By: maximally
PART 1
Twenty-four hours after Emma's departure, you were still a complete mess. Last night had been the loneliest night of your life, and you knew today wouldn't be any better. Without your girlfriend — ex-girlfriend, you had to remind yourself — to keep you company, the bed you'd once shared felt especially vast, cold, and empty. It didn't help that it was her bed, in her room. As a familiar buzzing noise cut through the early morning silence, you sighed. Now, to add insult to injury, you had to get up and snooze your own alarm.
For a moment, you just lay there, allowing the clock to blast your ears, thinking about everything you'd have to do to make it stop. First, you needed to get down to the floor—across the miniature rope bridge connecting the edge of your bed to the nightstand and down the little rope ladder to the carpet. Then, you needed to walk across the room and engage the motorized Lego elevator that Emma had commissioned some guy on Etsy to build for your 25th birthday, up to the surface of her desk. Then, finally, you had to walk across the desk and turn off the clock. All this to do something your ex had been able to do in seconds. At this point, twenty-five years into life at three inches tall, you'd had plenty of time to come to terms with the limitations of being a Tiny—but today was the first day you didn't have a Normal-sized partner to help with the not-so-small stuff.
All in all, the two of you had known each other for a little over two decades — first as childhood friends, and then as boyfriend and girlfriend since high school — and up until yesterday, you'd assumed there would be many more years to come. Sure, the last few hadn't been the easiest time in your relationship — thanks to Emma's difficulties finding work beyond the occasional barista shift at Starbucks, you'd been living at home with her mom since college — but you'd managed. You had each other, you kept your expenses covered, and even if "home" was a run-down double-wide trailer in the backwoods of Alabama, you were both happy—or so you'd thought.
When you finally worked up enough willpower to climb out from under the comforter, the first thing that caught your eye was the framed photo on Emma's desk—a shot of the two of you right after your high school graduation. It had always been one of your favorite pictures of her, and seeing it this morning made you feel even worse than before. Holding you in her outstretched hands like a gift to the cameraperson, she looked positively radiant—subtle hints of her fit, perky figure peeking through her cap and gown, long blonde hair glowing in the sun, and bright blue eyes shining with possibility. It was the same look she'd given you last week, rushing into the living room to tell you she'd been accepted to her dream Master's program in California.
In retrospect, the worst part of this whole thing was that you were the one who'd talked her into applying. After years of striking out with jobs and grad schools, she'd been convinced that she didn't stand a chance—and as her loyal and supportive boyfriend, you'd seen it as your duty to dispel her of that attitude. Only after reading the fine print of her acceptance letter — the part about the partners of current students being barred from on-campus housing — did she realize how challenging it would be to take you along.
The second worst part was how quickly she had made the jump from merely leaving you behind to breaking up with you. Following several deeply unpleasant but necessary discussions about your relationship, gaming out the logistics of daily FaceTime calls and regular visits home, it had seemed like you were on the same page about trying long-distance. Then, the morning she was due to leave for the airport, without any explanation or justification, she'd changed her mind. That was yesterday.
"Kyle? You decent in there?"
Registering the voice on the other side of your bedroom door — upbeat and husky, with an unmistakable Southern twang — you had to resist the urge to groan. The third worst part of this situation was that you were now all alone with Emma's big, slobby mom—at least until you found somewhere else to live.
"J-just a minute, Vera," you said, somewhat resigned to the fact that your voice probably wasn't going to carry out into the hallway.
A second later, sure enough, the door swung open. Looking between the photo on Emma's desk and the 45-year-old amazon standing in the doorway, you still couldn't believe they were related. While your mild-mannered, tidy ex-girlfriend was a petite, slender 5'2", her foul ogre of a mother was at least 6'3" and 400 pounds on a slim day—and as she lumbered into the room, you could feel the whole trailer shake.
Today, she looked just as cartoonishly matronly as ever, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a frumpy beige dress with visible pit stains that obscured most of her formidable curves—save for the undeniable bulk of her watermelon-sized breasts, tree-trunk-like thighs and couch-flattening ass. Vera wasn't an unattractive woman by any means — putting aside all the weight she'd gained through several decades of good living and the lack of attention she paid to her pasty skin and greasy brown hair, she was just as pretty as her daughter — but the way she tended to dress never did her any favors. Neither did her range of characteristic… odors.
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For three full seconds, the noise of the alarm was completely drowned out by Vera's ass—and as you registered the telltale sound of her weapons-grade digestive system at work, you couldn't help wincing. Granted, her louder farts were frequently less smelly than her S.B.D.s, but that still wasn't saying much. At close range, they remained more than enough to knock you out cold.
"Mornin', hon!" Without acknowledging her latest blast of stink, Vera waddled over to her daughter's desk and silenced the clock—saving you at least ten minutes of movement. "Guessin' you want this off? Been hearin' it in the kitchen for half an hour. Thought it was one of the smoke alarms actin' up again."
"M-morning," you mumbled, pulling the comforter back up to conceal your nakedness—and find some refuge from the overpowering eggy aroma starting to waft your way. "Thanks, sorry about that."
"No problem." Noticing your attempts to bury yourself further under the covers, she pursed her full lips. "Somethin' wrong? You hidin' a boner under there?"
"Very funny," you said, shaking your head. In stark contrast to your ex-girlfriend, who blushed at any word stronger than "wiener," her mom rarely shied away from openly sexual subject matter.
"You sure?" Vera smiled. "I'm not judgin' if you do. "
"N-no," you said, trying not to gag. Obviously the "something wrong" was Vera's gas, but you knew better than to say as much. Since moving in with Emma, you'd learned that her mom harbored deep insecurities about the way she often smelled—still citing her farts in particular as the main reason her former husband, Emma's father, had abandoned them. Your ex-girlfriend had advised you never to complain about her mom's bodily functions to avoid hurting her feelings—and after four years of grinning and bearing it, without Emma to back you up if she responded poorly, you saw no reason to stop now. "I'm fine, really."
