Hustled
by delicious
He had been so sure he could win the wrestling match...


I had never thought of giving up wrestling until my last bout.  Until
then I enjoyed it.  But I was made an offer I couldn't refuse.  It turns
out what I've got now is better, although refusing would have been
dangerous, or even deadly.  

The promoter's idea was a novelty match.  Men never wrestle
women, but this seemed like a good match.  At 200 lb. I'm the
smallest guy on the circuit, so I need all the attention I can get.  
My opponent was Tanya Buttski, known simply as Two-ton Tanya. 
They told me she was a flabby 250 pounder who had never really
wrestled a single opponent in her life.  I was cautioned to be gentle,
and not to hurt her because people would get upset, and that would
be bad for my image, and the image of the sport of wrestling.  Little
did I realize that I was the one who could get hurt.

Tanya was a lot closer to two tons than they let on when we made
the match, and she wasn't flabby.  I suspected that it might have been
true that she had never wrestled a single opponent, given that in most
matches her opponents were probably too overwhelmed, intimidated,
and outclassed to put up a fight.  

The first time I laid eyes on her was in the ring.  Alarm bells went
off in my head. For starters she was a foot taller than me.  They
announced her at 6-foot nine, and her boots made her look seven feet
tall.  I'm five-nine.  

But that wasn't even the scary part.  Never mind her height, or the
fact that she wasn't flabby.  She was very, very, very wide.  Judging
from her height I did some panicky calculations in my head.  Judging
from her height she could be twice my weight, which was only 192,
and not 200.

We met in the center of the ring to shake hands.  I looked up to meet
her eyes, because I didn't want to look too nervous.  She was waiting,
laughing at me.
"I guess we fooled you, huh Jimmy? Am I a teeny bit bigger than
what you expected?"  I nodded. She mimed the universal sign of the
hustle: a fisherman, reeling in his catch. As her big hand grasped
mine, she held onto it for a few seconds longer than necessary.  Was
this some sort of test of strength?  But she just laughed again.  When
you're sure of yourself you can laugh at everything.  Today, Tanya
had no worries whatsoever.  "Ooooh Jimmy... I think your hand is
shaking!  Is that fear?  Or maybe excitement?"  She leaned closer,
still holding my hand: "or lust?"

I changed  the subject.  "So how much do you weigh?"

She released my hand, but still stared straight into me.  "Tell you
what.  Let's play carnival.  I sit on your face, and you guess my
weight."  I'm sure she saw my shudder, and knew what it meant: that
the idea excited me completely. 

She turned confidently back to her corner, while I reeled back to
mine, wondering how I would be able to concentrate on the match.

The bell rang, and Tanya came out sllowly, warily, while I danced
around her.  But we'd have to meet eventually.  This was wrestling,
not boxing or ballet.  I faced the inevitable.  I thought "please God,
don't let me be totally humiliated".

Our arms locked, ritualistically, in the middle of the ring.  The
sensation in my shoulders was completely unfamiliar: I was reaching
up.  I tried not to look in her eyes...yet, anyway.  I kept thinking of
that knowing look she had given me when she spoke of playing
"carnival".  If she looked at me that way again, I might have
embarrassing developments in my pants....Damn, another strike
against me.

She may not have had the muscle of a man her size, but so what? 
She leaned her upper body towards me, almost above me, while our
arms continued to be linked, and my knees buckled without a
second's resistance.  The crowd cheered, damn them.  Sure I buckled,
because of the pressure, but also because her breasts billowed up
between her arms into my face.  They smelled good.  Your knees
would be weak, too.

As I went lower, kneeling, now, she kept hold, relentlessly
maintaining downward pressure, until I was like Atlas, holding the
world on my shoulders.  A world of panting breast-flesh going up
and down like a bellows, in my face, on my shoulders.  Her breasts
were the world, and I was struck with the thought that I shouldn't
push.  Would it be so bad to be buried under those behemoth boobs? 
Was she even breathing hard, or was this just her way of enticing me
further?  Those breasts seemed to swell, becoming heavier, more
dangerous, more irresistibly lovely by the second.  How had Atlas
died, I wondered.  And he always held hard rock.  Did he long to be
crushed by soft, perfumed female flesh?

As I struggled to make it look like a wrestling match, and not
something else, I whispered "375?"

"More" she answered.

"Well 400 then!"

