The glow of the television was the only light within the small hotel room. It had captured the attention of the figure on the bed. The thick mattress and sheets formed a steep crater to compensate for the occupant’s mass.

 

She lay shirtless, preserving her modesty by reclining on her front. Her bare back was sculpted by muscle, bulging through tanned skin, rising and falling with her breaths. Each subtle movement would shift the sinews, bringing some of her formidable physique into even clearer definition. A pair of dark athletic shorts strained to contain her stocky, beefy thighs, the only article of clothing she wore.

 

Too the casual observer, she appeared to be the only occupant in the room, a lone woman spending the night watching television. Someone of keener eye, however, would have detected quaint movements over the landscape of her back. It appeared a mere dot, a speck against the great tapestry of flesh. Perhaps a stray bug had found its way within the room, a testament to the oversight of the cleaning staff.

 

Yet, the creature on her back was no insect, but a man. With deft nimbleness, he navigated the various curves and valleys of the domineering dorsal area. He would press his hands into the taut flesh, sensing excess and unnatural tension. Despite his insignificant strength and slight, almost lithe build, his efforts immediately brought relief to the affected area.

 

Nervous eyes gazed up the sculpted landscape. Currently, he resided just behind an imposing shoulder blade. The incline made by the underlying bone exceeded his stature. Constantly, his feet were adjusting to the shifting ground below, compensating for rise and fall of her chest. A quaint vibration rattled his bones, provided by the thumping of her heart.

 

It was beating faster than he was used to.

 

A wad of phlegm was swallowed. The behemoth of a woman he stood on was still occupied by the television. He could only see the back of her head, sporting short red locks fashioned into a slightly messy pixie-cut. It was a far cry from his own platinum-blonde locks that twisted and curled around his own face.

 

The minuscule man’s insignificant voice was carried out of his mouth like a wisp in the wind. “C-capella?”

 

Immediately, her head tilted, before slowly turning around. A teal eye scanned her backside, before locating the speck of a man trembling upon it.

 

“What is it, little dude?” Her own voice was gruff and rough. Yet, there was an undercurrent of affection that softened her tone.

 

“Y-you’re really tense tonight … are you sure you’re going to be alright for tomorrow?”

A chuckle exited her throat. Her mouth formed into an arrogant grin, while she boisterously reassured, “C’mon teeny Tommy! I’m right as rain! Just had a hard practice today … y’know, being the Final Four and everything it’s not as if…”

Thomas could physically experience her confident posture diminish with each word. He was struck with a bout of humidity, as new sweat droplets began to form. They were neither products of heat, nor exertion. Slowly, Capella’s head sunk down in shame.

 

Her back shifted, yet the tiny man maintained his balance. A massive hand reached out to retrieve him from under her shoulder blade. Pointer and thumb grasped his form, firm enough to render him immobile. Not even his fiercest struggle would free him from the gargantuan digits. He shuddered in delight as his torso and waist were both literally engulfed, savoring the touch of her calloused skin.

 

He was carried up, before being placed upon her collar, right next to her neck. Thomas nearly bounced upon the taut, toned flesh as he was set down. His eyes caught sight of Capella’s broad shoulder, casually contracting and working all from the movement of her arm. It proved necessary to cross his legs to both hide, and calm his own desire.

 

The tiny man’s attention was then brought to the blaring screen in front of him. Upon it flashed various clips of basketball games. A constant in each of these sequences were girls in uniforms of pale blue and white.

 

Another constant was the dominating fashion in which they played. Thomas would witness these woman score baskets with ease, while utterly denying any form of retaliation at the other end. At the bottom of the picture, the score besides their team name “North Carolina Tar Heels,” would consistently be at least ten points greater than their opponents.

 

Of particular interest to him was one player. Whenever the camera caught her back, it showed off her jersey number, ‘32’. While her teammates were impressive in their own right, she was clearly in a league of her own. There was no part on the court where she was not a scoring threat. Two or three opposing players would often team up to stop her, but she would either nimbly navigate away, shoot and score over them, or power through gaps for an easy layup.

