Kelly’s face lights up. “Yeah! I’d love to! So, like, do you stay on my shoulder, or…”

“Yeah,” you say. “Your shoulder sounds great, if that’s okay! Uh, please don’t put me on the floor!” 

She laughs. “Yeah, of course not, let’s go! This set is amazing to dance to.”

Kelly stands up, leaving her second empty glass behind, and makes her way into the middle of the dance floor. It’s mostly full of increasingly-drunk patrons, which now includes you. Perched on Kelly’s shoulder, with your third mostly-empty tiny glass, you do your best to keep your balance. 

The band switches to their next song; it’s energetic, with a good beat. Kelly grins. “This is one of my favorites! My friend helped write it.”

And Kelly starts dancing. Fuck. You were not prepared for this at all. 

She’s not gently bobbing side-to-side like the hipsters. She’s full-on dancing. Her hips are swaying, and her shoulders are rotating, and her breasts have almost bounced out of her dress, which you would find very hot if you weren’t clinging on for dear life. Your glass hits the floor and is forgotten. You think you might throw up. 

“Hey! Whoa! Kelly, hang on-” you try to scream. 

It’s no use. The band is even louder up close, and Kelly is totally lost in the music, and you’re in a cloud of her hair, anyway, so she probably can’t hear you at all. You cough as her hair gets in your mouth, and release your grip with one hand to try and clear your airway. It’s the last mistake you’ll ever make. 

Kelly hops in time with the music, and you’re bounced off her shoulder, flying up. You tumble through the air for a split second before falling back down. But now Kelly’s moved back a bit, and you realize that you’re falling directly towards her cleavage. Oh shit. You manage to take one panicked breath before she jumps up again, bringing her breasts up to meet you, and you land squarely in the center of her cleavage. Her breasts’ upwards motion drives you further down, and your vision goes black. You’re squeezed on both sides by her breasts. You freak out. You want to claw upward, but the skin of Kelly’s breasts is way too soft, and your arms are held too tightly in place. You can barely move them, and the skin is so soft that you can’t find purchase. You try to wiggle around, but can’t move. How the hell does Kelly not feel you? 

This is a dangerous situation. Sure, you’d been squeezed between a big pair of breasts before. That time one of your giant friends got drunk and teased you, or that time your old ex had to hide you from her mom during dinner. But this is different. Kelly clearly has no idea you’re here, and she’s still dancing. 

I did want to get between her tits, you think, dryly, but not like this. Her bra was several sizes too small for her; you’re being squeezed way too tightly in her cleavage. You’re so deep between her huge mounds, and being held so tightly, that even the bouncing isn’t dislodging you. And you’re being bounced and jiggled every which way - you can feel your brain jerking around inside your skull. Your limbs are stuck at awkward angles. It’s very hot, and the temperature is still rising. The skin of Kelly’s cleavage is hot and sweaty. But the sweat isn’t helping you escape - if anything, it was making your movement rougher and stickier.

You scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is hoarse, and she never would have heard you anyway. In the depths of her bosom, even the loud music is reduced to the low beats and vibrations. Everything is muffled, even Kelly’s occasional “woooo!”s and “yeah!”s. You try desperately to struggle against the heavy walls of breast flesh pinning you on either side, but you’re getting weaker and weaker from the heat, the pressure, and the incessant bouncing. Your head aches, your limbs ache, and you’re getting nauseous - each second feels like torture. You succumb to the mountains of flesh Kelly calls her breasts, and finally pass out.