She sighed as if she weren't wrestling, weren't struggling with all of
her strength.  I guess she was only using a fraction.  Was this so easy
for her?  "Ah Jimmy, plenty more. 

"And stop acting like this is bad news... as if you want me to be
small".  She had a point.  The wrestling match was a complete farce,
because it was only a matter of time.  But then what else was there, if
not wrestling?  I was only thinking about her body, but not in a ring,
and...not with any clothes on.  But I had to concentrate.  

Tanya, on the other hand was a complete professional.  She had me
pegged completely, and was effortlessly toying with me.  She had
been calculating her next move, and suddenly caught me be surprise. 
Up on her toes, she was able to trap our locked arms under her
stomach.  My face now seemed to be under her breasts, while her
face was far above me.  She then dropped herself, breasts flooding
my face, stomach pressing onto arms.  There was a terrifying sense
of mass looming above with momentum behind her, as when an
elephant has been on its hind legs, and then lowers itself.  We were
slick with each others sweat, but Tanya couldn't lose.  Whichever
way she slipped or slid, I would be under her, pinned, or maybe
flattened.  I heard her breathing hard, and realized that her panting
wasn't exertion, but excitement.  I saw the width of her grin, and
realized that it was matched by the width of her body.  Whichever
way we slipped off each other I would be under her.  How could I
escape when she was so WIDE?  She seemed to obscure the arena
lighting.  I was in her shadow. 

"450?"

Again I noticed how much less exertion she mas making than I.  I
was nearing my limits, yet she had not even begun to work.  Her
sweat was from the excitement of the moment.  I wondered what that
was caused by.  Was she an exhibitionist?  

Her answers, in retrospect, kept telling me everything.  "You're
going in the right direction.  But you're still way off." 

I went with the inspiration of the moment, giving in to my basic
horny instinct, hoping to catch her by surprise.  My energy was gone,
and her last reply took away my last vestige of hope.  I thought to
escape by collapsing down, suddenly, taking her arms into a tangle. 
This would have worked but for one thing... She simply let go, and
decided to drop her torso onto me.  I couldn't regain my knees
because she was pressing relentlessly.  It began to dawn on me just
how stupefyingly heavy she really was.  That she hadn't been
fighting at all.  That even now she was playing with me, because I
was way too small to ever even begin to mount an assault on her.   

"550?"

She put her head by my ear delicately, or was it amorously?  "Well
now you're finally starting to get close.  But I don't know if numbers
mean anything after a certain point.  How often will you find a
woman my size who can move the way I can?"  

She was starting to sound like a woman on the make, who put her
personal charms into words--like a personals ad.  How would it be
stated....?  Gigantic female seeks smaller man who wants to relocate
down-under,and I don't mean Australia, mate!"

My mind began to re-run the old saying.  "Close doesn't count,
except in horseshoes"... or hand-grenades... and earthquakes?  I was
caught in an earthquake.  She didn't have to be precise, because she
was three times my size.  Three times my weight.  What could I, a
grown man, do to a 75-pound boy from the fourth grade?  Maybe
carry them with one hand, while they became exhausted, and
gradually were crushed by me...as Tanya was beginning to squash
me.

I relented, to try to conserve what little strength I had left.  I lay flat,
because of the weight.  I couldn't hope to lift our combined mass, but
at least on my front she couldn't pin me.

She tried to pin me--wow she was strong-- but then she stopped.  She
let go.

Why?
 
After a silent pause, I heard a collective gasp from the crowd, and the
thuds of her immense foot-falls.  I realized what I was hearing.  She
twanged the ropes with her lunge, and then came hurtling for me.  I
watched, hypnotized by the poetry of her careening mass, those
jiggly parts that seemed so enticing, even as they came for me. Her
face was soft and tranquil in that moment, as if she was at peace, or
in the depth of ecstasy.  

I rolled aside as she landed butt-first.  Of course she wasn't really
trying to get me, so I easily dodged her attack.  Tanya was actually
giving me a chance to recover my strength, while she wore herself
out a bit.  That was pretty generous of her, or maybe only practical,
considering that for the fans this hadn't been much of a fight so far.

As soon as she landed I was on top of her, adding my mass to hers. 
It was a great idea, except for one thing: she lifted both of us up to a
sitting position in an instant, and I hadn't noticed her hot arms grab
me, with my arms were pinned inside. 

Too late, I realized that I was dead meat.

