April then bends at the waist and lifts her other leg, maneuvering her left foot skillfully into the free side of your thong form. You're stretched taut between her two feet now, your thin fabric strained as she begins to pull you higher. You're treated to a horrifying view of the underside of her thighs as she arches her back and begins to glide you up her long legs. The skin there is smooth and cool against you, making you feel even more alien and out of place.
As April moves you upward, her fingers trail along the back of your fabric, guiding your journey up her body. Your hands – or the areas that once were your hands, now transformed into pieces of elastic – are pulled taut beneath her fingertips. You can feel every contour of her skin, every flex of her muscles as she slowly hoists you up her legs.
She is patient and meticulous in her movements, taking pleasure in this unhurried torment. Her sadistic smile never fades, adding to the stark terror that seizes you. All you can do is endure the increasing stretching feeling as she pulls you inch by inch up her legs.
You feel the firmness of her calves first, strong and unyielding beneath her skin as you ride the wave of her leg upwards. The sensation is disorienting, and you can't distinguish between the feeling of her skin brushing against your fabric body or your own threads rubbing against one another. Her fingers tighten around you, she smirks knowingly at the tiny tremors running through your form.
Continuing upwards, you hit the back of her knees. The skin here is softer and warmer than on her calves. The slight give in the skin as she bends her knee sends a fresh wave of panic coursing through you. Her fingers keep their steadfast hold on you, pulling you slowly over the bend of her knees and up the back of her thighs. The higher she drags you, the more your form strains to maintain its shape. You feel everything so intensely - from the cool touch of the air conditioning on your exposed stretch of fabric, to her toned muscles shifting under her skin - it's a sensory overload.
You look up to see the underside of her butt approaching. The sight is both fascinating and terrifying in a way that you’d never considered before. The view tilts as her fingers guide you, forcing you to navigate the small valley at the back of her thighs, a breach between two muscular mountains. It's an unusual sight, the underside of her butt cheeks hanging above you, a shadow cast over your fabric form. From your perspective, the swells of her buttock seem like towering cliffs. You realize with a sickening lurch that soon you would be nestled in-between, cradled by the intimidating crevices that you are rapidly approaching.
You feel April’s fingers hook under your waistband “arms”, using their grip to stretch your small size around her butt-cheeks and draw you upwards. You feel the stretch of your fabric become more pronounced as she maneuvers you into place, the curve of her buttocks acting as an ominous barrier to your ascent. The shape of them are like two crescent moons – full, round and intimidating.
As she hoists you higher, you feel the strain on your fabric as you begin to slip into the crevice between her butt-cheeks. The skin here is warm and smooth, and as she adjusts herself, you can feel her muscles flex against your fabric form.
Finally, April pulls you all the way up with an abrupt jerk, as the thin pink elastic strip that represents your face is forced between her butt-cheeks. Your "face", with its senses enhanced beyond any human level due to April's twisted experiments, is immediately assaulted by the smell and taste of her sweat-dampened skin. You are nestled into the deep crevice, held firmly in place by your own thong share around her hips. Your elastic form, stretched taut, strains to conform to the contours of her body. You can feel every minute shift and flex of her muscles, each one sending a ripple of sensation across your transformed body.
As your “eye” adjust to the dim light in between April’s cheeks, you can start to see a tight circle of puckered flesh just in front of you… There you are, perched between her butt-cheeks, your fabric face just millimeters away from her imposing anus. The sight before you is terrifyingly intimate - a labyrinth of curves and crevices that no individual typically sees so up close. The wrinkles of her backside form an intricate pattern that makes your stomach churn.
Suddenly, there's movement. A shudder of her muscles and you are pushed even further in. The thin elastic string - your face - brushes against the puckered flesh of her anus as she adjusts herself, sending a new wave of intense sensory input flooding through you. The scent is pungent, a mix of sweat and something unidentifiable, a scent unique to her body. You find yourself retching at the potent combination. The smell isn't the only thing that threatens to overwhelm you – the taste of her skin on your "tongue" is just as intense, an acrid flavor that lingers unpleasantly. You are unable to turn away or shut off the barrage of sensory input flooding into what would be your brain.
April moves to the full-length mirror hanging on her bedroom wall, turning slightly to observe her backside. Her reflection in the mirror reveals your form disappearing between her butt cheeks, leaving nothing but the thin, elastic waistband visible. A sinister grin spreads across her face, and she runs a hand over her backside, tracing the line of your thong form. The pressure of her touch sends ripples through you, escalating the sensory overload that you're already experiencing.
"Comfortable?" April's voice sounds distant but still chillingly clear, echoing around the confines of your new location. Her words are a stark reminder of the malicious pleasure she takes in your discomfort. The question hangs in the air, a twisted sort of sarcasm that makes your non-existent blood run cold. You are powerlessly wedged between her butt cheeks, with an up-close and personal view of her anus.
As she admires her reflection, her butt-cheeks clenching and unclenching experimentally. Each time they close in, pressing your 'face' further against her puckered flesh, a fresh wave of panic surges through you. The sensation is so intense, it's nearly unbearable—a constant flux of pressure, heat and scent that leaves your mind reeling. You want to scream, but you can only exist in silence, subjected to the torturous reality of your existence as a sentient G-string.
"Let's see how well you hold up throughout the day," she says. You feel another wave of terror wash over you at her words. You're already feeling overwhelmed and that's even before she's put on any clothes or made any significant movements.
April saunters towards her closet, her hips swaying with each step. The movement causes you to shift uncomfortably, sliding deeper into the crevice between her buttocks. You can feel every muscle flexing, every minute adjustment as she walks.
She throws open the closet doors, revealing an array of colorful garments. Her fingers trail along the hangers, the soft rustle of fabric filling the air. You can sense her contemplating her choices, weighing the options for maximum discomfort - for you, that is.
You hear the soft creak of wood as April pulls open a drawer. The sound echoes in your confined space, amplified by your heightened senses. There's a rustling of fabric as her hands sift through the contents, each movement causing subtle shifts in her muscles that you feel acutely against your stretched form.
Without warning, April bends over, causing you to slide deeper between her butt cheeks. The sudden movement catches you off guard, and you find yourself sliding even deeper into the crevice between April's buttocks. The pressure intensifies as her cheeks clench involuntarily, squeezing you tighter. Your fabric face is now pressed firmly against her anus, the puckered flesh seeming to pulse against you with each subtle movement.
You hear the soft whisper of fabric as April pulls something from the drawer. "I think these will do nicely," she murmurs, her voice dripping with sadistic glee. You can't see what she's chosen, but a sense of dread fills you.
What is April putting on?
Option 1: Neon pink, skin-tight leggings for an extended trip to the gym. Hours of sweaty workouts and constant stretching await you.
Option 2: Stretchy athletic shorts for a gas-inducing meal. A day of constant rumbling, shifting, and noxious fumes trapped against you awaits.
Option 3: A tight pencil skirt for a multi-day science conference. Long hours of sitting through lectures, with you wedged uncomfortably between April's cheeks with limited bathroom breaks.
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