Training Tom Ch. 05: Humility Pt. 04

Then his cock slammed outward, and he almost dropped to his knees - only kept in place by the strength of her hand - as he realized the significance of the ratio:

2.4 times! A decimal multiple of 24. Her volleyball jersey number. Their room number, 2400. The count of links in his anklet. Everywhere 24!

And now it was the ratio between the vessel of his nourishment and the receptacle of his inner being. He knew deep down the significance could not be underestimated.

Her hand pulled him away from her breast, breaking his rapture.

"Now finish cleansing my tit," Sophie commanded, "Then position yourself at my service."

Tom punctiliously repeated the tasks on her other breast, treating it with a new level respect, sensing its numerological connection to him, keenly aware of all it could give and all it could take away. He was so deeply affected that his headache fell by the wayside, a mere trifle next to the importance of his epiphany. Finally, he dropped to his knees at her side, staring forward to await her next orders.

"Good boy. Next, you will kiss then cleanse each of my buttocks," she explained. "Take careful note of their shape and size. And be sure not to miss any part of their extensive surface area. However, do not venture inside the crack."

Tom struggled to suppress his giddiness as he scooted on his knees toward her bulbous ass. While he had felt it several times before, he had never been permitted to worship it so closely. He observed with fascination that, like her tits, her glutes were perfectly spherical. And he admired how their curvature contrasted starkly with the line of her hamstring, erupting like arced mountains from the vast savannah of her thighs.

He leaned forward and pressed his face in to plant a kiss. Forgetting the stark difference to her breasts, he bumped his nose rather painfully into her steely muscle, eliciting a snicker from above.

Shaking it off, he soaped up and began scrubbing the first globe, obsessively tracking so as not to miss any part of her massive expanse. He was amazed by how long it took to lather its entire surface, requiring multiple additions of soap to his scrubber.

Upon reaching the bottom side, he couldn't help stealing a glance at her prominent thigh gap, crowned by the cleft of her labia. With a sharp intake of breath, he recalled the first time he spied the aperture as she worked out in yoga pants, and that he soon after ejaculated in his shorts with his cock nestled in the heart-shaped void.

He quickly looked away and willed himself to focus. As he resumed his work, his brain curiously began to whir, making mental estimates of the diameter, circumference, and surface area of her giant glute. With each check and recheck, he grew uneasy that he must be miscalculating. The dimensions seemed too big to be real. Once done scrubbing, he raised a scoop of water to rinse, and Sophie slapped her larger hand on top of his, smashing it into her rigid muscle.

"Squeeze it, pathetic boy...try to deform it," she challenged.

He undertook to bend his fingers and sink them in, but he couldn't so much as dent the unyielding surface. His cheeks grew hot with shame.

"Was that even an attempt?" she jeered, then she continued pompously, "My glutes are my main source of explosiveness...deep wells of potential energy ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. Their peak force is far beyond your comprehension."

Sophie twitched her hips slightly and Tom violently jerked to the side. If her hand weren't holding him, he would have flown over the edge of the tub.

"Their vast strength compounds the power of every muscle group, adding fierce torque to the leverage of my limbs and violent pop to the impact of my strike..."

His mind surged with memories of her pounding the living shit out of the aggressive volleyball dad, then to the inventory of debilitating injuries her singular blows inflicted. He was shocked then, but now his only surprise was that her ruthless beating didn't killed the man.

"...two solid masses, unbelievably dense, like giant ingots of gold - only harder and dynamic. Layer upon layer of rigorously conditioned, undulating brawn, forming a perfectly tuned machine..."

Tom felt her ass begin to ripple, as if an intricate engine had exploded into motion below the surface. He imagined belts and gears whirring, and he could hear its growing roar in the vibrations that coursed from her body into his.

"On your feet!" Sophie yelled.

Tom immediately arose, contorting his arm around the spot where she kept his hand pinned. Sophie swiftly grabbed his other hand and planted it on his own buttock, covering it with her own. Her fist closed, engulfing his entire cheek as if it were an apple. A wave of inadequacy immediately shot through him as he realized how minuscule and inferior it was in comparison.

"All gut, no butt, little plumber boy," she chided with a laugh.

She squeezed hard, mashing his hand into his saggy little excuse for an ass, now even smaller since his extensive weight loss.

"Nothing to hold up your pants. Just empty space where your glutes should be. No explosiveness, no energy, no torque, no pop," she quipped, kneading his flab derisively with each statement. "Just frail, fragile, weak...absence. Nothingness. Uselessness."

He grimaced at her digs and lamented how tiny and malleable it was in comparison to Her...like a little ball of putty in her probing hand.

"Tell me. How much larger is my gluteus maximus than your, eh, derrière minimus?" she asked, bursting out in a mocking giggle.

For a second, Tom felt helpless. His mind drew a blank. His mouth went dry, and his body went rigid with apprehension.