The strangest thing happened at that moment.  She looked me in the
eye, and said-- amorously-- "oh Jimmy... would you believe 660?" 
My eyes bugged out, and she continued "That number turns you on,
doesn't it?  I can tell."  She held me in her hot, sweaty arms.  Come
to think of it, I didn't precisely try to escape. 

"I need a new slave, Jimmy.  I... I killed the last one."  She spoke
into my face in a bedroom voice, breathing on me, sweating on me. 
Her heart beat against mine, as we sat face to face, in this phony
clench.  It  wasn't a fight at all.

"It was an accident" she continues.  "You have to understand.  I have
to have a man ... that way.  To sit on, press, and crush under me.  I
need to own him as completely as I own my car or my bed.  I need to
ride him into the bed, or through the floor, through the wall.  I love
to see men's eyes go wild the way yours do, looking at my size,
wondering what it will feel like.  Some men learn to love it.

"But I don't need to ask.  Either you'll love it and enjoy it, or hate it,
but endure it. Either way, I enjoy myself.  You're cute, and I've taken
a fancy to you.  I've decided: you WILL live with me.  Refuse, and
I'll pin you to this ring--permanently".

She then jumped up, with me still in her arms.  For one second, we
hung on the brink of falling directly onto my back, with her on top. 
She whispered "maybe we'll try that one later...on a hard floor".  She
did something gentler instead, but every bit as dominating.  She
asked, in a perky little voice "are you ready to kneel?"  Without
warning she bends her knees, dropping all that weight straight down. 
My knees buckled, after a millisecond when I thought my left knee
would hyperextend with all that weight on it...a close call.  

Okay.  No choice about it: we kneel.  I was already familiar with the
look in her eyes, and I liked it.  She had me in her headlights.  I felt
like one of those little deer in the national park, looking up at the
oncoming truck.  I was about to be roadkill.  I wondered what she
had in mind.  "Are you ready to be rocked?"   Great.  What next? 
She stared at me,  watching me sweat, while her arms continued to
immobilize me.   "So get ready.  There's nothing you can do at this
point. 
Either you survive, or you don't."  Talk about confidence.  Talk
about intimidation.  I was
terrified.

She flipped me back.  I didn't notice the transition, but she dropped
me from kneeling position onto my back, stifling me under her.  But
knowing her plans, I was getting excited as anything.  If she didn't
kill me, I could get totally addicted to all that softness.  She made me
feel small.  I'd say I felt safe if I didn't wonder whether she was
trying to kill me.  That confusion is exciting.

Of course the "fight" was now over.  I couldn't move her off.  I
realized that I was out of air, unable to inhale, and just desperate to
say "uncle".  Panic.  As I began to turn colours under her relentless
softness, she started getting chatty again.  Of course Tanya knew I
was freaking out.  She was flaunting her complete authority, by
ignoring my problem.  "Well Jim.  I guess the fight's about over.
What colour bedroom do you want?  I'm not necessarily gonna use
your idea, but I'd like to know.   Maybe you have some decorating
ideas.....Do you know how to cook?  I
suppose you can learn.  How do you feel about me maybe gaining
some more weight?"

At this my eyes bugged out a little. "What?  You find I'm heavy
enough?  But I want to get bigger.  I think I'm too light, at this
weight... Oh... but before we're through, wanna feel my full weight? 
Without me babying you or holding back?"

Holding back?  Just when I was on the verge of blackout?  She
wriggled a bit, taking her arms from around mine.  She assumed a
pushup position, bridged up on her toes.  Was there a world's record
for the heaviest woman in the world doing pushups?  But at least I
had a moment to take a gasping breath.  Then she dropped, leading
with her breasts onto my face.  I saw stars.  Not only couldn't I take a
breath, but whatever air I had taken was effectively pressed out of
me.  And I
loved the sensation of all that softness.  Even in my dazed state, I
wondered what size bra she wore.  How many pounds did each boob
weigh?  Darkness.

.....I felt myself being pulled to my feet.   I think I had been
unconscious.  The decision was announced to a cheering crowd. 
"You're a lucky man, Jimmy," she said. 

