Mother's Day Truffle, Mother's Hunger Tiny Terry chapter 4 by KoroKoroAi

“No! No, of course I didn’t forget, Mom!” The lie tumbled out in a desperate, high-pitched rush. “I… Of course I got you a present!”

The effect was instantaneous. The pout vanished, replaced by a radiance so intense it was almost painful to behold. Her eyes widened, the green irises shimmering with tears of joy. A gasp, another mini-hurricane, ripped from her lips.

“You DID?! Oh, my sweet, thoughtful, precious, adorable little boy!” she squealed, her voice rising to a deafening pitch. She brought him to her chest, squeezing him gently against the soft, cashmere fabric of her sweater. The world became a dark, muffled, perfumed prison, the relentless, quickened thump-thump-thump of her heart echoing through his entire body. The soft, yielding warmth of her breast beneath the sweater yielded to him, and suffocated him. “I knew you wouldn’t forget your dear old Mommy! Where is it? Where’s my present?”

“It’s… mmmph… in my room!” he managed to yell into the fabric, his voice completely absorbed by the breast.

“Your room! Of course! We have to go get it!” she declared, lifting him away from her chest. The sudden exposure to light and air was a shock. Before he could protest or suggest she just set him down and let him retrieve it, she stood up from the couch, and the world became a nauseating rollercoaster. Her strides were long and exuberant, each step a seismic event that jolted him in her clenched fist. But worse, far worse, was the view. Her ample breasts, unrestrained beneath the cozy sweater, bounced and swayed with every movement, a hypnotic, terrifying rhythm of soft, giant, perfectly round orbs. He tried to look away, to focus on anything else, but there was no escape. The alternating, bouncing masses were his whole horizon.

In what felt like both an eternity and a single, breathless moment, they arrived at the pantry closet that served as his bedroom. The door swung open with a whoosh, revealing his meticulously organized little world: his matchstick bed, his repurposed jewelry boxes of clothes… A room to his own, between towering boxes of pasta and cans of beets.

“Okay, my lovebug! Show Mommy what you got!” she chirped, her voice resounding in the small, space. She placed the hand containing him, palm up, into the room.

Terry scrambled off her hand, his legs wobbly. He stumbled towards the back corner, behind a forgotten, half-empty bag of chips, where he and Tina had hidden their labor of love. He pushed against the carefully wrapped bundle. It was a single, perfect, dark chocolate truffle. To him, it was like a big boulder. To her, it was a delicate, bite-sized morsel.

“We… we worked really hard on it,” Terry said, his voice small even for him.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the truffle forward, sliding it out from its hiding place and into the light. He unwrapped it for her, circling it like a maypole.

It was a masterpiece. Tina, with her incredibly steady hands and artistic eye, had been the primary artist, while Terry had been the brawn, helping to position it and hold the tiny pins they’d used as tools. For days, they had carved the dark, glossy shell of the truffle with intricate, swirling filigree designs. Delicate hearts and flowers framed the meticulously inscribed words. In looping cursive script, it was covered in phrases like:

Happy Mother’s Day
To The Best Mother In The World
Live, Laugh, Love your Tinies
Bigger Moms Are The Best

On one of the sides of the truffle, they had even managed to carve a simplistic but recognizable portrait of Jenna, her long wavy hair rendered in flowing lines. In her palm was a very tiny Terry, portrayed as a cute chibi figure.

“We spent ages carving it. We thought… you'd like it,” Terry explained, panting slightly from the effort of unwrapping it. “Maybe you could take pictures of it for your feed. Or put it in a little display case. It’s… it’s art.”

He looked up at her, hoping to see appreciation for the craftsmanship, the thought, the sheer effort.

But that wasn’t what he saw.

Jenna had brought her head right onto the pantry shelf in front of the truffle. Her face had transformed. Her jaw had gone slightly slack. Her emerald eyes were no longer sparkling with maternal joy, but with a raw, primal, hungry glee. A thin, shimmering string of drool escaped the corner of her perfect, glossed lips and splattered onto the pantry floor. A wet, sticky puddle. Her breathing became heavy, ragged pants that whipped around him like a storm.

“A… a truffle…” she breathed, the word a low, guttural rumble of desire. “My favorite… Oh, Terry… you shouldn’t have…”

Her hand grasping the shelf twitched, her fingers curling. The scent of her perfume mixed with the sweet, rich aroma of the chocolate.

“It’s so… beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick. “It looks… so… delicious.”

“Wait, Mom, um, don’t you like the carvings? We spend days on them. Don’t you want to take a pic-“

“Give it to me,” she commanded, her voice dropping to a husky, needy register that sent a shiver of something that was absolutely not arousal down his spine. It was too commanding, too possessive. “Give Mommy her present, Terry. Right now. I - I need to taste it.”

Her phrasing, laden with a strange, nearly erotic urgency, made his face burn with embarrassment. He had no choice. He was a tiny man with a chocolate truffle, and his Mom was now a giant, drooling monster who decided to - needed to ­- consume her gift. He could show her the pictures Tina had taken later. Wait, Tina had taken pictures... Right?

He knew better than to make the hungry monster in front of him wait. With a final, defeated shove, he slid the intricately carved truffle to the very edge of the pantry threshold, right to the precipice of her waiting world.

It was as far as he got.

A shadow fell over him.

Jenna’s face swooped down, faster than a hawk diving for prey. Her beautiful, terrifying mouth, glistening with saliva and pink lipstick, opened wide. Her hot, moist, minty breath engulfed him in a hot, suffocating cloud. He had a dizzying, last-second glimpse of the deep, dark, pink cavern of her mouth, the immense, wet tongue, the perfect white teeth.

“Mmmmmmhh, oh, thank you, baby!” she moaned, the sound vibrating through his very soul.

And then her lips closed around them.

Not just the truffle.

Him.

He was overcome by a violent, wet, dark, suction. He was yanked off his feet, the force irresistible. He was pushed into the side of the truffle as both were slurped up into the hot, overwhelming darkness, the slam of her lips plunging him into a perfumed, chocolate-smeared oblivion.

Before her mouth closed completely and he was plunged into hot, wet, chocolaty darkness, he saw her enormous front teeth bite straight through the chibi drawing of himself. It took only a split second for her to cleave the carvings he and Tina had worked on for so long. The massive crushing enamel blades missed his face by inches.