Buttzilla Strikes! Shrunken First Semester chapter 3 by maximally

"No," Max whimpered, instinctively taking a step back. "No, no, no, no..."

Of course, there was no mistaking the ogre-like young woman standing in the doorway. In a dorm filled with big, slobby, horny shut-ins, Daisy "Buttzilla" Flores was the biggest, slobbiest, and, allegedly, the horniest shut-in of them all. 

While Max had never seen the infamous junior before, she matched all the rumors he'd heard during orientation. At 6'4" and 350 pounds with the monstrous curves to match, she was an absolute mountain of a woman, with a pronounced gut, breasts like watermelons, legs like tree trunks, and an ass that was at least three feet wide. Her faded gray sweatpants, ratty t-shirt and flip-flops looked hopelessly distorted under the immense pressure of her powerful figure, and dark patches of moisture bloomed along every crease.

Still, despite her dirty clothes, greasy hair, and the generous quantity of acne and visible sleep deprivation on her face, he had to admit that she was much better looking than he might have expected. Her round, warm features, full lips, tan skin, big brown eyes and long dark brown hair would make her undeniably cute if she ever decided to put any effort into her appearance. Not that this did much to temper the mounting unease in Max's gut—or the harsh, eggy aroma starting to waft down to his nose. This, too, matched Daisy's reputation as the single worst-smelling person on campus.

She yawned, jaw cracking, and scratched lazily at her massive ass with one hand. The fabric of her sweatpants pulled tight, outlining every curve, every fold. A faint, wet-sounding prrt escaped her as she did it—small, but from Max’s perspective it was a low, ominous rumble that made the air itself feel thicker.

Max couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His tiny naked body was completely exposed on the coffee table, and the biggest, grossest, most terrifying girl on campus was less than twenty feet away and getting closer with every lazy step.

If even a fraction of the legends about this girl were true, Max knew he had every reason to be legitimately afraid for his life. With each lumbering step, she seemed to grow larger and larger, the floorboards creaking beneath her, her colossal body casting a wide shadow that made him feel even smaller than his all-too-limited three inches. All he could do now was hope that she left without noticing him—although he knew that being stuck on the coffee table in the center of the room made him awfully hard to miss. His only alternative would be making a mad dash under the nearest couch, assuming the initial drop to the floor didn't break both of his legs. Then again, maybe that was preferable to getting on the chubby ogress's radar.

He was still weighing which death would be less humiliating when her voice cut through the air—soft, almost shy.

"Oh my gosh..."

Before he could even process the gentleness in her tone, she was on him.

The world went dark, hot, and wet.

His face was suddenly buried in a dense, tangled thatch of coarse pubic hair soaked with sweat. Below that was the overwhelming reality of her pussy—fat, swollen, and filthy. Thick, slippery folds parted around his tiny head as she pressed him in deep. Hot, viscous juices immediately coated his face, his chest, his arms. The smell hit him like a truck: ripe, fermented pussy musk, days-old sweat, and the unmistakable tang of a girl who didn’t bother with daily showers. It was thick enough to taste—or drown in.

"Please," Max sputtered, kicking and pushing against the slick, yielding flesh. "Let me go..."

She couldn’t hear him. To her, he was just a tiny, squirming weight against the most sensitive part of her body. He felt her shiver. A low, involuntary sound rumbled in her chest.

When she finally pulled her hand out of her waistband, Max was left behind—clinging desperately to a thick strand of her pubic hair with both arms, his legs dangling over the hot, slimy entrance of her cunt. Every tiny movement made more of her juices smear across his naked skin. He was already soaked to the bone in her.

As Daisy turned and walked out of the common room, each step sent fresh ripples through her massive body. Max swung helplessly with every sway of her hips, his face constantly bumping and dragging against her hot, hairy pussy. The friction, the heat, the constant flood of fresh slick—it was too much. His lungs burned with her scent. His tiny cock, traitor that it was, was rock hard against her skin.

As she rounded the corner, a few of her lewder dorm mates greeted her with the usual blend of apathetic recognition and simmering horniness.

“Hey, Buttzilla. When are you gonna let me eat that fat ass?”

Daisy kept walking. “Not today.”

“Sup, B-Z. I just got a new vibrator. You wanna come help me test it out?”

“Busy.”

“Yo, Flores! You around tonight? Just torrented this crazy new hentai series—”

“Later.”

Her voice stayed flat, almost bored, but Max could feel the tension in her body. Every time she took a step, her thighs rubbed together, grinding him harder against her. He could feel her heartbeat pounding through her pelvis. She was getting wetter. He was slipping.

By the time she reached her door, Max’s grip was failing. His arms burned. His face was completely glazed in her juices. He was seconds from falling straight down her pant leg when she finally slipped inside and closed the door behind her.

