Ms. Bradshaw is Trish's New Bike Seat

With slender, sweaty fingers curling around her on every side, Ms. Bradshaw quivered on the palm platform. Her jaw hung loose as the two immense delinquents peered in on her, tears flowing from her weary eyes. She was still **** on toe jam from her time as a pair of socks; and now, she was about to go through more ****. Between Carmen's unholy powers; Trish's unscrupulous attitude; and both girls' ungodly stenches... The former teacher knew she was in for a nightmare.

She had no idea.

Trish smirked dryly. "I've got it." To the shrunken women's terror, even after months separated from humanity, she could still recognize her student's devious smile. The one that meant trouble was brewing in her head; and danger was coming. "Hey, Ms. Bitchshaw!" The punk's rumbling shout blew her messy hair back, and popped her ears.

She pushed her palm behind her torn jeans, hovering the trembling woman parallel to her tush. Her hips swayed subconsciously as she re-balanced on either boot; making the cheeks sway almost hypnotically before her. "Remember these pants? Remember how you whined when I wore them in class?"

Carmen started chuckling, leaning against an alley wall. "And she kept whining even when you took them off. There's no pleasing her." She stirred the graffiti in circles, reshaping them to her will.

The teacher simply squealed, barely able to register the terrifying, tilting mounds of cheeks in front of her. They were practically mountain ranges of loose threads and ratty fibers! Trish laughed. "Here, maybe this'll jog that old memory!" She slammed her handheld prisoner deep into the denim - kneading her into the blue behemoths. The brushing motion made her minuscule body raw and sore. Those jeans' rough, well-used surface was only partly softened by the gallons of sweat running down it.

The mocking snickers increased in tempo and volume; practically surrounding her. The blonde tomboy had a hand to her hip. "Hahah, drink it in! Jeez, that's nasty."

"I'm just getting warmed up." In a single, thoughtless toss, Trish slammed Bradshaw onto her worn motorbike seat. The tiny woman and dizzy from the blunt impact; and remained light-headed from the sweltering heat outdoors. Soon, however, she was in the shade. The dark shade of the delinquent derriere: its bulging mass was hovering right over her. The blue-haired rebel itched at a round rip, which gave a little peek into her soft butt. She was going commando, so the peachy surface of her cheeks showed. "...And it's gonna get even warmer for Ms. Bitchshaw."

With her hands clasped together, the little speck finally spoke a coherent word: "No! No no no no..." Her wheezing voice shrunk away to a raspy, helpless cough. She got to her knees to plead, but it was too late. Trish's all-enveloping posterior descended on her with the **** of a vengeful meteor. The sweaty jeans overtook her, pinning her to the leather floor. In an instant, the tiny woman's weak, worn organs collapsed into each other. Her bones, muscles, and sinews shattered to mush beneath the trash compactor ass. She screamed in breathless agony.

Carmen sighed in frustration. "Weak. Don't think you can squirm out that easy, teach." With a wiggle of her middle finger, the tomboy goddess reformed Bradshaw's body, granting it extra durability. Her lungs worked perfectly again; letting her breathe in all of Trish's developed musk. Numbness drifted out of her crushed legs: allowing her to feel every ounce of pain from Trish's overpowering rear. In all her benevolence, the goddess gifted her just barely enough strength to survive beneath the weight, pinned firmly in place.

By now, the teacher was begging for ****.

Adjusting herself on the seat so that there was some space behind her, Trish slapped the leather surface. "Hop on, Carm, we're heading back to my place." The vibrations of the black bike's motor registered on the Richter Scale for Bradshaw; vibrating her into the anal hellhole.

Carmen stepped closer, looming over the empty space. The teacher's minuscule, sobbing face still poked out, pointed to her in awe. She brushed her blonde hair. "You know, I could just teleport us to your apartment."

"The poor old bag needs fresh air. Don't ya, little shit?" Trish kneaded her cheeks up and down, the jean-coated mountains eliciting satisfying squeaks below.

