Hazel Weighs In Shrunken First Semester chapter 7 by maximally

Max woke up smothered in the familiar, suffocating warmth of Lucky’s ass. Sometime during the night, the giant femboy had rolled over, pinning Max squarely between his plush, doughy cheeks. The weight was immense — like being buried under two sacks of warm, sweaty flour — and the smell was even worse. Every time Lucky moved, it sent fresh waves of sweat, unwashed funk, and stale fart stench rolling into Max—and every time Max tried to struggle free, it only left him buried deeper than ever.

 

At this point, his face was mashed directly against Lucky’s big, pillowy asshole. It was clear his captor hadn’t wiped in days; the smell of unwashed funk clung to every inch of his crack, and the heat radiating from his wrinkled, sweat-slicked ring was almost feverish. Worse still, Lucky had spent the entire night farting in his sleep, which had kept Max from getting more than a few minutes of real rest. Feeling the giant femboy’s pucker tensing up again, all he could do was wince.

 

 

For what had to be the hundredth time since last night, Lucky blasted a fart right in Max’s face—a thick, eggy cloud that made his eyes water. Max coughed and gagged as the stink wrapped around him. Lucky’s digestive system was relentless, even in sleep, and based on the fact that they’d been up all night streaming, Max knew that the big stinky giant wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

 

Max squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about how insane his life had gotten. Yesterday he was just another awkward freshman, normal-sized and free. Now he was three inches tall, stuck as a toy for a giant, filthy femboy who treated him like some kind of lucky charm. The worst part? Some traitorous part of him was starting to like it. There was a strange sense of safety in being so completely dominated by someone like Lucky—even if his personal hygiene habits left a lot to be desired.

 

 

Max groaned as another blast of heat and stink rolled over him, his face smashed right into the source. Lucky’s panties didn’t do a thing to block the smell—every inch was soaked with days of sweat and musk. He squirmed, but there was no way out, just the crushing weight and Lucky’s never-ending stink. “God… damn it,” he muttered, turning his face into the damp cotton and hoping it would help.

 

*

 

Two more hours and at least a dozen farts later, Lucky finally started to wake up. The pressure eased as Lucky sat up and stretched, but before Max could even think about escaping, a huge hand yanked at the waistband, pinning him right back against that sweaty ass. He was stuck, wedged between hot skin and gross, stale fabric.

 

For a second, Max wondered if Lucky had totally forgotten about him. Then he remembered who he was dealing with. If he knew Lucky, he was probably still high as a kite from last night.

 

“Shit—!” Max flailed as Lucky lumbered toward the bathroom, barely managing to hook his arms around the waistband to avoid tumbling into the abyss of the giant’s crack. The bathroom was just as filthy as the rest of his room—towels strewn on the floor like fallen soldiers, toothpaste crusted on the sink in abstract patterns, and a toilet bowl stained a concerning shade of yellow. Lucky didn’t seem to notice, pulling his underwear down and plopping onto the seat with a heavy thud.

 

Somehow, Max managed not to fall into the toilet—barely. He clung to the crease of Lucky’s ass, doing everything he could to avoid getting an even closer look at what was about to happen.

 

Lucky let out a satisfied groan, and things somehow got even worse. The sound of piss hitting the water was deafening at Max’s size—a waterfall echoing off the porcelain. Hot, stinging steam rose up, thick with ammonia and the sour, sweaty stink of Lucky’s unwashed balls.

 

Then came another sound.

 

 

Lucky grunted, and Max felt the vibration through the giant’s cheeks as something massive dropped into the water below. The smell was immediate—a rancid, gut-churning stench that made Max’s empty stomach lurch. Half-digested beans, processed cheese, and whatever neon-orange snack dust Lucky had inhaled last night combined into a biological weapon.

 

 

 

 

One turd after another dropped into the bowl, Lucky sighing with relief every time. The femboy shifted, spreading his cheeks as another fat glob slid out. Max gagged, doing everything he could not to look down, his arms aching as the toilet water below swirled into a brown mess.

 

“Fuck,” Lucky muttered, reaching for his phone with one hand and scratching his belly with the other. “That’s better.”

 

Just as Max’s grip began to fail, Lucky finally stood, the sudden motion sending the shrunken freshman tumbling forward—right into the giant’s waiting palm. Max blinked up at him, dazed, wondering if Lucky had known he was there the whole time. Of course, given the femboy’s track record, it was just as likely he’d only noticed just now.

 

“Morning, little dude.” Lucky grinned down at him, his breath reeking of sleep and weed. “You really got a thing for my ass, huh?”

 

Max coughed, still reeling from the bathroom’s olfactory assault. “N-no! You just—rolled onto me in your sleep!”

 

“Uh-huh,” Lucky smirked. “Sure.”

 

Before Max could protest, Lucky yanked his underwear up and shoved Max in—this time, right against the front. The damp fabric stuck to Max like glue, and now he could feel the heat of Lucky’s half-hard cock pressing into his back. The thing was huge, thick as Max’s whole body, and the weight of it pinned him tight against the sweaty briefs. A drop of precum glued his shoulder to the fabric, the musky smell of Lucky’s arousal mixing with the leftover stink from the toilet.

 

Back in the room, Lucky started rooting through the mountain of junk on his desk. Empty energy drink cans, crumpled chip bags, and a sticky anime figurine that Max really, really didn’t want to think about. Eventually, Lucky fished out a half-eaten breakfast burrito and his battered bong. He took a massive bite, chewing with his mouth open and letting a chunk of scrambled egg tumble onto his crop top. Then he ripped the bong, holding the smoke in so long his cheeks puffed out. When he finally exhaled, the whole room filled with a thick, skunky haze, mixing with the leftover stench from the bathroom until the air was almost too heavy to breathe.