"That's my KyKy," said Vera, crouching beside your bed and tousling your hair with a greasy finger. "Anyway, you hungry? There's cheesy eggs n' beans on the stove."
You sighed. "Cheesy eggs n' beans" was Vera's specialty, a childhood favorite of Emma's and a dish you'd come to grow quite fond of—and if the aura of stink currently radiating off the mature amazon was any indication, she'd already had several helpings herself. Much as you didn't like encouraging her to make it, based on the havoc it tended to wreak on her system, you weren't in any position to turn down some much-needed comfort food at a time like this. Plus, you knew you'd probably feel a little better once you got out of your ex-girlfriend's childhood bedroom. "Sure. That sounds great."
Five minutes later, after getting dressed and accepting a quick hand ride down the hall, you were settled in the kitchen—sitting cross-legged on the table, picking at a Tiny-sized plate of cheesy egg n' bean crumbs. Behind you, resting her immense, visibly braless breasts just a few inches from where you sat, Vera was housing the rest straight out of the frying pan with her usual unladylike gusto. Between your lingering feelings of emptiness, the predictably messy state of the trailer and your ex's mom's constant burps and farts, you didn't seem to have much of an appetite by comparison.
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As Vera filled the kitchen with another second-thoughtless gust of stink, you finally gave up and pushed your plate away. It was hard to stomach the idea of eating eggs, cheese and beans when they were all you could smell.
"You sure you're alright, hon?" Eyeing your lack of progress on your breakfast, Vera frowned. "I know it's prolly a tough day for you, Emma leavin' and all."
"I… yeah." You nodded. As far as you were concerned, "tough" was a profound understatement. "It's just hard."
"I'm real sorry it ended up like this," she said, leaning to one side in her chair. "I don't know what she was thinkin'. Dumpin' a lil' hunk like you."
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Trying not to react to yet another fart, this one big enough to shake the whole table, you forced yourself to smile and nod again. As much as this comment felt like twisting the knife, it seemed to come from a place of genuine sympathy. "…Thanks. Me neither."
"I hope you know I'm not just blowin' in your ear, either." Vera returned your smile, seemingly pleased with your continued lack of reaction to her gas. "The first time Emma brought you home to meet me, you know what I said?" Taking your silence as permission to continue, she grinned. "I said, 'If you mess things up with that boy, you bring him right back here and give him to me!'"
Accustomed to this level of uncomfortable, earthy forwardness from your ex's mom, you forced a laugh. "Good one."
"She thought so, too," chuckled Vera. "So… whaddaya wanna do today?"
"Well…" Feeling it all hit you again, you let out another big sigh. "I guess if you could help me start looking for apartments, that'd be great."
At the word "apartments," Vera raised an eyebrow. "You're not thinkin' of movin', are you?"
"I mean…" You hesitated. Of course, you knew that Vera had always enjoyed having you around. She never wasted an opportunity to offer her services as a "KyKy-sitter" whenever Emma managed to pick up shifts at Starbucks, and she was always the first to volunteer to cook breakfast or help you get washed up. Still, you'd assumed that would change now that you weren't dating her daughter. "Yeah? It's not like I can keep living here…"
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Vera scowled. "Of course you can! Why wouldn't you?"
"I don't know. I just thought, with me and Emma…" Unable to complete this sentence without choking up, you stopped yourself.
"Look, hon." Vera's expression softened. "You're puttin' on a pretty brave face right now. But I don't think you're in any state to try and get back out there on your own. Not yet, anyway." She shrugged. "Hell, when Emma's daddy walked out on me, I was a mess for months." She sighed. "And I was Normal size."
"Well, I just…" Again, you hesitated. On the one hand, this whole trailer was one big reminder of everything you'd just lost. On the other hand, you had a feeling that your ex's mom had a point. You'd never had to navigate adulthood without Emma. With that in mind, as much as you still wanted to get out of here, the thought of going out and facing the Normal-sized world on your own — and leaving the space you'd called home for the last four years — was getting less and less appealing by the second. At least, the thought of doing that right now. "…I don't know."
"Then lemme make it easier for you," said Vera, smiling warmly. "You're stayin' here, at least through the end of the week, and I won't take no for an answer. Deal?"
Seeing the apparent sympathy in the mature amazon's eyes, you smiled back in spite of yourself. While you didn't appreciate having this decision made for you, it was nice knowing that your ex's mom remained firmly in your corner. "Alright, deal. Thanks, Vera."
***
One week later, you weren't feeling much better about losing Emma. Probably because you'd been avoiding the subject whenever possible. Rather than taking any time to reflect on where your relationship had possibly gone wrong or how you were going to move forward from here, you'd spent most of the last seven days in a safe, predictable haze of TV and video games—and while some part of you knew that you needed to start getting serious about putting your life on track, a much larger part of you was content to give it another week or two. After all, with Vera tending to your every need — well, almost every need — there wasn't any serious pressure to accelerate your timeline for moving out or finding a job. The only moments where the reality of it all felt unavoidable were late at night and first thing in the morning.
Today, waking up on the couch after a long night of binge-watching anime, you had just such a moment. You'd never enjoyed sleeping in the living room—mainly because the proximity to the trailer's master bedroom and sole bathroom meant the sound and smell of your ex's mom's constant nocturnal emissions and biblical midnight toilet trips frequently kept you up. Still, with so many unwelcome thoughts swirling around in your head, Vera's old fake leather couch was better than the bed you'd once shared with her daughter—but only a little. Now, taking in your surroundings — peeling wallpaper, aging linoleum covered in dirty clothes, empty Diet Coke cans and takeout containers, a two-decade-old LCD TV looping through the first season of Everyday Life With Monster Girls, and a clock on the wall that was now closer to noon than 11:00 AM — you could feel an unmistakable unease building in your gut. Whatever you were doing here, it wasn't sustainable.