I stared back at her, intensely.  In spite of her confident words, I
think she was waiting for some sign that I would agree to her plans
for us, and for me.  "Oh yes.  I think l'm gonna love it.  I already do". 
I reeled a bit, but stayed on my feet without any further assistance.  I
realized that I already missed the sensation of her body.  I felt
sheepish, thinking that I was so easily conquered, already craving her
softness, her hot sweaty body pressing me until I blacked out, unable
to breath under all that horny woman.  So yes, I was sheepish, but I
also recognized it was practical.

"Come to my dressing room" she said.  I didn't know what to make
of this, but I was intrigued as hell.  Her slave?  How would it work. 
"Get rid of your people.  Tell them they're fired, as of now.  Promise
you'll make good on whatever you owe them.  I'll even help arrange
that, because"  she paused, and smiled at the thought "our finances
will be combined, under a single management.  You'll have to tell
me about the property you have.  What you own, and what you owe.  

"But you won't ever need any of them again.  Tell them, and do it
quickly.  And then come with me."  So I did. 

I found my way into her dressing room, where her handlers and staff
were only slightly surprised to see me, and even then, barely dared to
show it.  They smiled meekly at me.  I wondered, not for the last
time, whether I was the only slave in the room.

She waved dismissal at them as if she were royalty: "go... all except
you."  They were clearly well trained, considering how quickly the
room cleared.  "Help me bathe."

"Could we shower? Together?"  I was testing my limits.  "Please?" 
She was almost expressionless, or in thought.  She made no
objection, although I suspected that she expected compliance.  

"May I?"  I surprised her by helping her out of her gown.  Finally I
was rewarded by a complete view of her impossible physique.  It
occurred to me that I would have the opportunity to see her train, to
exercise, to eat, to sleep.  How did she create such a magical
combination of muscle and softness?  She was very agile, yet
extremely fat.  I had never seen such a body.  In fact I suddenly
recognized that I had not seen her naked yet.  Somehow, the emotion
of the moment made me hug her from behind.  I removed her gown
as if on our wedding night.  This should have been a sacred moment. 
I don't think it had occurred to Tanya how strongly I was attracted to
her.  I was delighted to discover that her hair was the source of the
intoxicating perfume I encountered in the ring earlier.  As her gown
was still coming down off her shoulders, I drank deep of that scent,
while softly kissing her neck.  "May I wash your hair?"  I was now
sampling the soft skin of her upper back with my mouth, through
that long mane of hair.

"I expect that sort of initiative...excellent."  I wasn't sure what to
make of this comment.  She was more patient than she had been in
the ring.  But her response was colder than I'd expected.  She seemed
to pull away.  Perhaps I was coming on too strong.  Was it possible
to screw up, even when presented with such an opportunity? Could I
be tantalized while being prevented from getting closer?  But maybe
it was only that my horniness far exceeded hers.  And maybe to stay
in control Tanya couldn't become too vulnerable with me.

I ran the water, discovering the joy of massaging Tanya's scalp while
sucking on her expansive back and powerful shoulders.  She seemed
completely serene while I leaned my chest into the softness of her
immense behind,  hanging so impossibly high above my waist.

When Tanya had soaped her body, she beckoned.  I approached her
from the front, and saw her face.  She was slippery, soft, and
completely desirable. Rubbing her mountainous breasts, her
stomach, her slippery thighs against me, I quickly became so aroused
that I was panting again.  I wondered if she liked the fact that I was
so short, the way that my mouth met her chest below the collarbone,
the way most of her weight loomed above me.  She grabbed me by
the hair, and pulled me in, as if I were her possession.  We kissed
hotly.  Her mouth seemed hungry, the way it almost devoured me.  I
wondered, not for the first time, whether she cared what pains she
inflicted,or  whether she noticed.

Tanya brought her hands onto my shoulders, and squeezed me face
between her immense arms.  Almost in passing, she leaned a bit of
weight onto my shoulders.  She pressed me effortlessly down onto
my knees.  My head was pushed into her crotch with all the passion
of her pent-up desires.  I wondered how long it had been.  Perhaps
she wanted to show me who was boss, and maybe this kind of
demonstration excited her.  I was being used as her sex-toy, a living
vibrator.  The only reason my head wasn't squashed in the rapture of
her self-pleasuring was the occasional painful recoil from my chin or
my teeth.  

I thought of the last man in this position-- the one she killed.  Did he
die this way?  Her thighs clamped onto my head like hippopotamus
jaws: immense, friendly looking, yet dangerous.  I submitted
completely, hungry myself for her wet flesh.

"Don't you fight back?"

