Garden of Delights I

 Garden of Delights: Friday Afternoon

In the sun-drenched backyard of the Grupper house, the air hummed with the scent of blooming roses and freshly cut grass. Sam's mom, Mrs. Grupper, stepped out onto the patio, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sam! Sam, where are you?" she called out, her voice echoing through the garden.

A mischievous giggle floated back from behind the tall hedge. Peering around it, Mrs. Grupper's face lit up with a knowing smile. There, sprawled on a colorful beach towel under the relentless summer sun, was her son Sam—tiny, no bigger than a doll in this new world where women towered like goddesses over shrunken men. And manipulating him with gleeful abandon was Misty, their bubbly teenage neighbor, a blonde bombshell of 16 with curves that could eclipse the sun itself.

Misty had Sam's naked body pressed firmly against her slick, shaved pussy, rubbing him up and down like a living vibrator. Soft moans escaped her lips as she ground against him, her juices already drenching his skin and matting his hair. Sam's discarded clothes lay crumpled nearby, forgotten relics of his former dignity.

Oh God, no—no, this can't be happening, Sam thought, his heart pounding like a war drum in his tiny chest. I was just looking, just a peek at her sunbathing... she's so huge, those curves like mountains. Now I'm naked, slick—her juices everywhere, sticking to my skin, my face, my dick. It's hardening against my will, traitorous body! The warmth, the pressure... it's suffocating, intoxicating. Stop it!

Spotting Mrs. Grupper, Misty didn't miss a beat. She flashed a wicked grin, holding Sam up like a trophy. "Hi, Mrs. Grupper! I was just playing with Sam a little bit..." She giggled mischievously. "I caught him staring at me while I sunbathed, so I thought I'd show him my body a little closer."

Mrs. Grupper chuckled warmly, unfazed. "That's great, Misty. I know you're a teen girl now, beginning to explore your body and all the sensations you can get from playing with boys and men."

"Men can't help themselves, right?" Misty added, eyeing Sam's glistening form—and the raging boner that betrayed his helpless arousal despite his protests.

She sees it—Mom sees it! Sam's mind screamed, humiliation crashing over him like a tidal wave. My own erection, mocking me while I'm used like this. And Mom's... smiling? Why isn't she horrified? Betrayal stabs deeper than Misty's grip.

"They can't help themselves indeed," Mrs. Grupper agreed, her tone matter-of-fact. "But we have to teach them to behave and obey our every whim. After all, since all females are now gigantic compared to men, it's only natural."

"Help! Help, Mom, please tell her to stop!" Sam cried out, his voice a pathetic squeak as he dangled from Misty's fingers, slick and dizzy. Please, Mom—save me! I'm your son, not her toy! Rage boils in my chest—I'll fight this, scream louder!

Mrs. Grupper shook her head gently. "I can't tell Misty to stop, Sam. She found you spying on her, and as a giantess, she can use you to satisfy her needs if she wants."

She can't? She won't? The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering his hope. Abandoned. By my own mother. Terror coils in my gut—what if I can't escape? What if... part of me likes the warmth, the power pressing me? No! Stop that thought—it's poison!

"Yuppie!! You heard that, Sam. Your mom has given me explicit permission to play with you now!" Misty cheered, twirling his body in the air until his head spun. "Now listen, Sam—you're a grown man, and I'm entitled to play with you if I want."

Twirling... dizzy... world blurring, Sam reeled internally, nausea mixing with unwanted sparks of arousal from the motion against her skin. Permission? I'm hers now? A grown man—reduced to this. Pride crumbling, fury fading to despair. Her giggles thunder in my skull. I was somebody once...

Mrs. Grupper nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Have fun, you two. I'll be inside if you need anything."

With that, she sauntered back to the house, leaving Sam to his fate. She's gone. Just like that. Shock numbs me—heart still racing, but the fight... it's slipping. Humiliation burns eternal. What have I become?

Garden of Delights: Friday Afternoon (Lotion Duty)

The afternoon stretched into a haze of humid delight for Misty. She rolled onto her stomach with a contented sigh, her massive, sun-kissed ass arched high like twin moons begging for worship. The sheer scale of her cheeks loomed over Sam like endless golden hills, their smooth curves glistening faintly in the sunlight. "Time for your real work, little spy," she teased, her voice a playful rumble that vibrated through the air. She plucked a dollop of tan lotion from the bottle—the globule easily the size of Sam's torso—and plopped it onto her left cheek with a wet splat. "Rub it all over my booty. Every inch. Make it perfect."

Hours? This can't be hours, Sam thought, staring up at the vast expanse before him, his body still slick and trembling from her earlier use. My arms already ache from fighting, and now this endless ass—smooth, hot, coconut-scented hell. It's everywhere, her scent overwhelming, musky and sweet. I'm just a bug sliding on skin. Disgust churns in my stomach, but... that warmth against me again. No—focus! Obey or else. Exhaustion weighs me down already. Why does obeying feel... inevitable?