"You up yet, sweetie?"
As Vera's voice echoed in from the kitchen, you rubbed your eyes and pulled yourself into a seated position. While the past week of living with your ex's mom had gone better than you'd expected, it hadn't been entirely uneventful. With her straight-laced daughter back at school, she seemed to be reverting into the same foul bachelorette she'd been before Emma moved home in both behavior and appearance—and when she stepped into the living room, you had to remind yourself that you were looking at a 45-year-old woman.
For some reason, your decision to stay in the trailer had inspired Vera to make some dramatic changes to her wardrobe. Her usual conservative dresses were gone, replaced with a bewilderingly skimpy assortment of clothes from her wilder teens and twenties—and today's outfit was no exception. Watching her waddle toward the couch, her massive chest, pronounced stomach, door-busting hips and couch-swallowing rump pushing her white tank top and pink booty shorts to their engineered limits, you found it hard not to feel a strange sense of awe—and uncertainty as to whether she could see you. She'd also stopped wearing her glasses, claiming that it made her look younger, but had yet to investigate contacts or any other alternative.
"Hey! Vera!" Much to your dismay, even shouting at the top of your lungs, you could tell that the noise of the TV was preventing anything from reaching your ex's mom. Then, her ass cut in with a word of its own.
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Unfortunately, Vera's sense of style wasn't the only thing that had changed in the last week—so had her sense of hygiene. Maybe some of that was just her feeling a little less pressure to keep up appearances with her daughter out of the house, and maybe your descent into what was probably some level of low-grade depression was egging her on. In any case, the result wasn't pretty. Whatever limited effort she had once made to curb her bodily functions was gone; you couldn't remember the last time you'd seen her shower, and, worst of all, she'd thrown out all of Emma's usual healthy fridge fare in favor of nonstop fast food and her questionable brand of home cooking.
As the familiar smell of recycled eggs, beans and cheese wafted down to your perch on the couch, all you could do was cough. Then, before you had the presence of mind to scramble out of the way, the vast, overwhelming softness of Vera's ass came down on you like an avalanche. Stuck between a hard layer of sticky fake leather and the unforgiving pressure, heat and smell of the mature amazon's massive, sweaty, unwashed rump, it was a miracle you didn't black out—and as you felt her filthy, manhole-sized pucker tensing up again through the flimsy fabric of her shorts, you realized that another, far more intense test of your endurance was only seconds away.
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"Whew!" Vera chuckled, grinding her hips even harder into the couch—and, by extension, you. "That was a wet one!"
Beneath her, buried between boulder-like buttocks and inundated with hot, humid stink straight from the source, you had to resist the urge to vomit—thanking your lucky stars for the layer of clothing insulating you from what sounded and smelled like a very messy shart. While most Tiny guys your age in long-term mixed-size relationships were no strangers to ass play, Emma's insistence on "saving herself for marriage" meant your only exposure to her butt had been totally accidental and frustratingly limited. In other words, this was all very new territory for you—and being caught under Vera was like getting thrown head-first into the deep end of the pool. In terms of size and smell, her rump was nothing short of a force of nature, and this was far from the first time you'd ended up on the wrong side of it since your ex had left for college.
That was another noticeable change you'd observed in the last seven days. You'd had your fair share of accidents and awkward moments with Vera before — after all, she was a very big and frequently very clumsy woman — but they usually resulted in near-misses and close calls. This week, though, it almost seemed like she'd started going out of her way to sit and step on you on purpose.
"Oh, there you are!" Finally acknowledging your impotent struggles, the mature amazon gave her cheeks a playful clench.
For you, this simple gesture of affection felt more like an act of god—her powerful glutes compressing around you like two vast, imposing mountains. Then the pressure began to lift, and you felt a set of giant fingers reaching back to peel you out. In a matter of seconds, you found yourself dangling in front of Vera's heavily made-up face.
"Sorry 'bout that, hon." Looking your sweat-soaked form up and down, the mature amazon wrinkled her nose at the aura of butt funk that now clung to your clothes. "I really gotta start lookin' where I sit, huh?"
"N-no worries," you said, still wary of touching on your de-facto landlady's biggest insecurities. "I-it's fine."
"If you say so," Vera chuckled, eyeing the stiffness in your pants and curling her big, red lips.
Realizing where her eyes were wandering, you groaned. Between your ex's aversion toward premarital sex and your aversion toward getting caught jacking off by her mom, the last four years had taken all the pent-up virginal horniness of your adolescence to intense new heights. As a result, every time you ended up in close proximity to Vera, your second brain couldn't help asserting itself—even in situations that your conscious mind found deeply unpleasant.
"Listen… speakin' of my big ol' booty." Vera wiggled her eyebrows. "I've got a surprise for you."
"Oh?" You winced. If the past few days were any reference, this was not a promising way for your ex's mom to start a conversation. The last time she'd had a surprise for you, you'd been roped into rubbing her huge, smelly feet for three hours while she caught up on Real Housewives.
"Yeah," she said, grinning. "You know how I'm always sayin' I gotta start workin' out again?"
As apprehensive as you were about where this was going, you nodded. Throughout your time living with Vera, this had, indeed, been one of her most frequent refrains—although she'd never done anything to act on it. If anything, she'd only gotten heavier in the four years you'd called the trailer home.
"'Course," Vera continued, "only problem is, I've never liked runnin', and the closest gym is an hour away. So… I started lookin' up home workouts online. That's when I found out about twerkin'." Her grin grew. "You know what that is, right?"
Feeling the stiffness in your pants intensifying, you blushed. "Y-yeah?"
"I thought so," said Vera, placing you back on the couch. "Seems like it's all the rage with guys your age. And it's a great way to burn fat."
"Oh?" Trying to adjust your arousal, you only ended up calling more attention to it. "T-that's cool."
