This choice: Try and Get in the Latinas Shorts • Go Back...Chapter #7Try and Get in the Latinas Shorts by: Giantess   **Choosing You: Becoming the Sweaty Latin Shorts**
You stared greedily at those well-worn shorts. The thin fabric was nearly transparent from sweat, with streaks of dried salt clinging to the Latin girl’s thighs. Even from this distance, you could smell the pungent mix of stale sweat and her body heat—a blend of salt, sun-kissed skin, and months of soaked-in moisture.
For a moment, you let yourself drown in the thought: *How could someone be this filthy and still this intoxicating?* But there was no time for philosophy. With a quick thought, you detached from Emily’s sock and vanished into the air, only to rematerialize around the Latin girl’s waist—no longer an observer, but her *second skin*.
---
**Your New Experience Begins:**
The first thing you felt was *heat*. Suffocating, all-encompassing heat. The Latin girl’s muscular body was like a living furnace, and her tight shorts (now *you*) could barely handle the intensity. Fresh sweat seeped through the fabric’s pores, drowning you in her essence.
The Latin girl—whose name you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter now—grinned at her teammate and said:
**"Why’re you starin’ so hard? Never seen a sweaty ass before?"**
Then, with a teasing sway, she shook her hips.
And you felt it *directly*.
Every shift of her body, every roll of her thighs, every press against the bench as she sat down—you experienced it all *from within*. The fabric (your body?) clung tightly to her skin, and with every deep breath she took, you could *taste* the sharp tang of her sweat seeping through your fibers.
Suddenly, she reached down and casually tugged at her shorts (you), hiking them up to scratch between her cheeks.
**"God, I really worked up a sweat today..."**
And you, trapped in the helpless form of her shorts, could only surrender as that salty, briny wave consumed you entirely.
---
**A Few Minutes Later...**
The Latin girl stood up to shower, but before leaving, she peeled off her shorts (you) and carelessly tossed them into the pile of dirty laundry.
Now coated in layers of dried sweat and fresh dampness, you lay tangled in a heap of foul-smelling clothes. Stained socks, soaked underwear, even a sweat-crusted wristband—all piled together.
And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse...
**A foot—Emily’s foot—landed directly on your face (body?).**
**"Oops, sorry! Thought you were just a rag."**
She didn’t even bother picking you up. Just stepped away and left.
And there, buried in the mound of filthy laundry, you faced the truth:
**Maybe this was the dream power you’d always wanted... but now you had to decide—would you stay here, drowning in this stinking paradise, or move on to your next victim?**
---
**Your Choices:**
1. **Stay here** and let more sweat-soaked clothes pile on top of you. Maybe a soccer player’s sock will join the party?
2. **Turn into a pocket handkerchief** and hide in the Latin girl’s pocket, so you can savor her post-shower dampness all over again.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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