired with a reassuring smile. "Even if it scares you."
"It does scare me. All of it. Being this size, being—being helpless. But…” His throat tightened. "I don't know."
"Ah, but I do." Riya's smile deepened into something slightly less innocent. "I think some part of you is actually enjoying this quite a bit. And you're not sure how to feel about that." She shifted, her foot pressing down just enough to pin him beneath her sole—not painfully, but firmly. "That's what therapy is for, sweetheart. To help you understand those feelings. To embrace them."
Max scowled. "Embrace them?"
BBBRRRAAPPPPPPP
Without warning, the Indian amazon shifted her weight, her hips lifting slightly as a deep, resonant fart erupted from between her cheeks. The sound was low and drawn-out, vibrating through the air like a bass note. A thick, musky cloud of stink followed, engulfing Max in an instant. His eyes watered as the stench hit him—a pungent spicy blend that quickly became the only thing he could smell. Next to Riya's feet, of course.
He gagged, coughing violently as the odor seared his nostrils. Had this woman really just farted on him? "Oh—oh god, that's awful," he wheezed, waving a hand in front of his face as if that would dispel the fog. It didn't.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to it." Riya chuckled. "Like I was saying, though… you're not the first shrunken man I've treated, Max. The ones who thrive are the ones who stop fighting what they are—and start appreciating what they can be."
Max coughed again, his face burning as much from humiliation as the lingering stench. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He wanted to insist he wasn't like that—but another wave of traitorous heat in his gut was already starting to betray him.
Before he could manage a reply, Riya stood, her foot lifting away and leaving him sprawled on the table. She strode across the office with effortless grace, and Max followed with his eyes—watching her ass jiggle with each step. She paused at the bookshelf, her fingers trailing over the spines before plucking two volumes, one bound in soft lavender leather, the other a dog-eared paperback. Holding them up, she turned back to Max.
"An Introduction to Goddess Theory," she said, tapping the lavender cover. "One of the older texts on the subject of mixed-size relationships. Very academic." Then, her lips curled into a wicked grin as she tilted the paperback toward him. "And Odor & Obedience. One of my personal favorites."
Max's mouth was drier than ever. The titles alone sent a shiver down his spine. The second book's cover was creased, the pages slightly warped—well-loved, he realized with a jolt.
Riya arched a brow. "Which one speaks to you more?"
He opened his mouth again, then closed it. A part of him wanted to protest, but her gaze silenced him. The reality was simple: he was three inches tall, naked, and utterly at her mercy.
PART 2
As Max glanced between the two titles Riya held before him — An Introduction to Goddess Theory and Odor & Obedience — he couldn't help grimacing. Neither title sounded reassuring. Still, he could tell that if he didn't make up his mind soon, his professor would make it up for him. Against his better judgment, he decided to take the choice seriously.
While he knew that he was reduced to quite literally judging two books by their covers, the first one gave him a lot more pause than the second. The word "goddess" gave him a whole host of associations, most eerily close to the militant dommy misandry espoused by House Juno members like Riya's daughter, Kali. The second wasn't any more reassuring — especially after all the various odors the Indian MILF had already hit him with over the last few minutes — but at least it didn't read like a manifesto.
"That one," he said weakly, pointing to the paperback.
Riya's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Excellent choice." She set Goddess Theory aside and cracked open Odor & Obedience, flipping to the first chapter with practiced ease. "Ah, there we go. Chapter one, exercise one."
As Riya turned the book toward Max, the three-inch freshman strained his eyes to make out the diagrams on the pages. Much to his relief, they all looked pretty innocuous: a man sitting in a lotus position, breathing in and out, surrounded by what looked like clouds.
"Have you ever done breathing exercises before, Max?" Riya's voice was back in regular therapist mode.
Max shrugged. "Uh… not really? This is kinda… well, I've never really done therapy before." He struggled with the word, unsure if this really qualified as anything like regular therapy to begin with.
"I had a feeling you'd say that. I gather it's something of a touchy subject for young men your age." Closing the book and setting it on the table beside Max, she leaned forward to inspect him—sending her cleavage surging pleasantly against her still half-unbuttoned blouse. "Why don't you sit down right there. Cross your legs. And then close your eyes when you're ready."
Max hesitated, prompting a reassuring smile from Riya.
"Don't worry, Max." Riya chuckled. "You're doing great. Now, follow me. In… one, two, three, four…"
With no other apparent choice, Max closed his eyes and followed Riya's lead. Taking a deep breath into his lungs — even though the air around him still smelled a whole lot like his professor's last fart — he already felt a little bit more relaxed. To her point, this was probably the first time he'd done any deliberate breathing since he'd woken up back in the faculty lounge.
"Hold. Two, three, four…"
Again, Max obeyed. The rhythm was soothing, almost meditative. For a moment, the chaos of the morning faded.
"Exhale. Two, three, four."
The silence stretched. Then he heard the rustle of fabric.
His eyes snapped open just in time to see Riya's chinos slide down her hips, pooling around her ankles. Her thong followed, discarded with a flick of her fingers, leaving the vast expanse of her lower half totally bare. Before he could process the sight of her overwhelming nakedness, she turned, her monumental cheeks eclipsing his entire field of vision as she lowered herself onto the table in front of him.
BBBRRAAAPPPPPP
The fart that followed was even worse than her last, a thick, bassy cloud that instantly monopolized all the space around Max. His lungs seized. This one was spicy.
"Oh—fuck—!" Max gagged, doubling over as his eyes watered.
"Focus, dear," said Riya, glancing back at her new patient and smiling. "Now, inhale…"
Of course, by this point, Max had no choice. If he kept holding his breath, he was going to pass out even faster. Filling his lungs with air again, he could practically taste the aftermath of whatever Riya had just eaten—and above him, his professor seemed quite pleased by the resulting spectacle.
"Good," Riya purred. "Very good. Now, hold…"
With no interest in holding in Riya's fart-air any longer than necessary, Max allowed himself to collapse into a coughing fit—provoking a frown from the Indian amazon.
