(livingundies)
Three Months Later
Yama had stripped into her fighting outfit. Which only included her mawashi. Otherwise she was naked. Her intimidating curves on display, along with her humongous and surprisingly perky bare breasts on full display. She gripped the back of her butt floss and yanked. Yama had to steady herself on the table, after all this time they still felt better than ever.
The mass of flesh walked her way to the central ring of The Pit. Her heavy foot falls sending meaty echoes throughout the building. Inside was a haggard looking tiny. There were no winners of any challenges tonight and the ladies picked this runt to compete in the final trial. She could see why, he was handsome, male model handsome with a chiseled physique and a mustache. Her favorite, he reminded her of her favorite Tiny. Maybe if he’s soft enough, she can finally have a matching bra.
He was quaking in his too thin white speedo smudged by the past two trials. Yama was handed a ribbon by one of her girls, then walked over to the scared guy. She squatted down in her stance with surprising flexibility for someone her size. The bottom half of her sending out heat and a scent he definitely picked up on.
“You wanna know the only thing a Tiny is good for?” She said holding the ribbon in between her fingers. He didn’t answer, he was reasonably speechless. Yama smirked, she had more in the last three months than she had in her entire life. She turned around and hooked a finger around the back of her green mawashi and pulled. The man’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he saw what her underwear really was.
The women cheered from their seats as Yama proudly showed the horrendous stretched, pummeled, stinkified, bloodshot and lastly dyed neon green face of former Officer Stan Padding. “That’s all you’re good for.” She said placing the ribbon on her thong’s face then let him slingshot in between her cheeks.
It goes without saying that the competitor didn’t even get close to getting the ribbon. Stan had gone along with his squashing, unwilling as with everything else Yama had done. As she butt slammed the poor man for the tenth time his mind went back to that night three months prior or at least he thought, time was imperceivable when you were slotted in a sumo wrestler’s buttcrack. He remembered S dipping him into a bleaching agent that wouldn’t kill him (unfortunately), then dye him Yama’s favorite shade of green. He was then tailored to fit a clip on mawashi style belt that could be easily taken back off for him to resume a more panty like fit.
The days following had been torture in every sense of the world. Her butt cheeks had a sway that pulverized his now string shaped face that was constantly violining her sphincter and ever hungry vagina. His time with her had been intimate and soul crushing. She had worn him straight like this for the entire time, he only saw light when she showered and that was unfortunately infrequent. “It’s bad luck to wash a mawashi.” She would say. Didn’t matter if it was, she had more than enough power in the ring to overcome any amount of bad fortune. She lived in the gym in her time away from The Pit, sweating like crazy, he got a front row seat to every squat, bench press, bike run and yoga session. When at home, she stuffed her face with high carb meals that lead to her constantly expanding frame. While she ensured no one she knew learned of her gas habits for fear of showing any weakness, but Stan had learned. Horrid, fiber fueled gas bombs hit him in the face whenever she got free time, which she had secured more and more of in the past three months. The worst display came this morning when Yama collected all of her bottoms, including her own mawashi and set them ablaze. Promising that Stan would be her last pair of underwear.
When she was done, the competitor looked painted to the concrete floor as the thirty minutes came to a close. The girls cheered and Yama rose her hands. As she left, she gave a knowing nod to S, who had started to frequent shows in The Pit after transforming the former cop.
-
Months turned to years, years turned to decades. And Stan was right there up his owner’s rear. You would think he would get used to it after a while. Given his determination and grit to become a police officer he never settled. Which was horrible for him as every cheek grind, fart and orgasm was just as potent as the first, disgusting him to no end. He never accepted his fate therefore he never found peace. He simply struggled in vain as he remained nothing more than a cloth meant to conceal the shame of the fattest woman he had ever met.
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