Short Story: Lydia’s Breast Play (Patreon)

Lydia lay across the small landscape, her massive body crushing everything beneath her.

Her cheeks flushed red, and her mind swirled with desire as she gazed up at her swaying breasts. Tiny specks barely moved against her skin.

She smirked, knowing exactly what they were-little Yume, completely at her mercy.

This wasn't the warrior's way, picking on the weak, but the weak had no right to complain. Only the strong had that power, and she was the strongest in this world.

The people trapped on Lydia's breasts struggled against the overwhelming heat radiating from her flesh. Her skin, smooth yet rippling with the slightest movement, stretched for miles in every direction. To the tiny people, her body was a living, breathing landscape of soft pink flesh that they couldn't escape. Her skin glistened with sweat, the drops forming rivers that slid down her massive curves, drowning hundreds who couldn't move fast enough to get out of the way. Each bead was its own catastrophe, heavy and unstoppable, crashing over them with the weight of a tidal wave.

Lydia's nipples towered like mountains above them, the skin soft but firm, with deep pores that some were unlucky enough to get stuck in. Those trapped there were crushed as the flesh contracted and expanded with her every breath, lost forever in the warmth of her body.

Yet, for many, the fear gave way to something else. Lust consumed them as they rubbed against her massive nipple, the pink skin smooth beneath their bodies. They humped the flesh, overwhelmed by the sight of her colossal form, each movement making them feel like she was their world. They gazed up, seeing her eyes peering down, gleaming with knowing amusement. To them, Lydia was more than just a giant; she was a goddess— an unstoppable force to be worshiped.

Under her immense gaze, they felt small, powerless, and deeply aroused, as if their only purpose was to please her.

Under Lydia's watchful eyes, the tiny people continued their futile movements against her skin, their caresses nothing more than faint tickles. She could barely feel them, just the slightest sensations fluttering across her breasts.

Amused, she began to giggle, her laughter vibrating through her chest, sending ripples across the landscape of her body. "You little things don't know how ticklish I am," she laughed, the sound booming like thunder to those clinging to her. Her breasts shook with her laughter, the soft flesh wobbling and shifting beneath them. Some of the tiny figures lost their balance, tumbling helplessly into the deep valley between her breasts, where they would be trapped, never to escape.

With a playful glint in her eye, Lydia brought her hand up to her chest. Her fingers wrapped around one of her breasts, gripping the flesh firmly. Without a second thought, she squeezed, her fingers pressing deep into the soft skin. The tiny people caught in her grip were crushed instantly, their bodies flattened beneath the pressure, disappearing into the warm, yielding flesh.

To her, it was nothing—just a soft squeeze, a moment of pleasure. But to those below, it was the end, their lives snuffed out without a second thought.