"Oh, Max." Riya pursed her lips. "I'm afraid you're going to have to take this a little more seriously than that."
"Wh—why did you—" he wheezed. "W-what does this have to do with helping me relax?"
Riya smiled again, more reassuring than before. "Maybe I should have given you a better idea of what to expect here. Most of the exercises in this book are based on the concept of exposure therapy. Specifically, helping shrunken men associate feminine odors with feelings of relaxation and submission."
"Odors like…" Max scowled. "Your farts?"
"Among other things," Riya chuckled. "Most 'bigs' in mixed-size relationships prefer to keep their tiny partners close." She gave her hips a little wiggle, sending the whole coffee table groaning. "Cleavage, underarms, underwear." She winked. "I imagine you won't be any different."
Max's stomach twisted. "That's—that's insane."
"Is it?" Riya arched a brow. "Or is that just internalized anxiety talking?" She reached back, patting his head with a single fingertip—an almost tender gesture, if not for the way it unintentionally pressed him down into the table. "I know this is a lot to have dropped on you all at once, but the more you resist it, the harder the transition is going to be."
Max wanted to argue. Wanted to scream that no sane person would enjoy being smothered in someone else's stink. But the truth was, he had no leverage. No power. And as much as the smell revolted him, the heat radiating off her skin, the sheer presence of her, sent traitorous sparks of arousal flickering through him.
"Breathe through it," said Riya, offering him another smile. "Embrace the discomfort."
As the Indian amazon withdrew her finger, he understood that this was not the time to push back—at least, if he wanted to avoid ending up back in the faculty lounge. Swallowing hard, he forced himself back into the lotus position, eyes squeezed shut.
"Good boy." Riya cooed, shifting her weight on the table. "Now, inhale…"
PPPRRRRTTTTT
The Indian amazon's next fart came without warning—shorter, sharper, but no less potent. The air turned thick, clinging to his skin. He choked, his body convulsing, but he didn't open his eyes. Didn't flee.
"Very good." Riya's voice dropped even lower, practically a moan. "Now, I want you to tell me the first word that comes into your mind when you think of my farts. Don't think. Just say it."
Max coughed violently, his tiny body wracked with spasms as the thick, musky fog of the Indian amazon's latest fart surrounded him. His eyes watered, his lungs burned, and his stomach was in knots—yet beneath the humiliation, something else flickered. Something traitorous.
"Bad," he blurted out, voice strained.
"Hmm." Riya tilted her head just enough for him to catch the glint of amusement in her eyes. "I'm sensing a lot of tension in your voice. Inhibition. Maybe you need a little extra push."
Before Max could protest, she reached a hand back, fingers closing around him with effortless dominance. He squirmed as she lifted him, his bare skin prickling under her touch, and brought him closer to the monumental swell of her ass. Her cheeks loomed like twin mountains, framing a crack that promised total, humiliating entrapment—and the smell that radiated out from between them was downright ominous.
"Try again," she chuckled.
Max swallowed hard, his gaze locked on her butt. "S-Strong," he stammered.
Riya smirked. "Better." She shifted slightly, her ass pressing outward, looming over him like some vast, unknowable monster. "Strength isn't bad, Max. Strength is what women like me use to protect little guys like you."
The words sent an electric jolt through Max, making his stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with fear. His cock gave another traitorous twitch against his stomach, a flush creeping up his neck.
Riya noticed, of course. Her smirk grew. Then, without warning, she shoved him between her cheeks.
All at once, soft, suffocating flesh enveloped Max on all sides, hot and slick with sweat. The pressure was immense, her cheeks molding around his tiny form like a living vise, her warmth seeping into his skin, and her scent seeping into every last pore. He writhed, his tiny hands pushing uselessly against the immovable wall of her flesh. Then, it got even worse.
BBBRRRAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
Her next fart was her worst yet—and for Max, at point-blank range, it was nothing short of apocalyptic. The initial blast vibrated through her cheeks with enough force to rattle his whole body, and the smell that followed proved even more hazardous. Beneath the Indian amazon, her shrunken patient gagged, his vision swimming as the odor seeped into his nostrils, his lungs, his very soul.
"Mmm." Riya sighed contentedly, shifting her weight just enough to grind him deeper into her crack. "Now what do you think, dear?"
Max's mind was a haze of humiliation and involuntary arousal. His body burned, his cock achingly hard despite the horror of his situation. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. By now, his face was just inches away from Riya's huge, pulsating backdoor.
"O-Overwhelming," he choked out.
"Much better, Max." Riya was moaning again. She clenched her cheeks, equal parts playful and possessive, and bit her lip as she felt Max's struggles intensify in response. "Now you're getting it. I want to overwhelm you. I want you to feel how small you are. How helpless."
BBBBBRRRRPRPAAAAAAABABLTLTTTTTTT
Another fart, this one slower, wetter, the heat of it seeping into Max's skin like a curse. He groaned, his body betraying him entirely, his cock throbbing as her musk saturated him.
"Isn't this nice, Max?" Riya sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "No big, scary world. Just me and you." She rolled her hips slightly. "I can feel how much you're enjoying this, you know."
Beneath her, Max felt like his face was on fire. He wanted to say no. But his body was doing all the talking for him.
Satisfied that she'd gotten Max sufficiently saturated with her stink, Riya stood up, leaving her shrunken patient a trembling, gasping mess beneath her. His body was drenched in sweat, his cock was painfully hard, and several competing sensations fogged his mind—all deeply, deeply confusing.
"That was really, really good work, Max." Turning around to size up her patient, Riya was smiling wider than ever. "I'm proud of you."
Hearing this, Max felt his cock getting even stiffer—but before he could even open his mouth, Riya was bringing him up to hers for an absolutely colossal kiss. Each of her lips was bigger than his entire body, and the sensation of having them pressed up against him was almost more than his tiny system could handle, especially when her tongue snaked out to remind him of what it could do to him. Max shuddered, his cock twitching as it curled around him, teasing, claiming.
When she finally pulled back, she looked almost as aroused as he was.
