From Tutor to Titty Toy Tiny Terry chapter 5 by KoroKoroAi

“You know,” she mused, her voice a sing-song murmur as she brought him even closer to the breathtaking shelf of her chest. “I’ve always wondered how it feels. What Mommy does to him. She gets all smiley and secretive about it. ‘Daddy-time,’ she calls it.”

Chloe's smile widened, her eyes glinting with an idea. "Ohmygosh, wait! I just had the best idea ever!"

She didn't put him down. Instead, she held him pinched between her thumb and forefinger as she reached for her pink backpack with her other hand. She rummaged around, crumpling paper and clinking unseen objects. Finally, she pulled out a small, hot pink tube.

"Moisturizer!" she announced triumphantly. "The really good, slippery kind. Mommy uses stuff like this on Daddy! I think it's just so he slides around better. It looks fun!"

Terry's blood ran cold. "Chloe, no. Put me down. The lesson-"

"Shhh, little guy," she giggled, bringing the tube close to her face. With her teeth, she pulled the cap off and spat it onto the desk. It landed with a soft thud by Terry, looking like a car tire rolling away to him. A heavy, floral scent, thick with artificial coconut and vanilla, filled the air. "We're doing a hands-on learning module! Or, like, a boobs-on module! It'll help me remember!"

Still holding him aloft, she squeezed a generous dollop of the white cream onto the back of her other hand. The blob was massive, easily several times Terry's size. She then, with careful, deliberate clumsiness, began to rub it into the skin of her chest, starting at her collarbone and working down.

Terry watched, paralyzed, as her fingers, slick and shining, smoothed the lotion over the upper slopes of her breasts. The cream disappeared into her skin, leaving a glossy, fragrant sheen. The sight was obscenely intimate as her breasts shook and were pushed this way and that, and he was her captive audience.

"Okay, your turn!" she chirped.

“W-wait-” but before he could protest, her slick fingers were on him. She dabbed a tiny (to her) amount of the leftover cream on her fingertip and began rubbing it into his front. The sensation was overwhelming. The lotion was cool at first, then warmed quickly from the friction of her giant finger moving in circles over his entire torso. It was a clinical, possessive motion, like oiling a tiny tool. The floral-coconut scent clung to him.

"There! Allllll slippery!" she declared. She examined her own chest, then him, nodding in satisfaction. "Just like Mommy and Daddy."

Then, she moved. Holding him carefully between her thumb and forefinger, she brought him down toward the dizzying canyon of her cleavage. The world narrowed to tanned skin, the thin white strap of her top, and the profound, warm darkness between.

"Now, let's see..." she mused, her voice a giggly whisper. "Mommy usually puts him right... here."

She pressed him, back-first, into the soft, lotion-slicked swell of her left breast, just above the neckline of her top. The impact was soft, but the sheer, yielding warmth of her flesh enveloping him was a shock. He sank in slightly, the moisturizer making his skin adhere to hers.

"Or... sometimes here?" She adjusted her grip, sliding him a few inches lower, so he was pressed squarely into the center of her cleavage. The pressure increased. The soft, immense weight of her other breast pressed against his side, trapping him in a valley of fragrant, living warmth. He was utterly immobilized, cocooned in softness that smelled like a Bath & Body Works.

"This feels right," Chloe decided, her voice a distant rumble from above. She released her pinch-hold.

“Oh god,” he said, but he didn’t fall. He was stuck, glued by lotion and held fast by the gentle, inescapable pressure of her breasts. He could barely move his arms. He could turn his head, just slightly, and one side of his vision was a wall of tan skin and white fabric, the other a similar wall of bare, lotioned skin.

Then, Chloe, humming a pop song under her breath, placed her elbows on the desk and cupped her hands under her chin. But this time, her forearms pressed inwards, gently compressing her chest.

For Terry, it was a landslide. The soft walls around him squeezed, the pressure becoming firm, suffocated. He was kneaded, ever so slightly, by the simple act of her resting her weight. A stifled, hitched gasp escaped him, lost in the muffled, warm darkness.

"How's it feel in there?" her voice boomed, cheerful and deafeningly close. Her breast vibrated with every word. "It must be really comfy, right? I told you!"

He couldn't answer. He couldn't form words. Every breath was infused with her scent, every inch of his skin was in intimate contact with hers. Lotion covered his face in thick globs. And worse—far worse—the heat and the friction and the utterly humiliating, overwhelming stimulation was having an effect. A familiar, traitorous tightness began in his groin. He tried to fight it, to think of anything else, but there was no "else." There was only Chloe. Her giggle vibrated through him. The subtle, rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat against his back was a steady, maddening drum.

"Mommy does this thing," Chloe continued, her tone one of studious concentration. She shifted, leaning forward a bit more. The pressure increased, becoming a firm, steady crush. Terry felt his body conforming to the shape of her flesh. "She, like, moves him around. Rubs him. She said once she was 'milking the stress away.'"

Her hands went out. Not to remove him, but to press from the outside. Her fingers, vast and warm, began to knead the breasts he was embedded in.

