Carrie heads out to lunch with her friends

The world didn't go black; it just suddenly got incredibly large.

Your vision blurred as it struggled to adjust to a terrifying, new perspective. The ceiling seemed miles away. The bed that you were just standing on was now a vast plain of duvet covers. And looming over you, like a titan from Greek mythology, was Carrie.

She stood aghast, staring down at the bed, at you. Her eyes blinked rapidly, her mouth flailing like a fish out of water. She looked like someone who was trying to wake up from a nightmare, shaking her head as if to rattle the image out of her brain. It was clear she wanted to deny reality, to laugh, and to say the spell was a dud, but the evidence in front of her was unquestionable. She had literally just watched her boyfriend’s body spasm, contort, and shrink, leaving a scrap of lace and cotton in his place.

Curiosity eventually overtook her shock. You saw her giant hand descend from the heavens, manicured fingers clawing at you. She pinched your hip straps and lifted you into the air.

The sensation dizzied you. You felt gravity pull at your new, lightweight form. You were dangling in front of her face, her brown eyes scanning every inch of you. Her thumb brushed over the front panel: your face, your chest, your very being. She rubbed the fabric, admiring the delicate embroidery, the sand rose color, the sheer mesh that now housed your consciousness.

"No way..." she whispered.

The examination quickly became less delicate. She gripped the waistband with both hands and gave a sharp tug. You felt your entire existence stretch, the fibers of your being groaning under the tension. A smile slowly crept up her face, filled with disbelief and dawning power. She twisted you, wringing the fabric slightly, inspecting the stitching, trying to find a tag, a face, or some method of IDing you.

She finally stopped, exhaling a long breath that flowed against your mesh. "This is just a regular thong. A regular luxurious thong." She corrected herself.

She held you up to the light, dangling you by the rear strap, though spiritually you may as well call it your tongue.

"Is this what you wanted?" she teased. "Was this your dream since childhood? I bet when your teacher asked, 'Who do you want to be when you grow up?', little you just shouted, — a thong, Mrs. Smith!"

She laughed. She poked the center of the pouch where your face effectively was. "Can you even consider yourself a real man anymore? You’re just a scrap of fabric designed to cover my bits. You’re an accessory."

She tossed you into the air and caught you, the vertigo intense.

"Well, you're in luck, little accessory," she said, walking toward her dresser. "I was just about to go meet up with Chloe and Jessica for a casual lunch. And since you wanted to be a creep and spy on my life..."

She began to strip off the panties she was currently wearing. You watched, helpless and aroused, as she cleaned herself up quickly.

"You should be gracious to tag along," she grinned, holding you open. "Right up my ass."

Your point of view shifted. She stepped into your leg holes and pulled. You slid up her smooth, long legs, over her knees, past her thighs. Then, darkness descended as you reached the promised land. She shimmed you up her hips, the waistband snapping against her skin. The front panel pressed firmly against her mound, the sheer fabric instantly warming from her body heat.

But the main event was the back. She reached behind her, grabbed the rear strap and gave it a sharp, deliberate yank. Your tongue was forcefully dragged between her butt cheeks, the fabric flossing deep into her cleft until you were pressed tight against her puckered anus.

"Tight," she wiggled her hips to settle you in. "Let's go."

The car ride was just a dark echo chamber of the car's vibration and your girlfriend's pressure, but it suddenly shifted to a scenery of muffled sounds and intense smells as Carrie was seated by the waiter. You were trapped in the dark, sandwiched between the warm, soft flesh of Carrie's ass and the hard surface of the restaurant chair, only separated by her skirt. Every time she shifted her weight, you were ground deeper.

"Hey girl! Over here!"

You recognized the voices. Chloe and Jessica.

Through the gaps in the table and the movement of Carrie sitting down, you caught glimpses of them. Jessica was the same as you remembered: fiery redhead, slim, svelte, and sharp-featured. Chloe, however, took up a presence that was impossible to ignore. She was a brunette like Carrie, but just a fraction larger in every dimension: her tits were slightly fuller, hips just an inch wider. But the main difference was her vibe; she was earthy and unpolished. You caught a whiff of her scent as she leaned in and hugged Carrie, a strong, raw musk, the smell of a woman who didn't believe in waxing or excessive deodorizing, a stark contrast to Carrie’s manicured perfection.

The lunch started off mundane. You were subjected to female talk.

"Did you see that sale at Lululemon?" Chloe asked.

"I'm trying that intermittent fasting thing," Jessica chimed in. "But I'm starving right now."

"I'm just doing yoga," Carrie said. "Keeps me tight."

And other such phrases followed.

But after the salads arrived and the wine was poured, the tone shifted. The air grew heavy with a different kind of energy.

"So," Jessica started, stabbing a cherry tomato with unnecessary ****. "I finally had to change my number because of that guy, Mark."

"Oh my god, the creeper from the gym?" Chloe asked, leaning back. "Is he still bothering you?"

"Bothering me? He's obsessed," Jessica rolled her eyes, though her hand shook slightly. "I've never said two words to him, but he found my social media accounts. He's been sending me unsolicited dick pics from burner accounts every night. He messages me saying he knows what my car looks like and that I look breeding material in my leggings. He's a total stalker."