"I think we're ready to move on to the next exercise," she said, licking her lips. "Unless you need a break, of course."
As Max struggled to find the words to say something, anything at all, the Indian amazon was already moving again—stepping over to her desk to retrieve something from the drawers inside. It took him a second to recognize what it was: a jar.
The realization alone sent a jolt of dread through his stomach. The jar was covered in funky residue, and a worrisomely familiar smell—a mix of sweat and something much earthier.
"W-what's that for?" he stammered, squirming in her grip.
"Patience, dear." Riya chuckled, setting the jar on the floor and lowering her shrunken patient inside.
The cool glass felt oddly sterile against Max's bare skin, but it was far from clean. A visible film of stink lined every inch, and the telltale odors he'd picked up a second ago were even worse inside. Then, when he saw the page Riya was currently opening to, he understood why.
"This is one of my favorite exercises." Riya tapped the book with a manicured nail. The illustration showed a towering woman squatting over a jar, her enormous rump eclipsing the tiny figure trapped beneath her. The caption read: Breathwork Exercise #2: Total Sensory Submission.
"Oh," said Max, somewhere between dazed and paralyzingly anxious. "Is that uh… safe?"
"Perfectly safe. And very effective for young men like you." Riya smirked. "Now, some of the more advanced versions of this exercise involve solids… but I'll spare you that for now." She grinned. "I have a feeling you're not ready for that level of conditioning. Yet."
"S-solids?" Snapped out of his fart-induced stupor by the sheer jarring reality of everything Riya was saying, Max scowled again. "Is this all some kind of a joke?"
"Oh, Max." Riya sighed, crouching beside the jar, her cleavage swelling against her blouse again. "You're still fighting it. That's natural, but… wouldn't it be easier to let go?"
Her words slithered into his mind, coaxing, teasing—but not enough to sway him from reality. "No!" Max shook his head, trying to shake her influence out of his mind.
"This isn't—this isn't helping me! You're just… just getting off on humiliating me!"
"Everything I'm doing here is to try and help you feel good." Riya smiled a slow, dangerous smile. "And yes, maybe I'm enjoying myself more than your average therapist…" She leaned closer. "But you know what they say. If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life."
Max sighed, already feeling his brief burst of resolve fading in the face of Riya's unshakeable certainty. He'd never been good at standing up for himself, much less around big, powerful women like his psychology professor. "I… I just… it’s…”
Riya watched his internal struggle with evident amusement. "It's alright, Max." She straightened, running a hand down her monumental hip. "This is all part of the process. You're supposed to ask these questions. I'm not trying to brainwash you; I want you to think this through for yourself." Her expression softened. "And, for what it's worth, if you really do want to leave, I'm happy to drop you back in the common room. Or get in touch with your family."
"My… hmm." Max winced. As uncertain as he felt about everything Riya was doing with him, he had even less interest in subjecting himself to the influence of his domineering stepmother, Victoria, and bully stepsister, Izzy—basically the last people he'd ever want to be stuck with in a state like this. "…Fine," he muttered, slumping against the glass.
"Good boy." Riya grinned, patting the jar like a pet carrier. "You're already making such good progress. Most of my patients take weeks to submit this completely."
Below her, Max was caught between conflicting waves of warmth from her praise and uncertainty from the comparison involved. Was he really this much of a pushover? He had a feeling all the years he'd spent living in the shadow of his stepmother and stepsister weren't doing him any favors here.
Before he could spiral further, Riya turned around, positioning her rump right over the jar and casting Max's prison into butt-shaped shadow. Then she was sitting down again, cheeks forming an airtight seal around the rim, blanketing Max in darkness and putting her huge, rancid asshole right back up against his face.
"Now, remember," she cooed, "deep breaths. Embrace the discomfort."
BBBRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
Even on the heels of several serious farts, this one was rancid—and the confines of the jar only served to amplify it. All at once, the air was saturated with the spicy, musky stench of Riya's digestion. Max gagged, struggling to get anything that wasn't thick, wet fart-air into his lungs.
"Mmm. That's better." With a single practiced motion, Riya sat up and clapped a lid over the jar—locking Max in with her fumes. "How's it feel, sweetheart? Overwhelming? "
Max coughed, his tiny fists pressing against the glass. "I—I can't breathe—"
"Oh, you can," Riya chuckled. "You just don't want to. There's a difference." She tapped the jar. "Try again. Inhale. "
Against his will, Max allowed his lungs to fill with her stench. The heat, the weight of it—it was like drowning in her essence. His body burned with humiliation, his cock twitching traitorously against his stomach.
Unfortunately, Riya noticed. "See?" She gave the jar a little shake, sending him tumbling against the glass. "Your body gets it, even if your mind doesn't."
Her words made him shudder. But they were also making his heart race.
Riya lifted the jar, bringing it eye level. "Ready for round two?"
Max's stomach dropped.
Again, she didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she returned the jar to the floor, opened the lid, and settled herself back on top of it.
PPPRRRRTTTTTTTT
As another wave of Riya's gas enveloped him, thick and cloying, Max could feel his vision fading. His lungs burned, his head spun, and yet — despite the overwhelming stench — he couldn't stop breathing it in. There was something almost intoxicating about it, a dizzying warmth spreading through his limbs as if her fumes were seeping into his bloodstream. Was he getting high off of this?
Riya shifted above him, her asshole puckering ominously overhead. "You're doing so well, Max," she purred. "But I can tell you're still holding back."
Max's throat was bone dry. As much as he wanted to keep resisting whatever she was trying to do to him, he knew it would be a whole lot easier just to tell her what she wanted to hear—especially if it meant getting out of this jar.
BBRRBRRBAAAPAPPTPTTTTTT
Denying him any time to interrogate this thought, Riya let out yet another fart—a deliberate expulsion that filled the jar with a heat that made his skin prickle. The sound alone was obscene, and the smell hit him like a physical force, spicy and musky, laced with something almost sweet beneath the rot.
He should have escaped—but with his mind increasingly fogged with her scent, he didn't. It was all he could do to let out a single, pathetic moan before his body went slack. The fear was still there, the humiliation—but now, tangled up with it, was something far more dangerous. Wanting to please her.