"Right?" Pulling a cracked iPhone out of her bottomless cleavage, Vera shuffled over to the other side of the room. "Anyway, I figured you might get a kick out of seein' the moves I've been workin' on."
Hearing this, you froze. You weren't exactly eager to take your ex-girlfriend's mom up on an offer like this, but several factors kept you from saying as much—not least of all the fact that she was still the one keeping a roof over your head. Knowing there wasn't any way to talk Vera out of this without seriously hurting her feelings or risking your place in the trailer, you shrugged. "S-sure, why not?"
"I had a feelin' you'd say that, too," she said, placing her phone on the TV stand with the camera facing toward the couch. "Now, you ready to rock?"
"Yeah," you said, double-taking at the camera angle. "Wait, are you… recording this?"
"Don't worry," said Vera, grabbing the remote and replacing Monster Girls with a Nicki Minaj video. "It's not goin' anywhere, I just wanna study my technique later. Make sure I've got the right posture and all that."
"Alright." Watching your ex's mom hit record on her phone and step in front of the camera, you saw that the time to push back on any of this was up. "I guess I'm ready."
"Good," said the mature amazon, turning her rump toward the couch. "'Cause here I come!"
While Vera had no background in dance or experience with twerking beyond the tutorial videos she'd been bingeing all week, she had plenty of booty to move—and move it she did. With her immense, porcine cheeks jiggling pleasantly in front of your face, you quickly found yourself getting even more aroused—at least, until you noticed that she was stepping closer and closer to the couch with every shake of her hips. By the time you realized what was about to happen next, she was already stumbling back on top of you butt-first.
"Whoopsie!" Grinding her bottom-heavy frame into the couch again, Vera laughed. "Hang on, hon! Looks like you're getting a lap dance out of this, too!"
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As another gust of high-grade gas rushed into your tiny, defenseless face, made all the worse by the generous quantity of sweat that your ex-girlfriend's mom was working up, you came closer to getting sick than ever before. Nevertheless, against all odds, you managed to keep it together—even when you felt her asshole tensing up for a second round.
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Surrounded by your ex-girlfriend's mom's sweaty, smelly ass, jostled back and forth by her cheeks like some kind of insignificant speck, it was hard to avoid feeling like you'd gotten the rawest deal in the universe. One moment, you'd been happily partnered with the love of your life—and the next, her mom was turning you into some kind of training dummy for her bizarre home workouts. The only thing that made the experience bearable was the knowledge that this all was only temporary. One way or another, you knew you'd eventually find your way out of here—and if Vera was going to make a habit of doing stuff like this, maybe you'd have to pull the trigger on that sooner rather than later.
"Alright." When Vera sat up from the couch to check her phone, you came with her—still hopelessly wedged into her crack. "Now let's just… uh oh…"
"What's up?" Thoroughly muffled by your ex's mom's massive cheeks, your voice had no chance of getting through to her. Thankfully, she wasted no time expanding on what she'd said.
"I thought I was taking a video… but this says 'live.' And… wait a minute… this isn't the camera app…" She gasped. "This is TikTok!"
Processing what Vera was saying, you felt your heart sink. The idea of a livestream featuring your ex-girlfriend's mom tormenting you with her colossal curves — and farting on you — circulating online was like something out of your worst nightmares.
"What do all these numbers mean? Wait, are those… viewers? Oh, my!" Stepping back in front of the camera, Vera stuck her butt out and grinned. "Well, uh… howdy, everybody! Thanks for tunin' in, I guess. My name's Vera, and this here is Kyle."
Still trapped in the mature amazon's big, stinky crack, feeling her stomach gurgling again, you grimaced. Already, you had a bad feeling about this.
PART 2
Two weeks after getting dumped by your girlfriend — and one week after her mom's disastrous twerking livestream — you hadn't gotten any closer to moving out of her trailer. It wasn't like you weren't trying, either. Over the last seven days, for every hour you sank into your usual pastimes like anime and gaming, you'd invested at least three into applying for Tiny-friendly sublets, apartments and jobs—but after sending out at least five hundred such applications, your inbox remained frustratingly empty. Suddenly, it was like no one wanted anything to do with you… and the cause was painfully self-evident.
All in all, Vera had been live on TikTok for about five minutes before realizing her mistake. In that time, she'd successfully racked up about 10,000 concurrent viewers—and once she figured out how to turn off the broadcast, her unexpected audience immediately began circulating clips and screenshots of everything they'd just witnessed. "TwerkingMILF" quickly became a top hashtag on the platform, and a few of the resulting memes soon made their way as far as your personal newsfeeds. In a matter of days, any reputation you'd once had online was thoroughly tarnished—and while you wanted to believe that everyone would eventually move on to the next flavor of the month, the storm of attention around your ex's mom — and, by extension, you — had yet to show any signs of stopping.
While you weren't exactly thrilled about any of this, you'd done a pretty good job keeping up a brave face about it in front of Vera—who couldn't have been more embarrassed and apologetic about her role in the whole thing. The knowledge that her little dance practice had left you irreversibly humiliated in front of the entire internet right after getting dumped by her daughter made her feel absolutely awful, and she was determined to "make it up to you"—from filling the trailer with sympathy cards, flowers and "apology cakes," to buying a brand-new 4K TV and a variety of top-of-the-line gaming consoles for the living room. Of course, at this point, all you really wanted to do was put it all behind you.
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This morning, you woke up to the sound of a big, ripe fart from your new roommate. A familiar sulfur smell soon followed, creeping over to your repurposed tissue-box bed on her nightstand. Glancing over at the still-slumbering 45-year-old amazon beside you, you tried to steady yourself with a deep breath in—and instantly regretted it.
Four days ago, as part of her continued push to apologize for the previous week's events, Vera had "offered" to move your bed into her room. Without giving you any real input in the decision, she'd insisted that this would make it much easier for her to tend to your needs at night—but if she had intended to make your life more convenient, the result was the exact opposite. Thanks to her earsplitting snoring and constant farts, you'd averaged less than two hours of sleep every night since then.