For Terry, it was an apocalypse.

The gentle, all-encompassing pressure became active, purposeful compression. He was rolled, massaged, and smothered by the shifting, mountainous flesh. The lotion made everything slick, allowing him to slide against her skin with a soft, sticky friction that set every nerve on fire. Each movement of her fingers sent waves of intense, conflicting sensation through him - the sharp, unwelcome jolts of pleasure that the friction sparked along his confined body.

He squirmed, a pathetic, futile movement against the ton of soft flesh holding him. A tiny, choked sound escaped him.

"Ooh, are you trying to talk?" Chloe's voice was amused. She increased the pressure, her kneading becoming more vigorous. "You're so squirmy! Just like Daddy! He gets all wiggly too when Mommy does this. Then he gets really still and twitchy. It's really weird. What’s he doing in there?"

She was describing his exact trajectory. The squirming resistance, followed by the helpless, building tension that led to a climax he was desperately trying to stave off. The kneading was relentless. Her finger found a particular spot, and pressed in deeply, squashing him deeper and deeper. Only his head remained, just barely, outside the compressed space between her moisturized breasts.

It was too much. The combination of the scent, the heat, the crushing softness, and the rhythmic, smothering friction tipped him over the edge he’d been clinging to.

His body went rigid, then convulsed in a series of tiny, violent shudders. A silent, strangled cry was lost in the warm, fragrant prison of her cleavage. Pleasure, white-hot and humiliating, ripped through him, leaving him weak and trembling. His release, insignificant in volume, didn’t leave his underwear.

He went limp, spent and drowning in shame.

The kneading stopped. "Huh. You got still." Chloe sounded vaguely disappointed. She gave the breast a final, gentle squeeze, making Terry jostle weakly within. "Are you bored? Maybe I'm not doing it right."

She pulled her hands away from her chest and sat back. The pressure lightened marginally, but he remained firmly lodged. She peered down into her cleavage, her giant eyes looking down at him.

"Terry? You okay in there? You look kinda... out of it."

He was. He was in a state of post-orgasmic collapse, buried alive in a teenage girl's bosom. He couldn't have answered if his life depended on it.

His lack of response seemed to annoy her. Her pout was audible. "Ugh, you're no fun. Daddy at least makes cute little squeaky noises. Maybe you need more... enthusiasm!"

Before he could process what that meant, her hands were back. This time, she didn't just knead. She pressed her palms together, completely sandwiching him between her breasts.

The world vanished into pure, dark, unyielding pressure.

The softness was gone, replaced by a firm, crushing embrace that squeezed the air from his tiny lungs. He was flattened, a speck of lint between two colliding planets of warm, slippery, lotioned flesh. She moved her hands in a circular, grinding motion, rubbing her breasts together with him in the middle.

It was torture. It was ecstasy. It was utterly dehumanizing. The rubbing and compression was intense, all-encompassing. His oversensitive body, still reeling from the first release, was brutally stimulated again. The pressure was immense, bordering on painful, but it was the relentless, rolling, grinding motion that undid him. His body, betraying him completely, began to respond against his will, building towards another climax that he didn't want, but couldn't stop.

He twitched violently, a tiny seizure against the mammoth softness, his whole body shaking with the orgasm,

"Ooh, there's the wiggles!" Chloe giggled, thrilled. "That's better! See, I am doing it right!"

She increased her pace, humming happily. The rhythmic, smothering crush continued. Terry lost all sense of time, of place. He was a toy, a living stress ball for a giant girl's innocent experiment. The second climax, when it hit, was less a burst of pleasure and more a full-system shutdown: a dizzying, draining surrender that left him feeling hollow and used.

He must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knew, the pressure was gone. Cool air hit his lotion-slicked skin, making him shiver.

Chloe had pulled her top down slightly and was peering at him, her brow furrowed. He was stuck to the warm, glistening skin of her right breast. He lay there, limp and twitching, a tiny, glistening bug.

"Ew, you're all... shiny and gross now," she observed, her nose wrinkling. "And you're not moving much. Are you sleeping? That's rude. I'm trying to learn."

She reached for him, her fingertips slick with lotion. She peeled him off her skin with a soft schlick sound. Dangling him before her face again, she examined his listless, half-conscious, heavily panting form.

"You're not very talkative, for a tutor," she sighed. Then she shrugged, her massive shoulders rolling. "Do you, um, feel all de-stressed now?" She waited for a response, staring at Terry. "...Oh well! I think I get it now. The mammary glands are, like, super useful. For lots of stuff! Not just for babies!"

She dropped him onto the table. He lay there without moving, too weak to stand.

Chloe, utterly oblivious to the devastation she’d wrought, began gathering her things with her free hand, chattering away. "I'm totally gonna ace the next test. This was way better than reading that boring book. Maybe I should get my own tiny to study with! Mom says I can't until I'm in college, but that's, like, forever from now..."

She stood up, shouldering her backpack.

Suddenly, a sharp, authoritative knock sounded at the classroom door.