"There it is," Riya murmured, lifting the jar just enough to peer inside. "Mmm. I do love a quick learner."
Max couldn't meet her eyes. His face burned, his pulse hammering in his ears.
"This is all good stuff, Max," said Riya, unscrewing the lid. "It might not feel like that right now. But sooner or later, you're going to thank me for this."
Her fingers dipped into the jar, plucking him up like a freshly broken toy. He didn't resist as she brought him to her lips, her breath warm and cloying against his damp skin.
"Admit it," she murmured, "it feels good, doesn't it?"
Max's answer was a weak, shuddering nod.
"Good boy." Riya's smile widened. "You know what? Before we keep going, I think you've earned a reward…"
PART 3
The moment Riya set Max down on the coffee table, he knew he was in for another round of humiliation—though this time, the method was entirely unexpected. Before he could register the cool surface beneath him, her enormous feet closed around his tiny body, trapping him between her soles with effortless dominance. The sheer size difference was staggering; each of her feet was at least ten times his size, her toes curling possessively around his head as if he were nothing more than a living stress ball. They were also very, very warm. He'd felt it already while rubbing them earlier, but now, pressed up against them, it was even more intense. And then there was the smell—a thick, musky aroma of leathery sweat, the kind that clung to skin after hours spent encased in dress shoes. Her soles were slightly damp, the faint sheen of sweat making them glisten under the office lights, and every twitch of her toes smeared more of that sticky warmth against him.
"Mmm, that's it," Riya purred, grinding her shrunken patient deeper into the crease between her soles. "Just relax, Max. Let me take care of you."
Her voice was velvet, hypnotic, and despite himself, Max felt his body responding. He squirmed, his face burning as her soft, stinky soles sent jolts of strange pleasure through him. He tried to cling to some semblance of dignity, but his body betrayed him almost instantly—hips jerking and cock stiffening against the soft flesh of her sole.
Again, of course, Riya noticed. Her smirk deepened, and she adjusted her grip, pressing him more firmly between her feet. "There we go," she teased. "You're so sensitive, Max. Is this your first time?"
At this point, words had failed Max completely. Every movement of his professor's feet sent another wave of heat through him, her scent filling his lungs until it was all he could think about. He'd always found Riya a little imposing, but now, she was borderline godlike—her feet alone were strong enough to crush him without a second thought, yet here she was, using them to pleasure him, to reduce him to a shuddering, gasping mess.
"Just let go," Riya murmured. "Cum for me, dear."
Her command sent a fresh jolt of arousal through him, his cock twitching against her sole. He was so close, teetering on the edge, his mind clouded with the overwhelming sensations of her feet—the heat, the scent, the dominance—
BBBRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPP
And then she farted again.
The sound was just as jarring as all her previous emissions, and the smell was just as punishing. Thick, spicy, rancid, it clung to the back of his throat, seeping into his pores, and for a horrifying, exhilarating moment, it was all he could focus on. Then, and only then, he came, his orgasm crashing over him in a wave of humiliation and pleasure, his cock pulsing as he spilled against her sole, his entire body trembling.
Riya laughed, her toes curling again as she felt his release. "Oh, Max… you came from that? That's… impressive."
Max had never blushed this hard in his entire life. "N-no, I didn't—"
"It's okay, sweetheart." Riya gave him a gentle squeeze between her feet. "I know a breakthrough when I see one."
He wanted to argue, to insist that it was just the footjob, that her fart had nothing to do with it—but the worrisome reality was, he wasn't sure. The smell had been so overwhelming, so present, that for a split second, it had eclipsed everything else. And now, as the thick stench of her gas still hung in the air, he couldn't deny the way his cock twitched weakly in response.
"You're a natural, Max." As Riya lifted her foot slightly to inspect him, her sole glistening with sweat and his own release, her smirk grew. "It's almost like you were born for this."
Max opened his mouth to protest again, but the words died in his throat. A small but growing part of him — the same part that had previously admitted to her that he did, in fact, enjoy the way she was dominating him — couldn't shake the feeling that she was right.
Seeing the defeat in her shrunken patient's eyes, the Indian amazon finally lifted her feet away. "That's the spirit, dear," she chuckled, plucking him up between her fingers and wrinkling her nose at the aura of cheesy foot stink that followed. "Phew! Before we get back to business, maybe we should get you cleaned up."
Before Max could even muster the breath to ask how Riya intended to clean him up, her fingers lifted him back toward her face—and suddenly, the world tilted again. Her plush, glossed lips parted, revealing the dark, wet cavern of her mouth, her tongue already extended in anticipation.
"W-wait—!" His protest was cut short as she popped him inside, her lips sealing around him with a soft, possessive smack.
Heat. Wetness. Pressure. Riya's mouth was a suffocating paradise, her tongue immediately coiling around him like a serpent, working him over with practiced ease. Her saliva coated him, thick and warm, her big, playful tongue bathing him in slow, deliberate strokes.
She hummed around him, the vibrations reverberating through his bones, and Max shuddered, his already oversensitive cock twitching back to life against the velvety muscle of her tongue.
"Mmmph."
The sound was smug, knowing. Riya's tongue flicked against his groin, teasing his tiny cock before flattening beneath him.
Max whimpered, his fingers tangling in the slick surface of her tongue as he tried to steady himself. Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through him, her saliva making his skin tingle, her breath hot and humid against his back. And then she started sucking, cheeks hollowed, her tongue pressing him firmly against the roof of her mouth as she drew him deeper, the wet heat of her throat looming just beyond.
"R-Riya—!" His voice was a broken gasp, his body trembling as her tongue curled around him again.
She didn't let up. Instead, her tongue worked him over in tight, rhythmic strokes—and even just a few minutes out from his first full-body footjob, Max was quickly overpowered. His back arched, his cock pulsing against her tongue as another orgasm washed over him.
Riya moaned around him, milking every last drop from him before finally, mercifully, pulling back.