With your landlady's first big morning gust of gas already reaching a critical mass in your lungs, you had no luck holding back the urge to cough—and while the blast itself hadn't been enough to rouse her from sleep, your reaction seemed to do the trick. Rolling over to face you, sweat-soaked beige nightgown clinging to her considerable curves, she noticed your discomfort and frowned.
"Mornin', hon," said Vera, sounding preemptively apologetic. "I didn't wake you up again, did I?"
"No," you said, still coughing. Between your lingering reluctance to acknowledge the elephant in the room that was Vera's gas and your hopes of making her stop dwelling on the livestream, you decided it was better to lie. "I've been up for a while."
"Well, alright then." As Vera sat up in bed, her gut offered an ominous gurgle. "Hmm," she said, extending a hand in your direction. "Looks like it's that time of the mornin'. You need to pee or anythin'?"
Well aware of Vera's usual morning routine by now, you instinctively shook your head. "I can wait."
"Okey-dokey," she said, shifting out of bed. "Be right back."
As the colossal, stinky she-ogre planted her feet on the floor, the whole trailer shook. She'd done a great deal of stress-eating in the last week to cope with the rollercoaster of emotions that came with going viral and had successfully packed a solid ten or twenty extra pounds onto her already considerable frame. Out of bed, no longer obscured by sheets and pillows, her 6'3", 400-plus-pound body was a thing of awe-inspiring power—supernaturally curvy and undeniably attractive despite her slobby tendencies and the total lack of attention she continued to pay to her appearance. She had to step through the door sideways to accommodate her impossibly wide hips—and even then, her butt, breasts and belly made it a very tight squeeze.
Watching her vast, porcine curves jiggling through her ratty nightgown — which sported permanent sweat stains around her pits, cleavage, ass crack and crotch — as she waddled into the other room, you braced yourself for the storm to come. Now that her daughter was out of the house, Vera rarely closed the door to the bathroom—and as you heard her getting settled, you realized this morning would be no different.
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Still stuck on the nightstand, you could only listen in horror as your ex's mom unleashed a characteristically massive dump. Vera's bowel movements had always been supernaturally big and gnarly, and her usual diet of Domino's, McDonald's and Taco Bell (the three closest restaurants to the trailer park) didn't help. During a particularly productive week, she'd have her go-to plumber out to the trailer at least two or three times—and even when the bathroom was in working order, it always smelled like a broken septic system.
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The horrific aroma that eventually made its way back into the bedroom was enough to make you want to vomit—a supercharged variant of the fart she'd cut just minutes ago. Even for Vera, this was heinous work—and as you heard her sit up from the toilet, failing to register anything like flushing or wiping sounds, you knew it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. When she shuffled back into the bedroom, ushering in an even more concentrated cloud of stink, it was all you could do to force a smile.
"Phew," said Vera, waving a hand in front of her face and smiling back. "That's better! Now… who's hungry?"
Following a bathroom break of your own — insisted upon by Vera — where you convinced her to let you pee in the sink to avoid seeing what she'd done to the toilet, you were back at the kitchen table. As you pushed around another miniature plate of cheesy eggs n' beans, you were overshadowed by your ex's mom—tearing through a heaping plate of her own, along with a few slices of her latest "apology cake." Every time you shared a meal, you couldn't help feeling a strange sense of awe at the ravenous intensity she ate with. By comparison, your appetite remained relatively meager—probably because the smell wafting in from the bathroom was making you too nauseous to put anything in your stomach.
"You sure you don't want any of this?" Vera gestured toward the cake mid-bite, nearly dropping a chunk of frosting twice your size right on top of you. "I feel bad eatin' the whole thing all by myself."
"No thanks," you said, still mainly focused on not throwing up. "I'm not really a morning sweets person."
"Alright," she said, picking at a slice emblazoned with two-thirds of the word "FORGIVE." "I can get another one later if you don't like chocolate."
"I'm good, thanks." Despite the continued fallout from Vera's livestream, you actually meant what you said. As far as you were concerned, the whole thing was just a big, regrettable accident—and watching your ex's mom moping around and feeling sorry for you wasn't doing much to help you internalize that, let alone move on. Seeing the enduring look of pity in her eyes, you decided it was time to put your foot down. "You know, you really don't have to keep apologizing for last week. It was an accident."
Vera smiled. "You're sweet for sayin' that, hon. I know it was, but…" Looking away, she sighed. “All those people seein' you like that… I can't even imagine how humiliatin' that must have felt."
"It wasn't that bad," you said, trying not to show how much that humiliation was still haunting you—and hindering your attempts to restart your life. "I'm really not that worried about it."
"Are you sure?" Vera sounded concerned—but cautiously hopeful. "You're not just sayin' that to make me feel better, right?"
"Vera, I'm serious. This stuff happens. Kinda comes with the territory of being Tiny, really." You forced another smile paired with an exaggerated shrug. "It's not like that was the first time you've ever sat on me."
"True," chuckled Vera. "I just…" Another sigh. "Well, I guess I'm just so used to people walkin' out on me, I figured it was only a matter of time before you did, too."
"Hey, c'mon. I wouldn't do that." You frowned. Based on how this conversation was going so far, it seemed like the only way you were going to talk Vera out of her current funk was to double down on your commitment to sticking around—whether you meant to or not. "I mean, I'm still here, aren't I?"
PRRRRRRTTTTTTT
As Vera's latest fart began to give the smell of her morning dump some competition, you did your best to mask your unease. Obviously, your continued presence in the trailer was due to forces far beyond your control — namely, the life-ruining effects of your ex's mom's big viral moment — but you were hoping she wouldn't connect the dots there. Judging by how she was now smiling at you, it seemed to be working.
"Yeah," said Vera. "I s'pose you are. Thanks, hon."
