Every minute shift in her body travels down to you, warping or unwarping your face to match her positioning. Buried under her weight and robe, the TV is nothing but a muffled conglomeration of voices and music. You see nothing; her cheeks form a seal around your senses. Occasionally she crosses one leg over the other, breaking the seal, but the plush fabric of her robe still covers you regardless of how she sits.
It was late when she arrived home, but since the sun set and her ass descended, you have no way of knowing just how late it is. You guess that hours have passed. Even so, Tara has not risen once. Not long ago, you heard the gurgle of digestion above you. You wondered if she would get up and go to the bathroom... your answer came as a miasma of hot, noxious air that not even her thick garment could filter. But still she did not rise a single inch, either unbothered or unaware, and so the cloud lingered within your cushion-body for far longer than you thought possible.
The night goes on. Again she adjusts herself atop you, only this time is slightly different. The muscles in her thighs flex, her weight moves to one side, and suddenly, you feel it... cool, smooth skin forcing itself between you and her ass. Ten appendages, cold compared to the body heat resting on you, wiggle against your face. Each one is tipped with a hard nail that contrasts the fullness of her ass and the softness of her robe. The scent of them hits you instantly; dust, sweat, stale but not rancid. You realize what's happened; Tara has curled her legs beneath her. She's sitting on her feet, which means all her bodyweight is pressing them into your face, forcing you to taste and smell whatever they'd produced in her nylons and heels throughout all the long day.
Her toes squirm, making themselves comfortable on top of you. You feel the tendons in the top of her feet tensing. They're so cold... the appendages steal from you the warmth her hours of sitting had gifted to you, the heat was hers to freely give and take.
Time continues to tick on, each minute seemingly stretched as far as possible under the domineering weight of Tara. She shifts and moves, each change moving her omnipresent pressure from one spot on your face to another. Suddenly, the blackness begins to face. Light enters your vision. She's standing up!
No. There's no change in her leg muscles, no lifting of the weight that's been oppressing you for hours. Her body still rests on you, and yet... the light grows until it is all you can see. Your heart sinks, and realization shoots down your spine; eight hours have passed.
The next thing you know, you're standing in her living room. Tara's eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief at you suddenly appearing before her. For a few pregnant heartbeats you stare at each other, frozen. Then...