I responded with an honest "if you want me to.  Later.  But don't
expect me to resist what I long for. You've made me want you so
bad."  I couldn't meet her eyes. "I suppose I could pretend, but I'll be
acting, okay? I don't want to resist. I want you...as much as I've ever
wanted a woman".  I was in a paradise of huge, larger-than-life sex
organs.  Massive breasts, and ass, thunder thighs, a huge soft tummy. 
Why would I try to escape the best sex of my life?  

I couldn't read her expression. Was this beyond her experience, or
something that always happened? 

And eventually Tanya did ask me to try to escape.  I'm not a good
actor.  My usual tactic was to try to run away, because I loved it
when she pursued me.  And caught me.  In the narrow confines of
her bedroom she trapped me against a wall, pushing back with her
enormous behind.  I was astonished at the thrill of being pressed
naked between a cold wall and her hot ass.  Her body was a rolling
pin, pressing me, the speck of dough being rolled flat.  Back and
forth she rolled me on the wall, as she swayed her hips left and right,
while I simply rolled helplessly between her and the wall.  I got
dizzy, ....staggered for a bit while she laughed herself silly.  She
laughed even harder when she suddenly pushed her ass back, like a
hammer, slamming her big ass backwards into me, making me come
as instantaneously as a 13 year-old virgin with his first girlfriend.
And truly I had been a virgin until now, as every woman before now
was a mere girl, compared to Tanya.

Much of her weight seemed to be concentrated in her ass.  She
seemed to be five feet wide, with buttocks jutting straight out a foot
or more.  My attempts to run from her were less and less believable,
because I was madly infatuated with the sensation of being slammed
and creamed and bashed and pummeled by those massive buttocks,
sending me flying this way or that.  Each one moved and swayed and
jiggled as heavily as an entire person.  The flesh of her thighs and her
ass enticed me to try to get between the buttocks, into that
impossible but magical place between her legs, between her
buttocks, a crack that seemed to be two feet deep. She permitted me
in our quieter moments to pry those massive slabs of ass-flesh open,
to press my face and head as deep as possible.  She simply
overwhelmed me, calmly letting her weight, heat, smell, and
personality remove all my incentive to challenge her.  I never
considered resistance except as a pretense that she requested for her
pleasure.  

The first time Tanya asked me to kiss her feet I performed almost
instantly. Because she wanted to see some sort of resistance, I
pretended to run.  She caught me, as usual.  Once she had forced me
down, she pressed a huge, glorious foot into my face to lick and
suck.  I was soon to be addicted.  I became a better actor, because I
loved the ritual of refusal, struggle, and coercion.  I liked coercion
best, because that usually meant an excuse to be overwhelmed and
crushed.

Tanya was just as surprised the first time she sat on my face. 
Granted, I was a bit nervous, because she was so big.  But the fear
made my excitement explosive.  Still, she was dumbfounded.  "You
like this too?"  I nodded, but how could I explain?  She thought I
tolerated it, when in fact the idea made me wild with desire.

But I have discovered why Tanya wants me to try to escape.  When I
try to escape she feels safer.  When I am completely compliant in her
hands, she relaxes, and becomes careless with her weight. 

Ahh.  I recognized that this is probably what happened to the last
one. But Tanya doesn't want to discuss it.  Her favourite games are
getting a little scary.  In one, she stands over me, while I
suck her toes and feet.  She puts them right beside my head, and
either sways menacingly, or puts one mighty foot across my face. 
She may groan, as if she's lost all control, leaning on me a bit.  But it
doesn't look like an act anymore.  I'm much happier with the safer
exercises, where I administer to her without being under her.  But
when I kiss and lick her stomach, or feet, we're both thinking of the
same thing all the time: what it would be like if she truly were on
top.  She revels in my obsession with her body's weight and its
pressure.  Even when she lies on her back, and I kiss her feet 
I fantasize about being under them.  She also stands before me, 
prying her ass open so that I can get my head deep inside.  
But I always fantasize being under her gigantic weight, and can't 
stop thinking about all that weight, all that softness. The dark 
place under her is maybe a dangerous place, but it is also my 
fantasy, my dream, my Promised Land.

Perhaps this is what happened to the last one: that the addiction to
Tanya's pounding mass eventually leads a man to seek out those dark
spaces, longing to be under her.  I keep staring at the place her
weight meets the floor, wondering if that, too, is where I will end up.