When she gently spat him back onto her palm, Max was a boneless, trembling mess. His skin was glistening with her saliva, his limbs were weak, and his thoughts were sluggish. Any resistance he might have mustered earlier had been thoroughly sucked, fucked, farted and squashed out of him, replaced by a dazed, helpless submission.
As Riya dabbed at his tiny form with her napkin again, she was positively glowing. "All clean," she murmured. "And so well-behaved."
Max didn't even have the energy to blush. His body felt hollowed out, his mind floating somewhere between exhaustion and euphoria—and a very vocal part of him didn't even want to fight it anymore.
Riya chuckled, stroking his back with the tip of her finger. "You're doing so well, Max." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Think you've got one more exercise in you?"
Max swallowed hard, his tiny body still trembling from his first hour of Riya's relentless approach to "therapy." The scent of her musk clung to him like a second skin, her saliva drying in sticky patches across his bare form. He wanted to protest, to beg for a reprieve—but the look in the Indian amazon's eyes told him that wasn't an option.
"One more exercise," he muttered, regretting his answer the second he said it.
Riya's lips curled into a slow, victorious smirk. "I was hoping you'd say that." Reaching for her dog-eared copy of Odor & Obedience again, she flipped past the pages they'd already covered. "Ah, here we are. Exercise three."
Max's stomach twisted again as he caught a glimpse of the illustration—a towering woman lounging on a bed with a shrunken male partner wedged snugly between her cheeks. The caption beneath it read: Total Assimilation.
"You're joking," he said, wincing.
Riya's smirk grew. "Do I look like I'm joking, dear?"
Max opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Again, he wasn't sure. Part of him already knew there was no point resisting. Worse yet, a traitorous flicker of anticipation stirred in his gut. The thought of being pressed against Riya's ass, engulfed in her heat, her scent, her power… it filled him with sensations that weren't entirely unpleasant.
"Don't be shy, Max." Riya turned, presenting the full, breathtaking swell of her ass again and pulling her cheeks apart just enough to give him a preview of the puckered, winking star at its center. "I've been looking forward to getting you back here all morning."
Max's face burned.
"Come on, now," Riya teased, reaching back to pluck him up between her fingers. "Let's get you home."
For a dizzying moment, Max dangled above his professor's colossal, couch-flattening ass, waiting for it to gobble him up like some kind of giant, predatory beast. Then, with a wiggle of her hips, she pressed him into the damp crack between her cheeks. Surrounded again by warm, smothering softness, powerful feminine musk, and something far earthier, the shrunken freshman was powerless to keep from letting out a full-body shudder of uncertainty and semi-involuntary arousal.
"There we go," Riya sighed, adjusting her shrunken patient until he was nestled snugly against her asshole.
Max squirmed, but there was no escape. The more he struggled, the tighter Riya's cheeks clenched around him—and the more he found himself face to face with her big, funky backdoor, the wrinkled flesh brushing against his lips in a mockery of a kiss, hot and alive.
"Mmm, that's it," Riya moaned, her voice thick with arousal.
Unable to hold herself back any longer, the Indian amazon slipped a hand between her legs. Max could hear the wetness as she touched herself, the lewd squelch of her fingers working her folds just inches from his trapped body.
"Kiss it," she commanded—warm and playful, but with an unmistakable hint of force.
Max froze. "What?"
"You heard me." Riya clenched her cheeks around him, her asshole pressing insistently against his tiny face. "Kiss. It."
Max felt his stomach lurch, the weight of her dominance crushing his resistance before it could form. Reluctantly, he pressed his lips to her pucker, the taste of salt and musk flooding his senses.
Riya shuddered above him, her fingers working faster. "Good boy," she gasped. "Some of my other patients find it helpful to imagine they're kissing the lips of a beautiful woman. Maybe… me."
The absurdity of the suggestion should have made Max recoil—if she'd done this with her other shrunken patients, what else lay in store for him? Instead, he felt his traitorous body responding, his cock twitching against the rim of her hole. He kissed her again, this time with something more like genuine enthusiasm, and Riya let out a throaty moan.
"That's better," she breathed. "You're really something, Max."
Her hips rolled, grinding him deeper into her cleft. The heat was unbearable, the scent intoxicating—and then, without warning, Riya's asshole pulsed.
BBBRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
The fart erupted like a bomb, a thick, wet blast of heat and stink that engulfed Max entirely. The force of it rattled his tiny frame, the vibration traveling through her cheeks and into his bones, and the smell was enough to make his eyes water. Above him, Riya moaned, her fingers working furiously between her legs.
"Ohhh, yes," she purred. "Just like that, Max. Breathe it in."
He couldn't not. The more he gasped, the more her stench filled him, making his head spin. His cock ached, his body betraying him completely, and Riya could clearly tell.
"Mmm, you like that, don't you, Max?" She clenched around him again, her asshole fluttering against his lips. "My nasty little air purifier."
Max whimpered, his hips jerking involuntarily. The humiliation should have been unbearable—but the way Riya's voice dripped with approval sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him.
Riya laughed, low and throaty. "God, you're perfect."
Her fingers sped up, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Max could feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her thighs trembled around him. Then, with a final, shuddering moan, she came—her asshole clenching rhythmically around her shrunken patient as she rode out her orgasm.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Riya's heavy breathing. Then, Max heard another telltale gurgle from the Indian amazon's digestive system—one that seemed to suggest a much more heavy-duty payload to come.
"Oh, my," Riya chuckled, patting her stomach. "We might have to accelerate your training here, Max."
Recalling Riya's earlier comment about "solids," Max winced. If this woman was really about to take a dump — and the thunderous sounds coming from her stomach suggested that was a very clear possibility — he really didn't want to be stuck on the business end of it.
Riya's fingers brushed over Max's tiny body one last time before tugging her black chinos back on. His world narrowed to the rhythmic sway of her hips as she stood, the muffled click of her shoes, and the ever-present gurgle of her stomach.
"Remember," Riya chuckled, "deep breaths." Denying Max any opportunity to respond, she zipped her pants up and adjusted her blouse before stepping over to the door.