Trembling, Sam waded into the lotion puddle and began working it into her flesh. His tiny hands and body slid across the alluring surface, spreading the creamy white across her curves. The heat of her skin enveloped him completely, her natural musk mixing with the tropical lotion to flood his senses. Minutes blurred into what felt like eternity as he climbed, rubbed, and smeared—his muscles burning, sweat mingling with the slick mess.

Keep going... up this mountain of ass. Her purrs vibrate through me—pleasure? For her. Shame floods me; I'm degrading myself, worshipping a teenager's booty like it's my job. But my dick throbs again, traitorous, rubbing against her as I move. Hate it! Hate this heat building inside me. I was a man with a life—now her lotion boy. Creeping shame: Part of me... likes the softness? No! Rage flickers, but it's so tired...

After what seemed like hours, Misty hooked a finger into her tiny g-string and peeled it off with a flourish, tossing it aside like trash. The fabric fluttered down nearby, a mocking reminder of her casual dominance. The air shifted—muskier now, more intimate—as her bare crack came into view, a deep, shadowy valley between her massive cheeks. "Good boy," she cooed. "Now do my crack too. Deep as you can go."

Sam froze for a heartbeat, staring into the dark crevice. Oh fuck, the crack—dark, musky, endless. That scent hits like a wave, earthy and overpowering. My heart races—disgust twists my gut. Do I have a choice? Mom said obey... Swallowing bile, he obliged, slathering lotion deep into the valley. His body sank between the cheeks, the walls of flesh pressing warm and yielding around him as he worked.

Misty sighed contentedly, her body relaxing under his efforts, a low purr rumbling from her throat. "You're doing such good work on my booty," she said happily, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She glanced back over her shoulder, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously between the massive, rounded globes that dwarfed him completely. "Now... I want you to rub my butthole too!"

Her butthole? Sam's mind reeled, horror crashing through the exhaustion. No—no way. That's too much, too intimate. The smell intensifies here, thick and forbidden. My stomach lurches—disgust, pure and raw. But her eyes... commanding, expectant. Unwanted spark: That tightness I glimpsed earlier... No! Stop!

Before he could even squeak a protest, Misty reached back and spread her cheeks wider with both hands, exposing her puckered entrance like a gateway to another world. It winked at him, warm and inviting in her mind, terrifying in his. "Get your arm inside my ass!" she ordered, her tone brooking no argument—cheerful yet ironclad.

Arm inside? Up to my shoulder? Panic surged, his breath coming in tiny gasps. It's pulsing, alive—tight, hot. The walls will clamp me, own me. Humiliation burns: I'm about to fist a teenager's ass. Rage screams—fight her! But his body betrayed him again, moving on autopilot. Trembling, Sam plunged in. His arm sank up to the shoulder into her tight, warm rectum—the velvet walls clenching around him like a living vice, sucking him deeper with rhythmic pulses.

Oh God—it's everywhere! Tight, pulsing, clamping so hard I can't pull back. Her heat suffocates, her scent chokes me—musky, intimate hell. Nausea roils, but... that grip, massaging me too? Dizzy, trapped. My boner rages harder—why? Her power? The forbidden thrill? Self-loathing floods: I'm aroused by this degradation!

"When you have it all in, start moving it around!" Misty demanded, her voice breathy with anticipation. "Massage me good, little toy!"

Sam obeyed his teenage conqueror, twisting and thrusting his limb deep inside her. The tight rectum clamped rhythmically, gripping his arm as he stirred her most intimate depths. Misty shook with pleasure, her moans echoing through the garden like thunderclaps—waves of ecstasy rippling across her giant form. "Ohhh, yes! Deeper, little toy! Just like that!"

Her moans shake my world—each one a earthquake. She's quivering, blissed out, and I'm the cause? Nausea mixes with... sparks? Her pleasure echoing in me, stirring something dark. Exhaustion peaks—arm burning, body slick with lotion and sweat. Pride shattered completely: I was somebody. Now? Her ass puppet. Creeping resignation: Obeying feels... natural. God, forgive me—arousal wins. I hate this. I need it to end. But her purrs... they pull me deeper.

By the time she finally released him—panting and spent, her skin glowing with a perfect tan—Misty scooped him up and planted a sticky kiss on his lotion-smeared face. "Perfect work, Sam! You're my favorite toy already." She giggled, oblivious to the war raging in his tiny soul.

Done... finally. Collapsing inside—physically spent, emotionally gutted. Humiliation eternal, a brand on my psyche. That unwanted thrill lingers, mocking me. What have I become? And the weekend's just starting... Despair whispers: No escape.