"Gross," Carrie murmured. "What a psycho."

As she spoke, the environment around you changed. You felt a sudden, sharp release of heat against the fabric covering your face. A small amount of fluid leaked from her, dampening the cotton.

Wait, you thought, confusion jolting your mind awake. Why is she wet? It wasn't much, but it was there... the threat of a distant, obsessed stalker viewing her friend as breeding material had caused her pussy to weep a tear of excitement. It shocked you. Carrie was a feminist; she always talked about how disgusting men were who didn't respect boundaries. Yet here she was, her body betraying a thrill at the idea of a man so obsessed he wouldn't let go.

"Well, at least he isn't getting physical like that guy at the bar," Chloe snorted, leaning in. "Remember Derek? The bouncer had to peel him off me."

"Ugh, the guy with the neck tattoos?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah," Chloe nodded. "I was just waiting for my drink and he literally cornered me against the bar. He didn't even introduce himself, just jammed his groin into my hip and whispered in my ear that I smelled like a bitch in heat. When I tried to push him away, he grabbed my wrist and told me not to be a tease or he'd drag me out back. Total predator behavior."

"Jesus," Carrie murmured. "Aggressive prick."

The moisture increased immediately. It wasn't just a damp spot now; it was a steady trickle.

You felt the hot, slick liquid seeping into the mesh, coating your consciousness in a film of slime. You were reeling mentally. She likes this? You realized with a sinking horror that the toxicity wasn't a turn-off; it was a trigger. She was hearing about a complete stranger sexually harassing her friend, threatening to drag her away, and her body was responding by soaking you. Her lips were swollen and pressing against the fabric, grinding slightly as the trickle turned into a steady flow. You felt foolish. You spent so much time being gentle, asking for consent, being the good guy, while stories of men treating women like objects were what actually made her dams flow.

"Those are amateurs," Carrie said, her voice dropping lower. She shifted in her chair, grinding your tongue deep against her anus. "I ran into Jax the other day. Who just got out of prison."

The table went dead silent.

"What happened?" Jessica whispered, eyes wide.

"I took a shortcut through the alley behind the studio," Carrie said, adrenaline in her voice. "He was waiting there. He didn't talk. He grabbed me by the hair and shoved me behind a dumpster. He pinned me against the wall so hard I couldn't breathe. He... he shoved his hand right up my skirt."

Carrie paused, her breath hitching. "He ripped my panties. He had his fingers inside me before I could even scream. He told me to shut up and take it. I... I only got away because a police siren wailed a few streets over and he got spooked. I had to run for my life with my clothes torn."

"Carrie, oh my god!" Chloe gasped, looking horrified. "That's attempted ****! That is... you could have been killed!"

Panic tore through your mind. What? When did this happen? You mentally screamed. Why didn't she tell me?! You searched your memory, she came home late the other night, looking flushed and disheveled, but she told you she had a hard yoga session. She lied. She had been assaulted, nearly **** in an alleyway, and she kept it from you. Why? Was she protecting you? Or... did she not tell you because she wanted to keep the memory for herself?

"I know," Carrie sighed, her voice trembling not with trauma, but with a dark, twisted exhilaration. "Total trash. Toxic to the core."

But her body betrayed her words, and confirmed your worst fears. The mention of the third, most toxic man, — a predator who physically overpowered her and nearly **** her, — caused a big glob to roll out of her.

It was shocking in its volume and texture. You felt a heavy, viscous mass of mucus-like fluid detach from her womb and slide heavily down her slit. It landed with a wet, silent splat directly onto the fabric acting as your face. It was scalding hot and thick, a gelatinous glob of pure, primal arousal. It saturated the mesh instantly, coating your eyes and mouth in a suffocating layer of her slime.

You were drowning in it, both physically and emotionally. The realization hit you harder than the smell: she wasn't just wet; she was ovulating, animalistic, her body responding to the memory of nearly being ravaged by a criminal. She hadn't told you about the **** because it wasn't a nightmare to her... it was a highlight of her life. The sheer amount of fluid she released for a man who almost **** her was an insult to every gentle touch you had ever given her. You were the boyfriend she came home to for safety, but Jax was the psychotic monster who made her body weep with this level of intensity.

"Well," Chloe said, breaking the tension and taking a massive gulp of wine, clearly shaken. "Thank god you're safe. Thank god you don't have to deal with that kind of danger at home."

"Seriously," Jessica nodded. "You have Max. He's such a... sweetheart."

"I know," Carrie said, her voice light and innocent again, contrasting wildly with the swamp of thick, heavy slime you were currently gagging on. "He's the best."

"He's so safe," Chloe continued, waving her fork. "Like, you never have to worry about him hurting you or forcing himself on you. He's just... nice. Not like those animals out there."

"Exactly," Jessica agreed. "You're so lucky, Carrie. You finally found a nice guy."

Carrie smiled, and you felt her clench her ass cheeks around you one last time, trapping your tongue in a vice grip while your face was covered in the massive glob of juices provoked by the memory of a near-**** she hid from you.

"Yeah," Carrie giggled, pressing down hard on the chair, grinding you into the mess she made. "I really am the lucky one."