Ravi's Morning Routine Shrunken First Semester chapter 12 by maximally

When Max woke up, he found himself cocooned in musky darkness. A thick, oppressive, living warmth was pressing down on him from all directions, and every attempt to breathe filled his lungs with the competing aromas of stale farts, cum and sweat. It took him a second to realize where he was, and accept that all of yesterday's surreal and degrading twists and turns hadn't been one big bad dream. Against all odds, he was still three inches tall—and still trapped in Ravi's ass.

Memories of the previous day returned in a nauseating rush. Getting "broken in" by the sadistic goth femboy and his sister, the party at House Diana, and the brutal, suffocating fuck-fest that had followed—culminating with Max getting turned into a living buffer between Ravi's insides and Lucky's monster cock. Forty-eight hours ago, his biggest concerns had been losing his virginity and keeping his grades up. Now, it was staying on his giant captor's good side. 

As a low, ominous gurgle echoed through Ravi's cheeks, Max's eyes flew open. He knew that sound. He braced himself, pressing his hands against the soft, doughy flesh all around him, but there was nowhere to go.

BRRRRRRAAAAAWWWWWMPPPPPPPPP

Even after a full day in Ravi's custody, the experience of getting farted on wasn't getting any easier for Max—and this one was particularly heinous. The long, lazy geyser instantly reduced his air supply to a toxic soup of digested burritos and beer. After a few deeply unpleasant but necessary breaths, he could already feel himself getting dizzy.

Gagging, survival instincts overriding all rational thought, he began to struggle in earnest. As usual, his tiny movements were nothing against the sheer mass and power of the giant femboy's body—but they didn't go unnoticed. 

"Mmmph… the fuck, dude?"

The voice was a sleepy, annoyed grumble that vibrated through Max's entire world. The fleshy walls around him suddenly clenched, squeezing the air from his lungs. Then, with a groan of mattress springs, the world tilted violently. Ravi was rolling over.

Light, dim and filtered through purple curtains, stabbed at Max's eyes as the crack of Ravi's ass was suddenly peeled open. Cooler air washed over him, a shocking relief that was immediately undercut by the sight of Ravi's gigantic hand descending toward him. Fingers, tipped with chipped black polish, closed around his torso and plucked him from his sweaty berth.

"Can't a guy get some fucking beauty sleep?" Ravi grumbled. He held Max up to his face, his bright brown eyes, smudged with yesterday's eyeliner, blinking slowly. His shaggy black hair was a wild mess, and a line of dried drool traced a path from his lip to his chin. The smell of his morning breath — a potent cocktail of stale vodka, Red Bull, cum, and sleep — was its own localized environmental hazard.

Before Max could stammer an apology or a plea, Ravi's big, soft, black-glossed lips — somehow still shiny — pursed and leaned in. He gave Max a loud, smacking kiss, his lips engulfing the shrunken freshman's entire head and torso. The sensation was wet, overwhelming, and humiliatingly intimate. Max was bombarded with the concentrated essence of Ravi's mouth, the bitter and sweet residues of the night before.

Ravi pulled back with a smirk, leaving Max sputtering and wiping spit from his face. "Mornin', sleepyhead." His gaze then drifted over Max's shoulder, toward the digital clock on his nightstand. His smirk faltered. "Shit. It's almost two? Damn."

He glanced around the room, his brow furrowing slightly. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled and stained, but devoid of a certain stinky stoner. "Figures. He's never been the cuddly type." He shrugged, the motion making his bare chest, with its small, pert nipples, jiggle slightly. "His loss."

With a grunt, Ravi sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. He stretched his arms above his head and let out a long, groaning yawn. The movement made his semi-soft cock, resting heavily on the mattress, twitch. The sheer, casual power of his body was terrifying.

"Alright," Ravi announced, swinging his powerful legs off the bed. "Time to drop the kids off at the pool." His fingers tightened around Max, preventing any hope of being left behind.

As Ravi padded into the bathroom, Max couldn't help wincing. The toilet bowl was still streaked with evidence of last night's activities, and the air was thick with the lingering ghosts of Ravi's and Lucky's digestive systems.

"Here, hold this," Ravi said, not waiting for a reply as he placed Max on the edge of the sink next to a collection of gothic makeup palettes and several large, intimidating-looking butt plugs soaking in a cloudy glass of water.