With a little shrug, the goddess straddled the bike. Her groin descended right into Bradshaw's struggling face; instantly drenching her in gallons of familiar, rancid tomboy sweat. The blonde made sure the squirt was snug in place, wobbling around slightly. Her subtle nudges jolted the minuscule head back and forth in painful jolts. Finally, she lay immobile; thin legs and waist engulfed under Trish's butt; torso and face sinking into Carmen's putrid groin. No traces remained of the outside world. Only hefty weight; and a heavier, sickening smell, enveloping her in a steaming hellscape.

The tomboy held on tight. "Scenic route, then."

"On it, your majesty." Her friend stepped on the gas.

To be sure, the duo's trip home was anything but pleasant for the citizens around town. Trish was already far from the safest driver; her wheels bounced from sidewalk to road as she pleased. But to make matters worse, Carmen let her goddess powers go wild. First, she changed traffic lights, to elicit a quick laugh. Then, she pushed cars and pedestrians out of the way; shrinking one particularly bad biker, leaving him to fend for himself on the warm pavement. When they hit a dead end, she simply began parting the buildings in waves. People and office supplies floated above, terrified, before she let them drop.

And knowing what the price was for crossing their goddess, they simply sighed and looked away - ashamed at their own cowardice and weakness.

But out of all of them, Bradshaw was having the worst time of them all. Trish drove full throttle at speed bumps, lifting the bike in the air. The tiny teacher felt herself glued to the enormous rear for a second, hanging on for dear life while it raised in the sky. Then, it crashed down on her with incredible ****. The combined weight of the gargantuan delinquents pressed harder on her each time. It was no wonder the seat was getting worn and ratty; their combined **** was enough to bring one to tears.

As the driver navigated sharp turns, her jeans slid left and right. The teacher rolled beneath one cheek or the other. These moments particularly focused the pressure on her chest; engulfing her into the pillows with sickening squeezes. She was a used, warm cushion: good for nothing but pampering a dropout's butt.

To top off the tortuous ride, the sun was absolutely boiling. Over what felt like hours, Bradshaw slowly baked underneath the rising body temperatures of the two titans. The harsh humidity boiled her like meat on a barbecue. She was still alive, thanks to the half-goddess' intervention. However, her throat ached in dry thirst. The only liquid she could reach was the putrid perspiration dripping off the deadly duo's bottoms, leaking through their clothes. They didn't even feel anything when she began licking Trish's ass; and sucking Carmen's own jeans, **** for water.

Carmen tapped her driver's shoulder. "Hey, FYI, my special vision tells me that Bitchsaw is kissing your ass now."

Trish chuckled, patting her butt and wiggling it in seat. "Plenty more where that came from. Suck it all down, you shit."

The slamming motions lathered her in still more grimy sweat. Her face flew right into a hole, pressed against the rank butt skin. All the dampness she took in became sweat and tears, crashing over her minuscule frame with each road bump and turn.

Every time she tried to breathe in clean air, the disgusting odors her seared into her nostrils. After spending so much time with the sadistic students, Bradshaw was starting to recognize their distinct smells. Carmen's stench was a cheesy ****, the same she'd been bathed in for a month. Meanwhile, Trish's scent was a piercing, vinegary attack, distorting her mind. From either side, both of the stinking atmospheres drilled into her tiny frame; intruding and violating every micrometer of her; until she practically swimming in the girls' miasma.

Again and again, over the curving path to Trish's apartment outside town, the girls pressed on the itty-bitty Bradshaw; pushing their bodies together so that she'd suffer the full extent of their weight. Trish took long, winding, bumpy detours to make her **** longer and harder. Carmen occasionally peeked in with her telepathy - either getting glimpses at the human bike seat's state, or belittling her with psychic messages.

"Here's a pop quiz, teach. Was that my fart, or Trish's? Soak it in and lemme know."

"Maybe I should reformat your body into an actual cushion. It'd fit you way better than that old hag body."

"Few more minutes, then the real fun starts. Hold onto your wig, bug..."

The immobilized teacher chanted a mantra in her mind: "I want to get off... I want to get off..." Half of Bradshaw pleaded the ride would end soon. But what remained of her brain told her: she'd be in for further torment as soon as they got home...