 

For the next few minutes, Lucky just ate, smoked, and farted like it was the most normal thing in the world. Max stayed pinned against the giant femboy’s cock, doing his best not to gag on the mix of musk, weed, and leftover bathroom funk. Every time he tried to work up the nerve to say something, another fart or mouthful of burrito would throw him off. No matter how weird things were getting, his mission hadn’t changed: he needed to not be three inches tall in a dorm full of giant, unpredictable women and at least one big, stinky femboy. Preferably as soon as possible.

 

“Hey, Lucky,” Max finally started, hesitating.

 

“Yeah?” Exhaling a heavy cloud of smoke, Lucky pulled back the waistband of his underwear to check in on his shrunken passenger.

 

“You, uh…” Max swallowed hard, struggling to stay focused while pressed against the throbbing, musky mass of Lucky’s cock. “You said you’d ask around about fixing this, right?”

 

“Hmm?” Lucky took another bite of his burrito, crumbs tumbling down his chest. “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about that.”

 

Max’s heart sank. “Almost?”

 

“I was high.” Lucky shrugged, wiping his greasy fingers on his already-stained underwear. “But yeah, I can ask Haze.”

 

“Haze?”

 

“My neighbor, Hazel. Total freak, but she’s, like, a science genius or whatever.” Lucky tugged on his usual sweatpants and crop top. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

 

The walk to Hazel’s room was short, but every step made Max’s world bounce and grind him up against Lucky’s cock. Heat, stink, sticky sweat—he was trapped in a wall of femboy musk with no way out. Every time Lucky moved, that thick shaft pressed into him, making Max feel even smaller and more helpless—and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucky knew exactly what he was doing.

 

Hazel’s door was a chaotic collage of anime stickers, chemical compound diagrams, and a jury-rigged speaker that crackled to life as they approached.

 

 

Ignoring his neighbor’s directions, Lucky hip-checked the door open, revealing a den of depravity that made even his pigsty of a room look tame. The room was a shrine to hedonism—walls plastered with lewd posters, floor littered with cum-crusted tech manuals and half-assembled sex toys. The centerpiece was Hazel’s monstrous gaming rig, its RGB lights pulsing in sync with the muted moans of a hentai stream playing across three monitors. The air was thick with the stench of stale weed, body odor, and something acrid—burnt circuitry mixed with the sour tang of unwashed flesh.

 

Hazel was sprawled on a stained mattress, polka-dot sweatpants sagging low to show off her soft belly and a dark trail of hair disappearing into her waistband. Her blouse was open, olive skin shiny with sweat, nipples poking out in the heat. She looked up, buck teeth flashing in a grin that was half mad scientist, half pervert.

 

“Well, well,” she drawled, her free hand pausing just long enough to push her glasses up her nose. The other remained busy beneath her waistband, fingers working in slow, slick circles. “If it isn’t my favorite skunkboy.”

 

“Hey, Haze.” Lucky scratched his ass, his underwear riding up to expose a strip of pale, sweat-damp skin. “You got a second?”

 

“For you?” Hazel inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring as she drank in Lucky’s signature blend of weed, musk, and yesterday’s burrito fumes. “Always.” She jerked her chin toward the skid-marked gaming chair beside her bed. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You can lose those pants if you want.”

 

Lucky flopped into the chair with a creak, his thighs spreading wide enough to make the seams of his sweatpants groan. “I think I’m good, thanks.”

 

“Loved the stream last night, by the way.” Hazel’s grin widened, her eyes flicking down to Lucky’s bulge. “You borrow the miniguy from Ravi or something?”

 

“Actually… that’s kinda why I’m here.” Lucky hooked his thumbs into his waistband and fished Max out like a prize, dangling him in front of Hazel’s hungry gaze. “This is Max. Says he got shrunk at a party two nights ago.”

 

Hazel sat up and leaned in, her breath hot and sour—coffee, instant ramen, and the garlicky remnants of last night’s takeout. “Ooooh.” She prodded Max’s chest with a sticky finger, her chipped nail tracing the outline of his shrunken form. “He’s even cuter in person!”

 

Max’s mouth went dry. Hazel looked at him like a new toy she couldn’t wait to break. Her fingers twitched, sweatpants clinging to her hips, a wet spot spreading where her hand kept moving. Everything about her screamed danger. If there was a single person in this house with a reasonable view of shrunken people, it definitely wasn’t her.

 

“So?” Lucky shifted, sending Max swaying perilously close to Hazel’s waiting grasp. “Can you, like, un-shrink him?”

 

Hazel shrugged, her exposed breasts jiggling with the motion. “Doubt it.” Her thumb rubbed circles over Max’s chest, her other hand’s movements growing more deliberate under her waistband. “Shrinking serum’s a one-way trip, usually.”

 

Max’s stomach dropped. “W-what?”

 

Hazel’s grin turned feral. “But hey—” Her fingers abruptly stilled, then withdrew, glistening. She brought them to her lips, sucking them clean with a lewd pop. “—That’s not a bad thing.” Her free hand darted out, plucking Max from Lucky’s grip with terrifying ease. “There are so many experiments we could do.”

 

Lucky blinked, seemingly oblivious to the thick sexual tension in the room. “Like what?”

 

“Oh, you know.” Hazel’s grip tightened, her thumb pressing down on Max’s chest. Her other hand returned to her waistband, the wet sounds beneath her sweatpants growing louder than ever. “Stress tests. Endurance trials. Fun stuff.”

 

Max squirmed, his back pressing into the hot, sticky cradle of her palm. “I—I think I’d rather just—”

 

“Relax, miniguy.” Hazel’s voice dropped to a husky purr, her fingers moving faster now, the fabric of her sweatpants straining with each deliberate stroke.  “You’re in really good hands.”