For Max, the walk that followed was another torturous blur of motion and sensation. Every step sent jolts through his tiny frame, Riya's cheeks flexing around him, the unmistakable scent of an imminent heavy-duty shit thickening with each movement. Fortunately, the closest ladies' room was just a few doors down the hall.
He heard the door swing open, then the familiar noise of a stall door being latched. Above him, Riya's asshole kept pulsing impatiently, already rancid and soon to be even worse. Max breath hitched as the first thick, humid waft of her impending release washed over him, the scent so potent it made him want to vomit. Surely, his professor planned on taking him out of here before she did her business... right?
As Riya's fingers hooked into the waistband of her black chinos, Max's tiny heart lurched into his throat. The fabric slid down her hips, immediately followed by her underwear, leaving her bare from the waist down—and leaving Max worrisomely exposed. His perch, already precarious, became downright treacherous as Riya shifted her weight, her asshole flexing just inches from his face.
Max's fingers scrabbled against the slick, sweaty flesh of her cheeks, grabbing blindly for any handhold to avoid the drop into the toilet. Then, just as his grip faltered, Riya's muscles clenched around him like a vice, her cheeks squeezing tight to hold him in place. A choked gasp escaped him as the pressure forced his face deeper into the wrinkled heat of her ass, her sphincter pulsing against his lips in another disgusting kiss.
"Easy there, sweetheart," Riya purred. One hand reached back and plucked him free, her grip firm but not unkind. She held him aloft for a moment as she sat down, settling her huge legs onto the creaking porcelain. Then, she offered him a seat of his own—right on the rim of the toilet seat, between her spread thighs. "Most of my patients don't get to experience this until they're months into their training, but…" She smirked. "I think you're ready."
Staring up at Riya's vast, unshaven pussy, Max had to keep his jaw from dropping. The sight was overwhelming—a lush, dark thicket of curls framing swollen lips that glistened with a faint sheen of arousal. The musky scent of her sex was borderline overpowering—rich and primal, mingling with the lingering stench of her ass. His face burned as he took in the sheer scale of her femininity, the way her folds seemed to dwarf his entire body.
And then, his gaze dropped lower — to the toilet bowl — and the reality of his position crashed over him. If he didn't say something, and fast, he was about to have a front-row seat to Riya's bathroom break.
"Riya," Max stammered. "C-Can I just… go back to your cleavage for this?"
"Oh, Max," Riya chuckled, shaking her head. "Where's the fun in that?"
Before Max could protest further, Riya's body tensed. Then—
SSSSHHHHHHHLLLLLPPPP
A torrent of piss erupted from her, the sound deafening at Max's size. The golden stream arced into the bowl with terrifying force, sending up a spray of droplets that misted the air. Max flinched as the acrid tang of urine filled his nostrils. He'd never imagined something as mundane as peeing could feel so violent, so powerful.
And then came the shit.
Riya's breath hitched, her thighs trembling slightly as she bore down. Another deep, wet gurgle echoed from her bowels, and then the floodgates were open.
PLORRRRRRP.
The first log pushed free of her asshole with a grotesque, squelching pop. It was massive — at least the size of a bus relative to Max — thick and coiled, glistening as it descended toward the water below, and the smell was a full-on biohazard. Max gagged, his eyes watering, but Riya's fingers pressed gently against his back, holding him in place.
"Don't look away, Max," she murmured, half-grunting. "This is an — nnnghhh — very important part of your conditioning."
Another groan, another push. A second log joined the first, even thicker, slamming into the bowl with a wet splash. The water rippled violently, droplets splashing up high enough to dampen Max's legs. It was unbearable—and yet, beneath the revulsion, something else flickered in Max's gut. A traitorous heat, a twisted fascination with the raw, unfiltered power of Riya's body. If she hadn't caught him a few seconds ago, he'd be getting buried alive down there right now.
BRRRAAAAPPPP.
A fart ripped through the stall, vibrating the seat beneath Max's feet. The force of it sent another wave of stench rolling over him, thick enough to taste. Riya sighed in relief, her body sagging slightly as she continued to empty herself, the sounds wet and obscene.
Amid all of this, still standing on the rim of the bowl — as far back as he could manage without falling over the other side onto the floor — Max looked full-on shellshocked. "W-what." He had to stop to cough for a moment, every spoken word bringing another lungful of stink down his throat. "What does this have to do with helping me relax?"
"I'm so glad you asked, dear." Riya beamed, shifting slightly to give Max a better view as another log began its descent. "In successful mixed-size relationships, nothing is off-limits. "Her fingers stroked his back again, possessive and tender. "If you're going to survive at this size, you need to understand that."
Beneath her, Max was a mess of conflicting signals—disgust, humiliation, and, most damning of all, a growing awareness that his professor was probably onto something. "Got it," he said, glancing down at the bowl again and grimacing.
"Good energy, dear." Riya's smile grew. "I'm not expecting you to get the hang of all this on day one. You know that, right?"
"I…" He hesitated. "…Yeah."
By the time Riya finished, the toilet bowl was nearly full. The Indian amazon took her time wiping herself, her movements slow and deliberate, and it took three full flushes to clear away her work. Only then did she stand, pull her pants back up, and retrieve her shrunken patient.
"This was really good work, Max. Honestly, I'm impressed." Riya picked Max up and brought him close to her face. "But I think that's enough for one day." Her smirk widened, playful but knowing. "Wouldn't want to push too hard and break you on day one."
Max swallowed hard, still in a daze from the sensory overload of the last few hours. Had he just been biding his time until now, playing along to survive—or was something much more profound going on here? Had Riya already broken him?
Riya's thumb stroked his back, slow and soothing. "You know," she murmured, "I would have stopped at any point if I thought I was going too fast for you. But I wasn't, was I?" Her dark eyes gleamed with amusement. "You liked it. Sure, maybe not all of it…" She glanced down at the shit-streaked toilet and gave it another flush for good measure. "Well, not yet…" She winked. "But enough."
Max tried to speak, to deny her accusations, but the lie wouldn't come. Instead, he just shivered, his tiny body betraying him with another traitorous twitch of arousal.