Then, just as Max was starting to feel his consciousness fading, a hand came down to peel him away from the humid, slimy confines of Buttzilla's crotch. As the chubby ogress pulled him out of her sweatpants and his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized they were back in her room—and none of what he saw was reassuring.

Perhaps due to House Proserpina's reputation as a haven for repulsive losers of all stripes, most of the sorority's dorm rooms were singles. Daisy's was no different. A space roughly the size of Max's double in the Unaffiliated Students' Dorm, the room featured an improvised king-sized bed made of two full beds pressed together, a nightstand overflowing with lube bottles and sex toys, a desk visibly sagging under the weight of an aging laptop, monitor and several dozen anime figurines, and a floor covered in dirty clothes, more sex toys, empty chip bags, snack wrappers, pizza boxes and delivery containers. Every inch of wall space was covered with at least two layers of prints and posters, too—thick anthro girls, giantess vore scenes, fart fetish comics, and hentai that made his stomach twist.

Worse than all of this, of course, was the smell. While Max was glad to be free from the embrace of Buttzilla's hungry pussy, the air in her fetid den wasn't much better. The whole space smelled even worse than the dorm's common areas, and the windows looked like they hadn't been opened in years. It was like her room had its own swampy microclimate, a 20-by-20-foot jungle where he was now trapped. Then, all at once, the room got noticeably warmer—and stinkier.

BBBBBBRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP

As a fresh gust of eggy air found its way up to Max, his eyes watered instantly. Buttzilla had just farted, and it was the single worst thing he had ever smelled in his life: rotten eggs, spoiled dairy, and the deep, greasy funk of a girl who held nothing back. Her gas was a force of nature, washing over him like a tidal wave, totally overpowering the last of his physical and psychic defenses. His only solace was the fact that she'd apparently waited until he was free from her crotch to let loose.

Max gagged violently, coughing and choking as the cloud surrounded him.

“Oh!” As Daisy brought her shrunken captive up to eye level, her face went bright red. "S-sorry about that, little guy." 

For a moment, they just stared at each other—him dangling naked and dripping between her fingers, her looking exhausted, guilty, and strangely shy for someone who had just hotboxed him with the worst fart of his life.

“I didn’t want anyone else seeing you out there,” she mumbled. “I’m Daisy. What’s your name?”

Max’s brain was still rebooting. After everything—being shoved into her pants, nearly drowning in her pussy, clinging to her pubes while she walked, and then getting crop-dusted by a fart that could kill a horse—he couldn’t form words.

Daisy noticed the thick layer of her own slime still coating him and winced. “Oh! Here, let me…”

She brought her other hand up and, with surprising gentleness, used her thumb to carefully wipe the worst of the mess from his face and hair. Her touch was warm, a little clammy, but careful. She set him down on the edge of her nightstand, next to a half-empty bottle of lube and several huge, funky-smelling sex toys.

"D-Don't eat me!" Back on his own two feet, Max finally snapped out of his frozen stupor and scrambled away, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and her. "Please!"

Daisy’s face fell. “Eat you? Why would I—” She saw the genuine terror in his eyes and sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look… I don’t know what you’ve heard about me. But I’m probably the best person who could’ve found you in this house.”

Max stared at her, still panting. “You… you shoved me in your—" Unable to keep going without turning as red as his captor, he simply nodded toward the front of her sweatpants.

“I know.” She looked mortified. “I’m sorry. I panicked. You know how the girls here are, right? If any of them had seen an unattended tiny guy, they would’ve…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

Max swallowed. His legs were shaking. “Couldn’t you have just… put me in your pocket or something?”

Daisy’s eyes dropped to the floor. Her voice got even smaller. “I had to scent you. Just to be safe.”

“You had to what?”

“It’s… how it works here.” She fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt, clearly embarrassed. “If you smell like me—really smell like me—then everyone else knows you’re claimed. They won’t touch you. It’s like… calling dibs. So nobody tries to take you or use you while I figure out what to do.”

Max blinked, trying to process the casual horror of it. “So you… marked me. With your…”

Daisy’s blush deepened until it reached her ears. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know it’s super weird and gross. I just… I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you before I could even talk to you.”

She looked so genuinely ashamed that, for a second, Max’s terror flickered. This was Buttzilla. The living legend. The girl whose name alone made people cross the street. And she was standing there, shoulders hunched, apologizing because she’d been trying to protect him in the only way she knew how in this fucked-up house.

“It’s…” He took a shaky breath. The smell of her room was still thick in his lungs. His whole body was still tacky with her dried juices. “It’s fine. I guess. My name’s Max.”

Daisy’s expression softened with relief. “Nice to meet you, Max. Officially.” She gave him a small, nervous smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe I can make it up to you?”

Max stared up at her—this massive, messy, terrifyingly smelly girl who had just shoved him into her unwashed pussy to keep him safe from people even worse than her—and grimaced. “…How?”