 

She was an impressive specimen herself, with worked arms and a toned physique. But not as impressive as my Capella.

 

“They’re good, aren’t they?” he heard, almost in a hushed tone. Indeed, a far cry from Capella’s usual bombast.

 

Thomas didn’t answer, continuing to digest additional footage from his perch atop her collar. The athlete could only cast nervous glances down at the minuscule mite, appearing almost distressed while he remained silent.

 

She nearly gasped in relief once she heard his voice. While still soft and somewhat subdued, Thomas’s tone appeared to be free of the anxiety that appeared to eternally plague him.

 

“There’s two significant weaknesses I don’t see teams attempting to exploit. One, their center, while she can shoot 3’s, has mediocre post defense and misses boxing-out on rebounds, providing opportunities for second-chance points. You are one of the nation’s leading rebounders, particularly on the offensive end.”

 

“S-sure, thanks for the vote of confidence, but Jenna Johnso-”

“Johnson’s undoubtedly the player of the year, but she’s far better in the paint than on the exterior. The Tar Heels tend to rely on her to penetrate, instead of setting her up in the post or on the wing. Deny her the interior, you will deny her scoring potential.”

 

Silence permeated the hotel room. All that could be heard was the sound of Capella’s breathing.

 

“You’ve got the strangest way of cheering me up,” she said, cracking a smile.

 

Capella immediately hoisted herself up with her arms, causing Thomas to tumble down her back. He bounded over countless dunes of bulging bulk, before being caught in the divot of her spine. Despite the frantic momentum, he retained a certain amount of awareness, enough to catch sight of her immense rear rapidly approaching him.

 

The athlete then turned her hips, altering his destination. The tiny man was sent flying off her side, before landing upon plush sheets.

 

Thomas began to shiver, having now been separated from Capella’s comforting body heat. He could feel his own head start to become foggy, as her own powerful, feminine musk no longer dominated the air.

 

He was startled with another mighty quake. Capella had shifted her knees, allowing her mighty thighs to straddle the speck-sized man. Her eyes nearly glowed as she gazed down at the mattress, admiring how puny her Thomas appeared in comparison to her mighty pillars.

 

“I almost forgot to do this. We almost ran outta luck for tomorrow because I was such a nervous klutz!”

 

The tiny man was red all over. He could only whimper as he looked upon her leering face, soaking in her arrogant smile. Full, taut, firm breasts dangled from her chest, while hard, rigid abs took up the entire sky. He lay directly below her groin, concealed by the fabric of her shorts.

 

Soon, they would be together again, as dictated by gravity.

 

Capella’s massive crotch drew closer as her hips lowered. With little regard for grace, her hips slammed into the mattress, catching the timid tiny under her groin. He was bombarded with overwhelming heat and pressure, smothered underneath a deluge of nylon material. Through the shorts, radiated an intense aroma of arousal. It coated the air like honey, and was so thick, he could have drowned in pure sensation.

 

The athlete blushed, stifling a moan from the sensations the tiny man evoked in her. Her breath grew desperate and heavy as she pressed her crotch down, harder and harder, subjecting Thomas more and more to her lecherous mass.

 

He began to be slid, up and down the mattress, as Capella’s hips began to grind against the sheets. It was as if she were attempting to squeeze out every last ounce of pleasure from the tiny man. Incomprehensible force punished his body. Were he not blessed with the durability that came from being so small, he would have been crushed one hundredfold by now.

Sweat glistened upon Capella’s forehead as she leaned back, letting out another moan. Sensation overwhelmed her, as her shorts became spoiled with her pleasurable discharge. Musk and muck assaulted Thomas’s form as he was ground harder and harder into the fabric below.

 

Soon, the climax receded. In front of the blaring screen, Capella’s eyes began to flutter. In a low, throaty growl, she murmured, “Fuck, what would I do without you little guy?” After she spoke this, her body relaxed, as she fell asleep for the night.

 

Trapped underneath her privates, Thomas’s chest swelled with pride and happiness. He took for himself, a massive inhale, as if he were absorbing the essence of his beloved. With her lovely pheromones dominating all five senses, he too, found rest, ready for the big game the next day.