Into the Lioness' Den
Shrunk in a Women's Wrestling League
Chapter 19
“Ah, you’re awake,” Yasmine says. “Perfect timing; I’m impressed.” She stops at a nondescript gray door with a nameplate that you can’t read from your current angle, letting go of your hands to punch in a code, and then opens it up and walked inside, you still along for the ride. She turns the light on.
You assume this is her room which means that you no longer ‘need’ Yasmine’s ‘assistance’ to move so she should be letting you out now. Maybe then you can try and regain some of your dignity vis-à-vis the most beautiful and sexy woman you’ve ever met who’s been keeping you entrapped between her thighs for about three-fourths of the time you’ve known her. Although on the other hand, the warmth of her body and the softness of her crotch and inner thighs (when she’s not squeezing) against your face and skull is more intoxicating than any liquor.
Of course though it’s not up to you; it’s Yasmine’s choice and you’re staying right where you are. She moves around the room, turning on a few lamps that give off a soft orange glow and lighting a half dozen candles scattered around the room. You can’t get a good look at anything else from where you are. There’s just the extremely boring ceiling and the very not-boring but boisterously bouncy bodice of the Belly Dancer. You wonder if your alliterative attempt is associated with arrival of hypoxia. Yasmine relaxes her grip on you slightly, allowing you to take in a comparatively deep breath of air that smells entirely of Yasmine, incense and orange and cinnamon, with a dash of sweat, either from you or her. Her silk bottom is moist against your face.
Two of the lamps are on opposite corners of a desk with a mirror in between, three now lit candles set in the center underneath. Yasmine stands in front, admiring herself and the view of the top of your head sticking out from between her indomitable thighs. Then she starts taking off her jewelry, piece by piece, and slowly. She has a lot of jewelry. You voice more protests at your continued imprisonment, Yasmine barely stifling a grin at the pleasure you’re giving her. You are SO a keeper.
Your hands are free though, which means you can do something. Perhaps it’s time for Tommy the Terrible to stage a dramatic comeback, perhaps get a not-dumb stage name while he’s at it. Although she’s keeping a firm pressure on your head with her thighs, her ankles are uncrossed. She’s distracted, unbuckling a necklace composed of long gold finger-shaped and sized objects strung from the top, a tiny sapphire or amethyst at the bottom of each piece which gently clink each other as Yasmine undoes the clasp. You prepare to strike.
What happens next?
You assume this is her room which means that you no longer ‘need’ Yasmine’s ‘assistance’ to move so she should be letting you out now. Maybe then you can try and regain some of your dignity vis-à-vis the most beautiful and sexy woman you’ve ever met who’s been keeping you entrapped between her thighs for about three-fourths of the time you’ve known her. Although on the other hand, the warmth of her body and the softness of her crotch and inner thighs (when she’s not squeezing) against your face and skull is more intoxicating than any liquor.
Of course though it’s not up to you; it’s Yasmine’s choice and you’re staying right where you are. She moves around the room, turning on a few lamps that give off a soft orange glow and lighting a half dozen candles scattered around the room. You can’t get a good look at anything else from where you are. There’s just the extremely boring ceiling and the very not-boring but boisterously bouncy bodice of the Belly Dancer. You wonder if your alliterative attempt is associated with arrival of hypoxia. Yasmine relaxes her grip on you slightly, allowing you to take in a comparatively deep breath of air that smells entirely of Yasmine, incense and orange and cinnamon, with a dash of sweat, either from you or her. Her silk bottom is moist against your face.
Two of the lamps are on opposite corners of a desk with a mirror in between, three now lit candles set in the center underneath. Yasmine stands in front, admiring herself and the view of the top of your head sticking out from between her indomitable thighs. Then she starts taking off her jewelry, piece by piece, and slowly. She has a lot of jewelry. You voice more protests at your continued imprisonment, Yasmine barely stifling a grin at the pleasure you’re giving her. You are SO a keeper.
Your hands are free though, which means you can do something. Perhaps it’s time for Tommy the Terrible to stage a dramatic comeback, perhaps get a not-dumb stage name while he’s at it. Although she’s keeping a firm pressure on your head with her thighs, her ankles are uncrossed. She’s distracted, unbuckling a necklace composed of long gold finger-shaped and sized objects strung from the top, a tiny sapphire or amethyst at the bottom of each piece which gently clink each other as Yasmine undoes the clasp. You prepare to strike.
What happens next?
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May 31, 2023
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