Then, Ravi turned, hiked down his skirt — he was still half-dressed from the night before — and sat down on the toilet with a heavy, final thud. The seat groaned under his weight.

Max had no choice but to watch. He saw the intense look of concentration on Ravi's face, saw his abs tighten beneath his crop top. Then came the sounds—a deep, bassy rumble followed by a series of wet, percussive splashes that echoed in the small room. The smell hit him a second later, a fresh, potent wave of waste that dwarfed even the most powerful of Ravi's farts. Max turned his head, gagging, his tiny stomach lurching.

"Whew," Ravi sighed. "Those Diana party pizzas, man. They'll getcha." He reached for his phone, scrolling idly with one hand as his body finished its noisy, smelly business.

When he was done, he didn't immediately get up. Instead, he reached for the toilet paper, his movements hidden from Max's view by the bulk of his skirt and thighs. Max heard the tear of paper, the rustle, and then, to his horror, Ravi's free hand reached over and snatched him off the sink.

"Might as well get a head start on cleanup," Ravi mused, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"W-wait, no! Ravi, don't!" Max screamed, but it was useless. For a heart-stopping second, he was dangled over the horrifying, brown-streaked bowl, the evidence of Ravi's dump swirling menacingly below. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to be dropped in.

But the drop never came. Ravi just chuckled. "Relax, dude. I'm not gonna flush you. Yet." He gave Max a little shake, as if dislodging dust, and then set him back on the counter. The threat hung in the air, more potent than any action.

Finally, Ravi stood, the toilet flushing with a powerful, roaring gush that made Max flinch. He then began to peel off his clothes from the night before, the skirt and crop top landing in a sweaty, musky pile on the floor. Completely naked now, his tank-like curves and monstrous soft cock on full display, he stepped into the shower and turned on the water.

Steam began to fill the room. "Your turn, loofah-boy," Ravi said, reaching out and scooping Max up again.

The shower was a repeat of the previous day's humid torment, but somehow more intimate, more routine. Ravi used Max's tiny body with a practiced efficiency, pressing him into the sweaty crevices of his groin. His monstrous cock, now soft and floppy, was a slippery, soap-slicked challenge to navigate. His thick, heavy balls required several minutes of vigorous, musky scrubbing. And then, of course, there was his ass.

Ravi bent over, spreading his cheeks and pushing Max deep into the familiar, rancid abyss. The giant femboy's hole, relaxed and twitching from his recent evacuation, pulsed against Max's face.

prrrrrrfffffftttttttt

A wet, bubbly fart, amplified by the shower's acoustics, blasted directly into Max. The soapy water did nothing to mitigate the stench; it only made it a wetter, more clinging kind of foul. Max choked, his world once again dissolving into coughs and sputters as Ravi laughed, kneading him deeper into the crack like a piece of abrasive putty.

He was then moved to Ravi's underarms, coarse with shaved stubble and soaked in a purely sweaty, pungent odor, and finally, to his feet. Ravi leaned against the back wall of the shower, hiked a meaty thigh, and pressed Max into the sole of his foot. The taste was vile, an earthy, rancid grit that ground against his face and made him retch. He was used as a living washcloth until his skin felt raw and every one of his senses was saturated with the essence of Ravi.

When it was over, Ravi stepped out, briskly toweled off, and deposited a dripping, shivering Max back on the sink. Ignoring him, Ravi began his transformation. With skilled hands, he reapplied the copious black eyeliner, the shiny lip gloss, and brushed out his hair until it fell perfectly over his eyes. The messy, sleepy boy was gone, replaced once more by the intimidatingly hot, confident goth femboy.

He dressed in a fresh, identical all-black outfit: a new fishnet crop top, a clean pleated skirt, thigh-highs, and his signature choker and arm warmers. He looked himself over in the mirror, smirking at his reflection, before his eyes fell on Max.

"Alright, dude. Mom's expecting us for dinner. Can't be late." He scooped Max up. The familiar, terrifying journey began as Ravi hiked his skirt and stuffed him, still damp, back into the warm, now-cleaner-but-still-distinctly-musky embrace of his asscrack. "Try not to freak out too much. Mom's… got her own way of doing things."

With that ominous promise hanging in the air, Ravi gave his hips a final, settling shake, ensuring Max was lodged securely against his pucker, and headed out the door, leaving the stink of his new master's dorm room behind for the unknown terrors of a family dinner.