Riya laughed softly, then turned, pressing him back into the crack of her ass. The moment his skin met hers, he tensed—but only for a second. Despite everything, despite the humiliation and the helplessness and the heat and the pressure and the raw, unfiltered stink, he felt… safe. How he could feel safe here, wedged against the asshole of a woman who had spent the last hour torturing him with her body, he wasn't sure—but the longer he stayed pressed against her, the more undeniable it became.
Riya was powerful in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend. But she was also consistent. She hadn't hurt him—not really. She'd pushed him, teased him, overwhelmed him… but she'd also praised him. Protected him. Even now, her fingers lingered on his back a second longer than necessary, ready to pluck him free if he truly needed it.
And if he was stuck like this forever — if there was no cure, no going back — then maybe, just maybe, surrendering to her wasn't the worst fate.
"You're being awfully quiet back there, Max." Riya shifted slightly, unintentionally — or intentionally — forcing her asshole right back into Max's face, the puckered ring pressing insistently against his lips. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you just enjoying the ride?"
Max squirmed, his protests muffled by the sheer mass of her flesh. "I—I can't breathe—"
"Oh, please You're getting plenty of air." Riya laughed, the sound vibrating through her body and into his. "Besides, if I wanted to smother you, I'd have sat on you properly by now… Although that does sound like a fun exercise for another day." Her fingers brushed over him again, this time tracing the outline of his trapped form through her chinos. "Now, good to go?"
Max didn't answer. He didn't need to. The way his body was starting to relax against hers said everything.
***
If Max's first stint in Riya's underwear had been a challenge, the journey back to her apartment on the other side of campus was several levels harder. Every step she took sent shockwaves through his body, her powerful cheeks jostling him like a tiny ship caught in an unforgiving storm, and the late afternoon sun quickly turned her ass into a living sauna that left him saturated with sweat in a matter of minutes. And then, of course, there were her farts.
BBBRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
Her latest blast erupted without warning, a deep, resonant explosion that vibrated through her cheeks and directly into Max's trapped form, flooding his nostrils. At this point, he felt increasingly sure he'd never get the smell of her ass out of his nose—and had a sneaking suspicion that this was entirely intentional.
"Oh my goodness," Riya chuckled, patting her stomach with satisfaction. "Sorry, Max. Ordinarily, I'm not this bad."
Max gagged, his tiny hands pressing uselessly against the unyielding flesh surrounding him. Somehow, he doubted that.
Fortunately, by now, they were almost home—although Riya's constant fondness for stopping to chat with every student and faculty member that caught her eye along the way wasn't helping. Max was well aware of his professor's promiscuous reputation — rumor had it that during her first year on campus, she'd been responsible for single-handedly relieving roughly one-fifth of all incoming male freshmen of their virginities — but he'd never seen her in action outside of class until now.
"Zeke!" Noticing a familiar stocky, fluffy-haired Mexican-American freshman emerging from the dining hall, Riya grinned.
Beneath her, Max stifled a groan. Just when he'd felt certain this day couldn't have gotten more humiliating, here was his big, cocky roommate to make everything even worse.
"Hey, Miss C," said Zeke, flashing his usual boyish grin back. "I'm alright. A little hungover, to be honest."
"Oh, dear." Riya shook her head. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to pace yourself?"
"Yeah, you." Zeke's grin grew, his eyes flicking down to her chest before meeting hers again. "Although, I guess that was in a… different context."
"True." Eyeing the ever-pronounced bulge in Zeke's gray sweatpants, Riya licked her lips. "Speaking of… You still on for our usual time next week?"
"You know it," said Zeke, nodding approvingly.
"Good." Riya kept staring at Zeke's groin just long enough for him to notice, then brought her eyes back up to his. "Well, I'm sure you've got another big night to prep for. Don't let me keep you."
"Alright." With his eyes drawn to a group of passing female undergrads, Zeke was already walking back toward the Unaffiliated Students' Dorm. "Later, Miss C!"
"Bye, Zeke." Riya offered a little wave, then took a few steps in the other direction before giving her cheeks a deliberate squeeze around Max.
"Sorry if you wanted to get a word in there, dear," she murmured. "I thought it might be easier to have you sit that one out."
"N-no," breathed Max, still humiliated but undeniably thankful to have avoided being seen by his roommate in this state. "I mean, yeah. T-thanks."
***
Perhaps due to her long-standing friendship with Queen Bea, Riya enjoyed one of the nicer faculty apartments at Ventus—a large three-bedroom, two-bathroom unit that had only grown more well-appointed since her children had moved out. Kali's old bedroom was now her study, crammed with bookshelves upon bookshelves of psychology textbooks and niche sexual studies tomes. Ravi's old room had been converted into a yoga studio, hosting several mats, balls, weights, and various accoutrements for her private sessions. Both of the place's toilets seemed to be in much better working order than they'd been a few years ago, too. Of course, for Riya, the focal point of the home remained the kitchen—the place where she indulged her primary extracurricular passion, not counting sex.
That was where she spent most of the afternoon—swaying her hips to her favorite playlist of Bollywood standards while she prepared a pot of vindaloo for dinner. Meanwhile, her shrunken patient remained trapped in her ass, subject to a bewildering blur of sound and scent. The clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of onions and garlic, the occasional hum of satisfaction as Riya tasted her creation, all underscored by the constant, oppressive heat and musk of her ass.
By the time Max's professor finished cooking and settled down at the table to eat, he was even more dazed than before—and by the time she was finished, he could already hear her powerful digestive system setting to work above him, gurgling and groaning as it processed her extra-spicy concoction. Even after everything Riya's frustratingly productive pooper had put him through today, it didn't seem to be done with him yet.
"Hold on back there, Max," Riya cooed between bites. "I think you're gonna get a little more conditioning tonight after all."