Then in an abrupt shift, the salivary gland under his tongue began flowing again. He tasted traces of her lactic juices...and his mind began to work in earnest.

His hands became sextants, his brain a calculator, their bodies a geometric puzzle. Radii and ratios and cube roots flowed. It was clear his earlier estimates had been spot-on. His eyes shot up, meeting her expectant gaze.

"A single spheroid lobe of your ass has a radius just under 2.9 times larger than mine," Tom exclaimed, almost robotically. Sophie's eyebrows raised. "Making the volume of your ass exactly 24 times that of mine."

He felt as if the wind knocked out of him as he spoke; the ratio presenting itself yet again. And at its full magnitude! 24 times larger! It seemed impossible, yet it was geometrically indisputable: straightforward mathematics.

His head felt light, and he was suddenly falling inside himself. Shrinking beneath her superiority. Sinking into insignificance beside her. Plummeting toward Her...through Her...into Her.

His elation was curtailed as Sophie abruptly spun him around, bringing them back-to-back. Then she grabbed his hands and leaned forward at a right angle, pulling him off his feet and up her rear torso. Tom rocked back and then forward until he was sitting up, as if on a chair.

"Look across the room at the mirror," Sophie directed.

Tom turned and was immediately overcome by the sight: he sat perched atop Sophie's giant flexed glutes. It looked as if her were sitting on two enormous cannonballs, projecting well above the line of her back. He could feel himself off balance, tipping over not because she was unsteady, but because her rock-solid ass was so perfectly round.

Then he looked at his own derrière minimus and internalized just what twenty-four times smaller meant. As if he needed more salt in his wound, he felt his soft muscles collapsing under his own weight, giving in, leaving her solid gold mass to fill in the void. As if his ass didn't even exist. As if he had sunken completely into her wondrous machine.

Without warning, one of her buttocks rippled causing him to bounce uncertainly to one side, just in time for the other to pop, bouncing him back with deft coordination. He landed with a thud on her first glute, and bounced again, the pattern repeating itself over and over again as Sophie snickered mischievously.

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Tom groaned with each explosive toss, feeling like a beachball bouncing between two circus seals.

Just when he thought it wouldn't end, she flexed both cheeks at the same time, sending him up into the air and back down, splashing loudly and painfully into the tub below.

"Back to work, boy," Sophie commanded callously.

Tom did his best to regather himself, sensing a sharp sting in his knee where he hit the edge of the jacuzzi. Then he arose, found the loofa and set to work on the other half of her fantastical ass. A daze settled over him and the task seemed to come automatically.

"Now you'll clean my back," Sophie directed. "Work up from the bottom, including my sides along the way. Notice the plethora of developed muscles, few of which are visibly present on your weak, pudgy corpse."

Tom winced at her jab then picked up the sponge and got to work. He concentrated on learning the complex array of muscles that made up her lower torso, appreciating how different her body was from his.

He was part way up her back when he realized her long, shiny hair was hanging in his way. A dilemma suddenly presented itself: how would he signal her to move it when he was forbidden to speak without first being spoken to?

He stood silently for a few seconds, then made a show of clearing his throat. Sophie turned her head and looked down at him as if he were a bee about to crawl in her soda can.

"Do you think I don't know my hair is in the way?" she reproached.

Tom stood dumbfounded, then managed to speak in a bashful voice:

"No, Miss."

"You may ask me to move it," she said.

"Can you please hold up your hair so that I may scrub the rest of your back, Miss?" Tom squeaked.

Her hands immediately moved behind her back and gathered her hair, lifting it to the top of her head in a haphazard bun. Her arms remained up, bent akimbo, causing her lats to spread away from her sides like wings. Her entire upper body was suddenly V-shaped, like an eagle on the brink of lifting off. Tom shuddered as he imagined Sophie a bird of prey, come from the heavens to carry him away and feast on him.

"What are you waiting for?" she pressed. "Continue!"

Tom shook away the image and quickly resumed scrubbing, finishing her upper back, then moving around one side to clean the extended hood formed by her engaged lat. He couldn't resist squeezing around the flat side, held taut as if by a matrix of carbon fibers strung from her rib cage to her upper arm.

"Latissimus dorsi," Sophie pronounced, assuming a formal Latin accent Tom recognized from his school days. "I've never shown you, but with the help of these bad girls, I can do over 100 straight pull-ups."

Tom flinched at the implied magnitude of her strength and stamina, then jumped as Sophie's hand squeezed a soft fold under his arm.

"I'm not even sure you have that muscle, boy," she said with a devious giggle, then one of her fingers tickled his armpit, causing him to squirm in her grasp. "I bet your pathetic body couldn't even manage one pull-up. Whereas I could probably do ten with your body weight attached - if you could manage to cling on to me without falling, that is."