"Sure," you said, feeling genuinely lightheaded from the combined onslaught of stink you were now inhaling. "No problem."
A few seconds passed in eggy silence. Then, Vera spoke again. "Say, uh…" She shifted in her chair. “Speakin’ of you stickin’ around here… There's somethin' I've been meanin' to ask you about."
Unsure how to read the uneasy expression on your ex's mom's face, you instinctively stepped back. "What's up?"
"Well…" Vera's eyes went to a stack of letters on the other end of the table—which you now recognized as various bills. "I'm behind on the rent for this month." She pursed her lips. "And last month."
"Oh," you said, immediately recalling all the expensive apology gifts she'd gotten you since the livestream. "Sorry to hear that."
"Yeah," said Vera, still looking at the stack of bills. "Anyway… I was tryin' to think of a way to catch up… and then I saw this video about TikTok stars, talkin' about how much money they make."
You winced. “…TikTok stars?"
"I know, I know." Vera looked back up at you, visibly uncomfortable with whatever she was about to ask. "But I just thought… if it could help us make rent… would that be somethin' you'd be into?"
"You mean…" You took another step back. Her use of "us" instead of "me" felt oddly calculated. "More livestreams?"
"Doesn't have to be a whole 'nother livestream," she said, clearly eager to downplay your concerns. "With all the followers I got last week, all we'd need is one video. Ten, fifteen seconds tops."
You crossed your arms. "I mean… are there any other options?"
She shrugged. "I suppose I could always move in with my sisters for a bit. I'm sure they wouldn't mind havin' you around, either." She chuckled. "Not like you need that much space or anythin'."
You swallowed hard. From what you'd seen of your ex-girlfriend's mom's sisters through her Facebook and Instagram accounts, they were basically carbon copies of her. One Vera was hard enough to handle. The idea of sharing a living space with two more seemed like a recipe for disaster, at least if you didn't want to end up as the full-time fart absorber for a bunch of giant smelly middle-aged women. You had a feeling that asking Vera if she'd be willing to go out and get a regular job was an exercise in futility, too. "Oh… hmm."
"Again," said Vera, with another warm smile. "No pressure whatsoever. I just figured, if that first one wasn't a big deal for you, what's one more?"
Realizing Vera had just caught you in a perfect logic trap, you froze. If you went back on your word now, you risked undoing all the progress you'd made talking her out of her weeklong shame spiral—and potentially ending up sharing a living space with two women who were just as big, ditzy and foul as she was. "Well… I guess if there's no other way…"
"Oh, good!" Before you'd even finished your answer, Vera had scooped you up in her hand for a big, sloppy thank-you kiss. "Mwah! I knew I could count on you, KyKy!"
Feeling yourself getting pummeled by Vera's big, full lips, covered in a mix of cheesy egg n' bean grease, frosting and spit, you shivered. Hopefully, you hadn't just made a horrible mistake.
Thirty minutes later, you were sitting on the couch in the living room. Your ex's mom had changed from her nightgown into another skimpy outfit — this time, a pair of black yoga pants and a pink crop top that both looked hopelessly overloaded by her powerful, chubby curves — and had placed her phone behind you to get both of you in the frame. The camera was rolling, the TV had another bass-heavy dance track cued up to play, and both of you were in position. All Vera had to do now was start twerking.
"Alright, hon." Looking back at you, Vera grinned. "You ready?"
With your field of view filled by the mature amazon's colossal ass, it was all you could do to offer a half-hearted thumbs-up. As nervous as you were about this whole thing, you were even more eager to just get it over with. "Y-yeah, sure."
"Alright," she said, taking a few steps back toward the couch—several more than you'd expected. "Here we go!"
"Wait," you said, watching Vera getting closer and closer to your perch. "Vera, you're-"
A split-second later, you found yourself flattened under another avalanche of ass fat. Rather than wasting any time twerking, Vera had apparently decided to cut right to the part of her last livestream that had gotten the most attention online — the part featuring your humiliation and subjugation under her big, round rump — and now you were going to have to grin and bear it.
"Mmm," cooed Vera, grinding her heavyset hips into the couch. "There we go."
The scene captured on camera resembled a tiny action figure flattened under two enormous, fabric-clad pumpkins. For you, it was hell. Already engulfed by Vera's massive, jiggling cheeks, you were inundated with the familiar, overpowering aroma of her ass crack. It was like being locked in a big, soft, sweaty pressure cooker full of raw sewage, and it only got worse with every passing second. Soon enough, kneaded further and further into your ex's mom's ass by her constant movement, you were up close with the source of the smell — a pillowy ring of foul-smelling flesh you knew at once to be her giant, unwashed pucker — and again, you could only thank your lucky stars for the thin layer of fabric separating you from whatever heavy-duty funk lurked behind it.
BBBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP
While Vera's yoga pants did protect you from making any direct contact with her asshole, they did nothing to limit the impact of the fart she proceeded to cut in your tiny face—a vast gust of stink that brought you closer to throwing up than at any point before now today. The knowledge that your ex's mom was doing all of this on purpose for an audience of thousands made it all feel even worse.
"Whew!" Vera giggled, smacking her ass. "Hang on, KyKy, there's more where that came from!"
BBBBBBBRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP
As another fart rushed out into your face, you felt a fresh, intense surge of dread about the arrangement you'd just made. If Vera uploaded this video, it would be the final nail in the coffin of whatever life you'd had before now—but if she didn't, you might find yourself facing an even more toxic living situation than this. Reviewing those options, it was hard not to reflect on how much your life had changed in the last two weeks—all of it, objectively, for the worse.
"Ahhh," Vera sighed, turning around and flashing a peace sign for the camera. "Looks like I'm outta gas for now, hope y'all liked that. This is Twerkin' MILF and KyKy, signing off!"
As you heard the "end recording" chime on her phone, no longer at risk of having your voice picked up on video, you finally opened your mouth—but before you could brooch the subject of possibly not uploading the footage you'd just shot, Vera's ass added a last word of its own.
BBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP
"Wow!" Vera laughed. "Shoulda kept recording to get that one in there! Aaand… posted!"
Hearing this, struggling to stay conscious after yet another face-full of gas, you groaned. If this wasn't rock bottom, you didn't want to know what was.
***
One month later, your chances of escaping Vera's orbit felt slimmer than ever. In the wake of the predictable success of her first official post on TikTok, her following had skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands—and in the weeks since, she'd followed that post up with several dozen similarly well-received videos. By now, she was well on the way to becoming one of the platform's biggest rising stars—and the revenue from her account was already more than enough to cover your combined living expenses. The only problem with all of this, at least from your perspective, was that 99% of her content involved subjecting you to her perpetually smelly butt, feet, and farts… and she seemed to think that you were totally on board with that.
Of course, this all came back to the aftermath of her livestream—and your decision to let it go. Based on your continued insistence that the whole thing was no big deal, Vera had concluded that any future content wouldn't be any big deal, either. As far as she was concerned, you remained a willing and enthusiastic participant in her burgeoning career—and with nowhere else to go and no way of explaining how you really felt without potentially risking your place in the trailer, you didn't have much room to push back on that.
As a result, you'd spent about half of the past month in near-constant proximity to Vera's ass. Between an endless cycle of TikTok clips — twerking on you, sitting on you, farting on you, sticking you in a jar and then farting on you — and an equally endless schedule of livestreams, she suddenly had no shortage of need for you to fulfill the role that kept drawing more followers and revenue to her channel. While you were still doing your best to continue searching for any way out of the trailer in your increasingly rare moments of alone time, it felt more and more like an exercise in futility every day. At this point, there were at least several million people who exclusively knew you as Vera's living plaything—and everyone who'd ever known you before all this had cut ties out of secondhand embarrassment or outright disgust.
Meanwhile, Vera had never been in better spirits. After over two decades of sitting around the trailer park, watching trashy reality TV, binge-eating junk food and generally wallowing in self-pity, she'd taken to life as a "content creator" like a pig to mud. Emboldened by her legions of new fans and larger-than-life online persona, she'd dialed up her usual tendencies to even more cartoonish extremes. Her clothes had gotten even skimpier, her sense of hygiene had gotten even worse, and she'd brought back all of the grating habits she'd started to develop in your first week alone together pre-livestream—namely, "accidentally" sitting and stepping on you 24/7. The only difference was that whenever it happened now, she'd snap a couple of pictures for her followers .
This was how she woke you up today—spotting you sleeping on the couch and slamming her colossal rump down on top of you like a one-woman avalanche. Swallowed whole by her big, sweaty cheeks, the first thing on your mind when you came to was the smell of her asshole. All her weeks of slobby living were really catching up back here—and the deeper you got, the more you felt yourself getting coated with a mix of sweat and butt funk.
"Mornin', sleepyhead," said Vera, feeling your tiny face pressing up against her huge, rancid pucker and grinding herself even harder into the couch. "Wake up and smell the booty!"
"V-Vera?" With your ex's mom's vast, doughy butt engulfing you on all sides, it was a struggle just to get enough air into your lungs to speak. "I… I can't…"
"Hold that thought, hon," she said, peeling her phone from the depths of her cleavage and shifting herself forward a little on the couch—just enough to get you in the frame, plastered to the cushions right behind her ass. "Now, smile!"
As you heard the phone's camera-shutter sound effect, you grimaced. Over the last few weeks, Vera had posted no less than a hundred pictures of you getting crushed under her butt—a way of tiding her followers over between videos and livestreams. While you knew she wasn't intentionally trying to turn you into the laughingstock of the entire internet — if anything, it almost seemed like she thought she was doing you a favor by involving you as much as she did — the resulting damage to what was left of your reputation wasn't pretty. Between that, your current total inability to move and the giant, pulsating asshole radiating stink into your face, it was hard not to feel like the lowest form of life in the universe.
"Oh, that's a good one," Vera giggled, examining the photo and ensuring you hadn't gone anywhere in her peripheral vision. Satisfied that you were still stuck under her rump, she uploaded the picture to her Instagram account and smiled as the likes started to pour in. Then, registering a gurgle in her gut, she reopened her camera app. "Hang on, I think I'm gonna need a video of this one."
Feeling the mature amazon's asshole tightening, you tried to steel yourself for what was next. As usual, it didn't do much.
BBBBBBRRRAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP
With your entire body buried between Vera's massive, flabby cheeks, you took the full force of her latest fart head-on. Like most of her farts, it was hot, wet and intensely smelly—and as you struggled to keep from throwing up, you could feel your ex's mom giving you another affectionate squeeze.
"And, cut!" She crowed, uploading the clip to her Instagram Story without a second thought. "Now, what were you sayin', hon?"
Already feeling thoroughly beaten just a few minutes into the day, you let out a long, ragged sigh. "…Never mind."
"Alright," Vera shrugged, settling back into the couch, turning on the TV and flipping over to Bravo. "If you say so."
BBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPBBBLBTTTTT
As another blast of gas rushed into your face, you tried to focus on the sound of the TV. While you'd never been a huge fan of reality programming — especially Vera's favorite, Real Housewives — the process of trying to guess what was going on with no visual of the screen was a welcome distraction from your ex's mom's big, sweaty ass. Not that it made you feel much better.
Most of today's program seemed to revolve around several young women with vaguely familiar voices — possibly Kardashians, but you'd never been good at telling celebrities apart — recapping their recent experiences. One spent several minutes discussing her latest one-night stand with a famous actress. Another described feeling conflicted between taking a modeling deal in LA or starting her own fashion line in New York. A third complained about the stress of planning her upcoming wedding to a top basketball player. These days, you seemed to have more in common with an insect than any of the people on shows like this one—and the more you heard, the harder it was to avoid dwelling on that.