BBBRRRRPPPPPFFFFTTTTTT
As Riya let loose again, Max's only response was a muted whimper. This fart was wet, a bubbling, sputtering expulsion that left him gasping as the humid air rushed over him, and the stench was rancid—thick with cumin, garlic, and something distinctly Riya. For all the strange magic that his professor's conditioning was starting to work on him, it certainly wasn't making her gas smell any better.
"That hit the spot," Riya moaned, shifting slightly in her seat as she finally sat up from the table and shuffled into the other room. Slipping out of her green frilly blouse, she stretched with a satisfied groan, giving her shrunken patient one more butt-squeeze before reaching back to pluck him out.
Finally free from Riya's ass for the first time in several hours, it took Max a second to realize where he was. His amazonian professor was sitting on a king-sized bed draped in red silk sheets—and on either side, he saw two nightstands cluttered with a wide array of sex toys, each one three or four times his size. The walls were lined with framed drawings — a few that he recognized from Odor & Obedience — and a single family portrait of Riya and her children. He swallowed hard. This was Riya's bedroom.
"I think you've earned another reward," Riya purred, setting Max down on the bed and giving her chest a little jostle.
Watching his professor's breasts strain against the delicate material of her lacy red bra, Max could feel his mouth going dry. Her chinos followed, fabric clinging to her hips as she shimmied them down her legs, revealing the matching red thong that did little to contain the monumental swell of her ass. Then, to Max's astonishment and awe, the bra and thong went off, letting every inch of her curvy, chubby figure hang loose.
Completely naked now, Riya turned her back to Max, giving him an unobstructed view of her ass—the same vast, round expanse of smooth brown skin that had trapped him for the last several hours. She glanced over her shoulder, catching his wide-eyed stare, and smirked. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"
Max swallowed hard, his face burning. There was no point in denying it.
Riya just chuckled, climbing back onto the bed and making the mattress dip—a full-on bed-quake to her shrunken patient. Expertly avoiding squashing him, she sprawled out on her back, her legs spreading to reveal the glistening folds of her pussy. It was already swollen with arousal—yet another hungry beast, practically salivating at the chance to pounce on a guy like Max.
"Go on," she murmured, parting her lips to expose her throbbing clit with one hand and inching Max forward with the other. "Make yourself useful."
The moment Max made contact with Riya's sensitive loins, she let out a low, shuddering moan. Her fingers pinned him in place, grinding him against her in slow, deliberate circles, her slick arousal coating him as she used him like a living vibrator—and in the heat of the moment, she was cumming in no time at all. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, sending Max tumbling into the sticky wetness between her thighs, her dripping sex slathering him in a thick, musky sheen.
"Mmm. Very good." Panting, Riya lifted Max again, inspecting him with a satisfied smirk. "I think I need a shower. How about you?"
Without waiting for Max's answer, she rolled off the bed and stepped into the adjoining bathroom. The space was just as luxurious as the bedroom, with a massive walk-in shower, a Jacuzzi tub, and a seriously heavy-duty-looking toilet. This latter fixture was clearly purpose-built to accommodate a woman of her stature—but as she settled her powerful haunches onto the seat, it still creaked in just as much protest as the one in the faculty building.
Riya set Max on the edge of the sink while she relieved herself, the sound of her piss hitting the water deafening at his size—another reminder of just how powerless he was in her world.
BBRRAAAAPPP
As Riya squeaked out yet another fart mid-piss, Max winced. While it was relatively small by her usual standards, it was just as formidable as all the rest in the tight quarters of the bathroom.
When Riya finished peeing, she didn't bother wiping. Instead, she reached back over to Max and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind them. The hot spray hit instantly, drenching Max in scalding downpour before he could even gasp, although his giant companion's huge form blocked most of it.
"Try to relax, dear," she murmured, lathering her hands with soap and pressing Max against her skin. "It's a lot more fun that way."
The suds bubbled between her fingers as she pressed him against her chest, smearing his tiny body across the swell of her breasts—subjecting Max to a moment of unintentional pleasure that would have been far beyond any of his horniest teenage fantasies, were it not for everything he'd gone through to get here. Each of her breasts was like a mountain of soft, wet flesh, and the feeling of being pressed between them was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.
"Mm, that's it," she murmured, her grip tightening just enough to make his ribs creak in protest. Her nipple, already stiff, hardened further under the friction of his squirming form. "Such a good little toy."
Then, without warning, she guided him lower, his world tilting dizzyingly as she pressed him between her thighs. The steamy heat of her pussy enveloped him instantly, the soap-slick folds parting around his tiny body with obscene ease. Riya's thighs tensed as she ground him against her clit, the swollen nub throbbing against his back. The scent of her arousal mixed with the floral soap, creating a heady, intoxicating fog that left him lightheaded.
"Feel that, Max?" she cooed, rolling her hips to drag him through her dripping slit. "That's what you do to me."
As she brought him back to her ass, he was already limp in her grasp, his limbs heavy with exhaustion and reluctant arousal. The soap had done little to cleanse the musk of her earlier "conditioning," and now her puckered hole loomed before him, still faintly glistening from the shower's steam. Riya didn't hesitate—she pressed him directly against it, her fingers working him in slow, filthy circles over the wrinkled flesh. The heat was suffocating, the scent overwhelming, and when her fingertip accidentally breached him just slightly past the rim, a choked whimper escaped his lips.
She chuckled, withdrawing him just enough to admire her handiwork—his tiny form glazed in soap and sweat, his skin flushed from the heat and humiliation. "Mmm, much better," she mused, giving him one last, teasing squeeze before stepping out of the shower and drying herself off.
The towel she used was plush and enormous, swallowing Max whole as she lazily patted herself dry. Then, just as he thought he might catch his breath, she tucked him right back where he'd started—nestled between the warm, damp cheeks of her ass, the weight of her flesh sealing him in darkness.
"Well," she murmured, slipping beneath the silk sheets with a contented sigh, her body sinking into the mattress with a creak of protest. "I'd call that a pretty successful first day of conditioning. What do you think, Max?"
Beneath her, Max was out cold, his mind and body utterly spent. The rise and fall of her breath was the only movement he could register, the steady rhythm lulling him deeper into submission. Somehow, this was his life now.