Hazel's Brave Teddy-Terry Knight (1) Tiny Terry chapter 4 by KoroKoroAi

The first three buttons popped open with soft, decisive plinks. A sliver of pale, smooth skin was revealed, rising and falling with her breath. The scent of her - strawberry lotion, sweat - intensified, flooding Terry’s senses.

“Hazel, w-wait,” he tried, his voice a squeak against the vast backdrop of her body. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Shhh,” she hushed, her fingers continuing their work. Two more buttons. The pink satin fell away, revealing the lacy cups of a matching pink bra, embroidered with flowers and filigree. The fabric strained against the full, heavy curves it was meant to contain. From Terry’s perspective, perched on the plateau of her sternum, each cup was a towering, rounded mountain range. “A knight needs to be close to his princess’s heart. For maximum protection. Everyone knows that!”

The final button gave way. She shrugged her shoulders and lifted her back, and the open shirt slid down her arms, discarded onto the floor with a soft rustle. She was left in her bra and pajama shorts. The sight was, as always, terrifyingly magnificent. The swell of her breasts pushed against the delicate lace, the deep, shadowed valley between them a yawning chasm just inches from him.

“Okay,” she whispered sweetly. “Time for bed my little knight.”

Her hands came up, not to her bra clasp, but to him. Her fingers closed around his pink-clad form. He was lifted from her sternum, held aloft for a moment as she admired him.

“My perfect little knight,” she sighed, her eyes soft and dreamy.

Then, she hooked her thumbs into the center of her bra. She pulled. The clasp gave way with a soft snap. The tension in the lace released, and her globes pushed fabric out and away, and the bra cups fell loose at her sides.

Her two immense, pale orbs settled into their natural state, full and heavy. They were tipped with pert, pink nipples, puckered slightly in the cool air of the room.

Hazel didn’t hesitate. She brought her hands together, cupping her breasts and lifting them slightly, emphasizing the cleavage. The valley deepened, becoming a tight, fleshy canyon. The tight space between them was his fate now. A deep, warm crevice of soft skin, a hidden valley of innocent, sisterly love.

“In you go,” she singsonged. She cupped them both with one arm, and lowered him with her hand.

The world narrowed to hot, smooth skin. The sides of her breasts enveloped him, pressing in from left and right with a soft, unyielding firmness. He was slid down, down, into the deepening trench. The pink knight armor provided no protection; it was just a slick layer of fabric against the overwhelming intimacy of her skin.

Her finger pushed him somewhere in the middle, utterly embedded. Above him, a sliver of dim light from the unicorn lamp was visible, just a narrow slit of light framed by her immense breasts. His feet didn’t even touch her chest. He was held fast, suspended in her breasts.

“Comfy?” Hazel’s voice was a distant, muffled rumble from above. The sound vibrated through the flesh surrounding him.

He couldn’t answer. He could barely breathe. The air was thick, hot, and humid with her body heat, but at the same time sweet, girlish, and musky. Every inhale and exhale was forced.

He heard her giggle, a low, contented sound that made the walls of his fleshy prison tremble. “I can feel you wiggling. It tickles.”

Then, the world moved. Hazel shifted, lying fully back on her pillows, but still holding her breasts with her arm, holding him in a tight, unyielding hug. The soft weight of her breasts settled more completely, squeezing him from both sides. He was pressed flat, his face turned to the side, splayed like a starfish, his cheek smooshed against the hot, smooth skin of her inner breast. His tiny breaths were rapid, panicked puffs against her.

He heard the click of her lamp. Darkness, absolute and profound, descended. The last bit of light was gone.

“Goodnight, my little teddy-terry-knight,” her voice came, softer now, already drowsy. “Sweet dreams. Protect me from the monsters…”

Silence followed, broken only by the distant, rhythmic thump-thump of her heartbeat, a deep, subterranean drumming he felt more than heard, and the slow, heavy sound of her breathing. Each inhalation pulled the walls of her cleavage tighter around him for a terrifying second. Each exhalation washed a new wave of her warm, moist breath over the tiny patch of his exposed neck.

Hazel was so happy that her little brother was here to protect her, and felt so warm, so loved, and so protected, that she had already fallen asleep.

He was a fossil embedded in the warm, living earth of his own sister. A fine sheen of sweat began to bloom on her skin, and on him. It beaded on his face, soaked through the silly pink armor, making the fabric cling to him.

He tried to shift, to create a millimeter of space for his chest to expand. His tiny hands pushed against the soft, giving, but ultimately immovable flesh. It yielded slightly, then pressed back, as if amused by his struggle. A sob caught in his throat, but it had no air behind it.

Then, Hazel rolled onto her side. For Terry, it was like being crushed by hydraulics.

The external pressure, already immense, became catastrophic. The world compressed. The soft walls of her cleavage became crushing presses of warm, living flesh. He was flattened, his body bent into the contour of her skin. The air was forced from his tiny lungs in a silent wheeze. The pink knight armor, already damp and strained, offered no resistance. He felt the tiny seams protest, then tear, shorn by the top breast pushing against the bottom breast.

He blacked out for a second, his vision swimming with stars that couldn’t exist in this dark, fleshy universe.

When awareness returned, the pressure had lessened slightly - she’d relaxed her hug - but he was irrevocably changed. The frilly armor was gone. Rubbed away by the monumental friction of her skin against him, lost somewhere in these depths. He was naked, pinned between her breasts, every inch of his tiny body in direct, searing contact with her, his own overheated sweat mixing with hers.

Humiliation burned through him. He was not a knight. He was not a protector. He was a naked, powerless speck, being used as a living, breathing teddy bear by his sleeping sister. A comfort object.

Her sweat was a proper slickness now, making the prison walls slippery but no less constricting. He slid minutely with each of her breaths, a tiny passenger on a vast, fleshy tide. The sound of her breathing was the sound of his world. The beat of her heart was his timekeeper.

She slept on, peaceful, innocent, beautiful. A princess in her pink bed, dreaming sweet dreams, utterly unaware that her “protector” was completely powerless in her endless hug.

Terry hovered on the edge of unconsciousness.

From a great distance, muffled by layers of tissue and fat and dream, a sound filtered down to him. A soft, sleepy, girly murmur.

“Mmm… Terry…”