By the time the episode was over, you were practically praying that Vera would decide to change the channel—and a few minutes into the credits, against all odds, your prayers were answered. As the show's announcer started to preview the events of next week's episode, the telltale sound of Vera's ringtone filled the room.
"Well, hello there, sweetie!" As Vera answered the call, you could feel her tensing with anticipation. "I was startin' to think I'd never hear from you again!"
Your heart sank. The only person Vera ever addressed like this was her daughter—your ex.
"Hey, Mom," said Emma, audibly anxious. "Sorry, I know it's been a while. I just…"
"Just what?" Vera chuckled. "You're just too busy off at college to call your mom once in a while?"
"Well…" Emma hesitated. "The first few weeks, I was just so caught up trying not to think about Kyle…" She sighed. "I wanted to give him some space, and I wasn't sure if he'd moved out yet." Another sigh, more pained than the first. "And then one of my friends showed me your… TikTok channel…"
"Ahh," said Vera, with a clear hint of pride. "So that's why you called, huh?"
"Well… yeah." You knew Emma wasn't usually one for confrontation—and based on her tone, she seemed to be trying to psych herself up for whatever she was about to say. "I don't even know where to start. I mean… all the stuff you've been posting with Kyle… how could you do that to him?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Vera scoffed. "Breakin' up with a lil' hunk like him."
"This isn't funny, Mom," said Emma, shaking her head. "It's… it's really fucked up!"
"Hey," said Vera. "We're just giving the people what they want." She chuckled. "Almost sounds like someone's a little jealous."
"Jealous?!" If Emma was uncomfortable before, now she sounded genuinely upset. "The only reason I left Kyle with you is that I thought I could trust you to help him get back on his feet. Not so you could turn him into some kind of… sex toy!"
Already, this was starting to take the usual structure of an average Vera-Emma argument—Vera as the mom who knows best, and Emma as the upstart daughter trying, and usually failing, to get her to see things differently.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Vera scoffed. "'Using him'? I hate to break it to you, hon, but Kyky's been on board with this whole thing from the start!"
"What?!" Emma wasn't convinced. "How could he… that's not… no way."
"Don't believe me? Here…” Bringing her phone back around to her rump and pulling her cheeks apart with her free hand, Vera offered her daughter an unrestricted view of your current state. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her, Kyky?"
When your eyes met through the screen, Emma went white. "Oh my god…" She put a hand over her mouth. "…Kyle?"
Face to face with your ex-girlfriend for the first time in over a month, buried in her mom's ass and muscling through a head full of her farts, you felt mentally and physically frozen—but also understood that you probably weren't going to get another shot to tell your side of the story.
“H-Hey Emma… I…”
BBBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPP
Before you could even consider making your true feelings known, your ex's mom's ass cut in with yet another thunderous fart. As her vast, puckering asshole bloomed against your face — effectively ending any window of opportunity for you to speak — you experienced a moment of profound and crushing clarity. There was no coming back from this. Your old life with Emma was gone, never to return—and the only new one you'd ever get was right here, with her mom.
"See, hon?" Sensing your apparent submission, Vera smiled. "He's fine!"
“I… you…” Watching all this, Emma sounded like she was on the verge of tears. "This is insane…"
"What can I say?" Vera chuckled. "I always told you I'd snatch this little guy up the second you got tired of him." Her smile became a grin. "Which reminds me… now that the two of you have called it quits, you wouldn't mind if I started datin' him, would you?"
Still trapped under the mature amazon's rump, you struggled to process what you'd just heard. Even in the depths of your despair, the idea of dating Vera seemed unthinkable. Not that you imagined you'd have much of a say in the matter.
"Mom, you can't…" Emma's voice jolted you from your thoughts—and while you couldn't see her reaction, you could tell that Vera's latest bombshell was not going over well. "You can't be serious. You can't just…"
"Why can't I?" Vera shrugged. "Seems like I'm already takin' way better care of him than you ever did."
"I… look." You heard Emma take a deep breath, seemingly trying — and failing — to calm herself. "When I broke up with him, I just… I was worried long-distance would be too hard for us. I thought this could give him a chance to do his own thing… But…"
"But that's exactly what he's doin' right now," said Vera, back in mom-knows-best mode. "His 'own thing.' And he's doin' it right here, with me."
As if to illustrate this, your ex's mom reached a hand back to peel you out of her rump and bring you up to her face. Then, before you had any chance to speak again, she brought you in for a kiss—her huge lips covering your whole head and most of your torso and her big, greedy tongue sneaking out several times for a playful lick. When she finally pulled you away a solid five seconds later, you were covered in saliva—and visibly, almost painfully aroused.
"So?" Vera's grin widened. "Do I have your blessing or not?"
Holding you up to her phone, the mature amazon let you take one last look at her daughter. For a moment, it seemed like Emma was at a loss for words—and you had a feeling that the apparent stiffness in your pants wasn't helping. "Fine," she said, finally, voice breaking a bit. "Whatever. If that's what he wants to do, then I guess that's his decision to make. Not mine."
"Well, that settles it, then." Holding the phone at arm's length, Vera made a big show of reaching back and returning you to your usual place under her rump. "Now if you don't mind, I'm sure KyKy's just achin' to get back to his favorite spot!"
Feeling Vera's fingers pressing you up against her asshole again, you shuddered. It was hard to imagine how you'd ever had the strength to stand up to this woman. In retrospect, that had always been Emma's job.
"I…" Emma stammered, "I gotta go. Bye, Mom."
As the call ended, you let out a long, weary exhale. With that, whether you liked it or not, you were now officially Vera's.
"Don't worry about her, hon," said Vera, picking up on your dismay. "She'll find someone new. Now…" She giggled. "How about a kiss?"
With all 400-plus pounds of your new girlfriend bearing down on you, all you could do was press your face back up to her big, pillowy pucker and start kissing.
The end...
(...for now.)