Looking over the sweet brown pastry landscape stretching far ahead of you, Ms. Summers' sizable chest blocks your view from the heights of her head as she carries the pie into her home. You rest in amidst the pie's delicious filling while contemplating the giant before you, trying time to get a view from beyond the red mesh of her tank top, without any success thanks the constant swaying of both the pie and her breasts.
As Ms. Summers carries her dessert and guest into her kitchen, you start to feel warmer after a few seconds. It seems Ms. Summers was one to keep true to her name; as it seemed that she preferred her home acclimated to warmer temperatures. -She is hot in more ways than one!-
After a few seconds, Ms. Summers arrives at her kitchen, setting the pie gently over the table next to a chair. She could barely wait to grab a slice of that sweet apple pie, but her diligence placed a priority on finishing the dishes; even if she would smudge another one when she had some pie, she still wanted to finish what she started. Still, the treat was too tempting to simply ignore, so she pinched a bit of crust from the side of the pie, and then tasted some of the sweet goodness that awaited her. Letting out a delightful moan, she eyed over to her kitchen sink. Sizing up the chore, she shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to start enjoying her neighbor's gift.
Soon after Ms. Summers had put down the pie you're in onto a flat surface, you get to see her face properly after that near-inhalation incident. Her chestnut-colored eyes briefly eye down your position, and for a moment, you wonder if she could see you if you moved even slightly, and what would follow if she actually did. You lift your apple sauce-covered arm and wave at her, grinning as you think over her reaction: on one hand, you know that she has a playful side that would love to spend time with you in this condition; on the other, it's not every day that one has guests that could easily fit in a hollowed-out bean, and she could easily dismiss you as a daydream fantasy. It’s a chance’s guess, so for now, you’ll settle for minor practical jokes; emphasis on “minor” thanks to your little device of major mischief.
As you think it over, Ms. Summers still seems unaware of your presence as her hand passes over you, stretching over the horizon of the pie and denying you of a titanic high-five; before pinching with her fingers a part from the crust over the border, then tearing a chunk the size of several steel beams from it.
As her hand retracted, you could see Ms. Summer lifting the torn crust towards her face, where her tongue gave a brief lick to her bright red lips in anticipation to the pastry bit. As she started to munch on the crust, several tinier crumbles spilled from her lips, some landing on the table, others were landing on her tank-top, others landing back on the pie. Several had landed near you, though none had actually hit you, thankfully; since they seemed like boulders that would crack both themselves and your skull on impact.
Turning back to Ms. Summers, you hear her moan lightly in delight as she tastes the sugar and cinnamon sprinkled crust of the pie, seemingly eager to taste its appetizing apple filling too. She leans on a nearby chair for a moment, licking her lips once more after she swallows her bite of crust. Seeing how much she likes it, you grab some filling with both of your hands, and then stretch your arms towards her, asking jokingly -"Want some?"- to your giant neighbor, knowing well that she couldn't possibly hear you.
As expected, Ms. Summers didn't hear your offer; instead she turned her head towards somewhere else in her kitchen, then eyed back to the pie, passing her tongue over her upper lip as she eyed your location with a craving. In the end, she turned around and went further into the kitchen, giving you a brief but nice view of her round butt, accentuated by her tight-fit jean shorts. After a short walk, she had reached a counter by her kitchen window, where she leaned over the counter as she attended what seemed to be the kitchen sink. The sound of running water broke the nearly silent ambiance of her home, and so Ms. Summers kept herself at the sink with the dishes.
You, meanwhile, had eaten some of the filling that you had jokingly offered to the giantess. Your mom's apple pie recipe was the best you've ever had, and certainly Ms. Summers won't mind sharing a bit with her tiny guest. Indeed, she seemed to be busy with the kitchen sink still, even though she clearly craved some pie just a moment ago. Oh well, she could still have some later, it's not like it will get cold anytime soon, what with her apparent preference to keep down the air conditioning. Coincidentally, getting acclimated to this change of temperature has become uncomfortable, especially with your clothes covered all over in sticky apple sauce. You take off your shirt, then throw it over your shoulder so as to not to lose it later. Immediately, you feel slightly fresher, though still sticky. You also consider removing the rest of your clothes, since they would just wear you down when you got out of the pie.
Meanwhile, Ms. Summers had already finished the last of the dishes, putting away the last one in a rack near the sink, and then drying off her hands before grabbing a dry plate from the same rack, along with a knife and fork from a nearby drawer. Turning back to her table, Ms. Summers saw with expectation the exquisite apple pie, resting on the mantle of her table. Its sweet fragrance was still present in the air, almost as good as if she had taken it out of her own oven mere minutes ago. Such were the small details from her neighbors that she loved from time to time; details that she would add herself as well, in her own ways. As for now, she could enjoy those sweet, tasty details. Seating herself next to the apple pie, she set aside her plate and pulled the pie closer to her to cut a slice.
After a couple of seconds of thought, you finally decided to abandon public decency; you were going naked until either you find something else to wear. You could always hide your clothes somewhere where Ms. Summer's won't find them, then grow them back and pick them up later. First though, you'll need to get out of the filling if you want to get anywhere fast; there's a relatively flat section of crust a couple of strokes near you that extends to the rim of the pie's tray, perfect to get off the pie. While your mom's apple pie recipe is unquestionably delicious, being waste deep in apple sauce gets tiring eventually; so you start wading towards the dry crust, the squishy sounds of your body slipping through the muddy sauce and some background steps replacing the now-silent water faucet.
As you near a slope-like section of crust that you plan to climb, you feel your shirt slipping from your shoulder, to your back and into the sauce; and the sound of steps has stopped, though a light creak can be heard in the near distance. You’re nearly at the slope, and really want to get off the sauce as soon as possible, but you don’t think that leaving your shirt behind it’s a good idea, since you don’t know if you will find something to replace it in the near future.
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