A crocodile on your back
Just a test of what I can do.
Bound in leather, I was on all fours like someone's pet. My face was now obscured by a musty gas mask that restricted my breathing. The tightly adjusted harness exacerbated my asphyxiation. My wings were tied down with rope. My tailed coiled, reminding me of my place in the crocodile's domain. "You're my furniture today," she said to me earlier, demanding that I put on this contortion suit. She broke her chair that morning. I couldn't help but sympathy for the poor piece of furniture, especially now that I was forced to replace it. The thought of someone using me as a stool was revolting. Everything she made me do was.
It had been nearly thirty minutes, and my knees were beginning to cramp. I wished I could walk out the door, but that crocodile had my clothes, keys, and wallet stored in a safe. Even ignoring all that, there was still the dirt she had on me: the photos of me at the coven. There had to be a way out of this insanity, but I could do nothing for the moment. Until the right opportunity presented itself, I had to play along.
The sound of stilettos hit the kitchen floor. The gargantuan, albino, reptilian woman stood powerfully in her heeled boots, which made her taller than me by several inches. They fit so tightly that I could see the shape of her cankles from across the room, yet by some miracle she was able to walk in them without any discernible effort. Another apparent violation of the laws of physics allowed her to squeeze her immense thighs into a pair of fishnet pantyhose. Her skirt, made out of the same PVC material as her boots, seemed to scream in agony with each step.
I was no expert in measurements, but even I knew that her hips were in the nineties. Maybe even in the hundreds. (I won't deny that I'm an ass man.) She wore a corset that held back massive mountains of pale flesh. Her lips, now in glimmering red, had a cigarette between them. Her jet black hair was tied into a tight bun. Despite the immeasurable pain, I managed to lift my head to meet her gaze.
Her expression was smug. In the blink of an eye, she kicked the left side of my goggled mask with one of her boots. My left eye was smashed in by the heel.
"What did I tell you about looking me, you buffoon?!" She said with a scowl.
I replied with a growl.
"Excuse me? What did I say about giving me attitude?"
"Forgive me... ma'am."
"That's what I thought."
With a small waddle she moved closer, turning her backside to me. She had a bottle of red nail polish stored in her long, scaled talons. My eyes widened in fear of the casting shadow she projected. Putting her entire weight on me, her massive hips spread outward. Her skirt rose higher; the sweat of her panties drenched my right shoulder. My joints were on fire.
"Stop shaking!", She snapped. "How can I do my fucking nails with you moving around like that?!"
After a long drag, she flicked pieces of cigarette ash on my mask.
"If you get ashes on my floor, I'll make you clean them with your tongue!" she snarled.
I had to endure. Only for a few more hours, I told myself.