Odor & Obedience, Exercise 2 Shrunken First Semester chapter 6 by maximally

As Max struggled to find the words to say something, anything at all, the Indian amazon was already moving again—stepping over to her desk to retrieve something from the drawers inside. It took him a second to recognize what it was: a jar.

The realization alone sent a jolt of dread through his stomach. The jar was covered in funky residue, and a worrisomely familiar smell—a mix of sweat and something much earthier.

"W-what's that for?" he stammered, squirming in her grip.

"Patience, dear." Riya chuckled, setting the jar on the floor and lowering her shrunken patient inside. 

The cool glass felt oddly sterile against Max's bare skin, but it was far from clean. A visible film of stink lined every inch, and the telltale odors he'd picked up a second ago were even worse inside. Then, when he saw the page Riya was currently opening to, he understood why.

"This is one of my favorite exercises." Riya tapped the book with a manicured nail. The illustration showed a towering woman squatting over a jar, her enormous rump eclipsing the tiny figure trapped beneath her. The caption read: Breathwork Exercise #2: Total Sensory Submission.

"Oh," said Max, somewhere between dazed and paralyzingly anxious. "Is that uh… safe?"

"Perfectly safe. And very effective for young men like you." Riya smirked. "Now, some of the more advanced versions of this exercise involve solids… but I'll spare you that for now." She grinned. "I have a feeling you're not ready for that level of conditioning. Yet."

"S-solids?" Snapped out of his fart-induced stupor by the sheer jarring reality of everything Riya was saying, Max scowled again. "Is this all some kind of a joke?"

"Oh, Max." Riya sighed, crouching beside the jar, her cleavage swelling against her blouse again. "You're still fighting it. That's natural, but… wouldn't it be easier to let go?"

Her words slithered into his mind, coaxing, teasing—but not enough to sway him from reality. "No!" Max shook his head, trying to shake her influence out of his mind. 

"This isn't—this isn't helping me! You're just… just getting off on humiliating me!"

"Everything I'm doing here is to try and help you feel good." Riya smiled a slow, dangerous smile. "And yes, maybe I'm enjoying myself more than your average therapist…" She leaned closer. "But you know what they say. If you love what you do, you'll never work a day in your life."

Max sighed, already feeling his brief burst of resolve fading in the face of Riya's unshakeable certainty. He'd never been good at standing up for himself, much less around big, powerful women like his psychology professor. "I… I just… it’s…” 

Riya watched his internal struggle with evident amusement. "It's alright, Max." She straightened, running a hand down her monumental hip. "This is all part of the process. You're supposed to ask these questions. I'm not trying to brainwash you; I want you to think this through for yourself." Her expression softened. "And, for what it's worth, if you really do want to leave, I'm happy to drop you back in the common room. Or get in touch with your family."

"My… hmm." Max winced. As uncertain as he felt about everything Riya was doing with him, he had even less interest in subjecting himself to the influence of his domineering stepmother, Victoria, and bully stepsister, Izzy—basically the last people he'd ever want to be stuck with in a state like this. "…Fine," he muttered, slumping against the glass.

"Good boy." Riya grinned, patting the jar like a pet carrier. "You're already making such good progress. Most of my patients take weeks to submit this completely."

Below her, Max was caught between conflicting waves of warmth from her praise and uncertainty from the comparison involved. Was he really this much of a pushover? He had a feeling all the years he'd spent living in the shadow of his stepmother and stepsister weren't doing him any favors here.

Before he could spiral further, Riya turned around, positioning her rump right over the jar and casting Max's prison into butt-shaped shadow. Then she was sitting down again, cheeks forming an airtight seal around the rim, blanketing Max in darkness and putting her huge, rancid asshole right back up against his face. 

"Now, remember," she cooed, "deep breaths. Embrace the discomfort."

BBBRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP

Even on the heels of several serious farts, this one was rancid—and the confines of the jar only served to amplify it. All at once, the air was saturated with the spicy, musky stench of Riya's digestion. Max gagged, struggling to get anything that wasn't thick, wet fart-air into his lungs.

"Mmm. That's better." With a single practiced motion, Riya sat up and clapped a lid over the jar—locking Max in with her fumes. "How's it feel, sweetheart? Overwhelming? "

Max coughed, his tiny fists pressing against the glass. "I—I can't breathe—"

"Oh, you can," Riya chuckled. "You just don't want to. There's a difference." She tapped the jar. "Try again. Inhale. "

Against his will, Max allowed his lungs to fill with her stench. The heat, the weight of it—it was like drowning in her essence. His body burned with humiliation, his cock twitching traitorously against his stomach.

Unfortunately, Riya noticed. "See?" She gave the jar a little shake, sending him tumbling against the glass. "Your body gets it, even if your mind doesn't."

Her words made him shudder. But they were also making his heart race.

Riya lifted the jar, bringing it eye level. "Ready for round two?"

Max's stomach dropped.

Again, she didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she returned the jar to the floor, opened the lid, and settled herself back on top of it.

PPPRRRRTTTTTTTT

As another wave of Riya's gas enveloped him, thick and cloying, Max could feel his vision fading. His lungs burned, his head spun, and yet — despite the overwhelming stench — he couldn't stop breathing it in. There was something almost intoxicating about it, a dizzying warmth spreading through his limbs as if her fumes were seeping into his bloodstream. Was he getting high off of this?

Riya shifted above him, her asshole puckering ominously overhead. "You're doing so well, Max," she purred. "But I can tell you're still holding back."

Max's throat was bone dry. As much as he wanted to keep resisting whatever she was trying to do to him, he knew it would be a whole lot easier just to tell her what she wanted to hear—especially if it meant getting out of this jar.

BBRRBRRBAAAPAPPTPTTTTTT

Denying him any time to interrogate this thought, Riya let out yet another fart—a deliberate expulsion that filled the jar with a heat that made his skin prickle. The sound alone was obscene, and the smell hit him like a physical force, spicy and musky, laced with something almost sweet beneath the rot.

He should have escaped—but with his mind increasingly fogged with her scent, he didn't. It was all he could do to let out a single, pathetic moan before his body went slack. The fear was still there, the humiliation—but now, tangled up with it, was something far more dangerous. Wanting to please her.

"There it is," Riya murmured, lifting the jar just enough to peer inside. "Mmm. I do love a quick learner."

Max couldn't meet her eyes. His face burned, his pulse hammering in his ears.

"This is all good stuff, Max," said Riya, unscrewing the lid. "It might not feel like that right now. But sooner or later, you're going to thank me for this."

Her fingers dipped into the jar, plucking him up like a freshly broken toy. He didn't resist as she brought him to her lips, her breath warm and cloying against his damp skin.

"Admit it," she murmured, "it feels good, doesn't it?"

Max's answer was a weak, shuddering nod.

"Good boy." Riya's smile widened. "You know what? Before we keep going, I think you've earned a reward…"