Her hand let go of his side and he made to resume washing her, but she surprised him by taking a big step up onto the tile threshold above the jacuzzi.

"Give it a try," she said bluntly. "Prove me wrong."

Tom looked up to see Sophie's arm extended straight out from her body above him, with her fist clenched as if she were frozen in a jab. After a few puzzled seconds of staring at her engorged triceps, he winced with the realization that she was asking him to do a pull-up - and that her arm was to be the bar.

"I don't have all day, boy," she taunted. "Grab hold and show Me what you've got."

Tom's stomach dropped. Despite his recent weight loss and exercise routine, he was almost certain he still couldn't do a pull-up. And besides, he thought, the leverage of his 160 pounds so far out on her arm would surely be too much to hold, no matter how strong She was.

Sensing each moment of delay risked a sharp reprimand, Tom lifted both arms straight above his head and stood on his tiptoes. One hand was able to grasp around her wrist while he probed around with the other, trying to find a suitable grip, her thick rounded muscles confounding him. He finally settled on the crux of her elbow, tenuous though his hold was.

To begin his attempt, he gingerly lifted his toes from the bottom of the tub and bounced slightly, testing the sturdiness of her makeshift bar. To his shock, her arm didn't budge. Then he lifted his feet from the water, bent his knees and crossed his ankles behind him as he remembered doing in high school gym class, the last time he had unsuccessfully attempted the exercise. Still, her arm miraculously held steady.

Finally, he pulled. And strained. And grunted.

Yet he only rose a couple inches.

Sophie laughed:

"I'd like to call that a valiant effort. But unfortunately, you're even more pathetic than I thought."

Tom felt tears form in his eyes and the fire of frustration stirring deep within. His body and mind stiffened with newfound resolve. And he pulled. And his meager muscles trembled. And her arm remained fixed like a tree limb.

Yet he barely rose another inch.

More tears flowed as he reached the verge of giving up. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and his body shook, his arms stuck maddeningly in half-bent purgatory.

Then he felt a curious sensation. Miraculously, his arms were bending and his body rising. To his elation and triumph, his chin approached and touched her forearm!

Then his victory turned to shame as he realized her other hand was grasping his ass, and that she had pushed him the rest of the way up.

"I'm here for you, little one," Sophie intoned powerfully. "Remember...you're nothing without Me. You'll never be able to climb the Mountain alone. You need Me. Always."

Without warning, her hand let go of his ass and her arm muscles expanded, breaking his grip. Tom tumbled back into the tub, banging his undamaged knee in the process.

"Back to work, boy," she clucked as she stepped down into the water after him.

Tom clambered to his feet, wincing from the pain in his kneecap, huffing from the strain of his pull-up attempt, blushing from the shame of his weakness.

He resumed scrubbing her back and within seconds, the fog of servitude settled in. All that mattered was satisfying her needs, and his own concerns seemed to evaporate away. His hands rubbed in efficient circles, robotically traversing every square millimeter of her flawless skin, doing his duty to maintain her Perfection. After rinsing the last bits of soap, he stepped back and stood at attention without her ordering it.

"Good boy," Sophie commended. "Now rinse your hands under the faucet, then stand behind me and wrap your arms around my waist."

Tom followed her order, excited to squeeze up so close to her phenomenal ass. The lower arc of her glute nestled straight into his diaphragm, then he raised to tiptoes and leaned forward over the protruding curve of her buttocks, enfolding his body around her ass, transferring most of his weight to Her. He turned his head and pressed his cheek into the small of her back and extended his arms until his fingers managed to touch near her belly button.

"Perfect," Sophie cooed. "I bet that feels really nice."

A tingle shot up Tom's spine as he sparkled with the joy of closeness to - and dependency on - Her. His little penis showed renewed signs of life, poking out from its den. Fortunately, the bulbous curve of her ass kept it at a safe distance from her thighs, leaving him devoid of friction, free of misdeed.

"Now, you will learn proper care of my vulva," Sophie stated, causing Tom's body to twitch with excitement and disbelief. "First and foremost, we never use soap, only water. My flora is perfectly balanced to support the ideal pH and we mustn't disrupt that."

Her hands reached up to her tummy and took hold of Tom's fingers, guiding them down to her crotch.

"Close your eyes and concentrate all your thoughts on the tips of your fingers. Prepare to learn the lay of my temple...memorize the verses of your bible...map the epicenter of your submission and Resurrection."

Tom was overcome with a sense of religious zeal. His eyes closed and his mind focused. He thought of his face enshrouded in her genitalia earlier that morning, getting a first sense of her topography, but lacking the fidelity that his fingertips could surely discern.

"We'll start with my outer lips, my labia majora, and work our way down, gently scrubbing in straight up and down motions."

To Tom's delight, her hands guided his middle fingers into her soft, lubricous folds, gently moving them up and down, sliding slightly forward with each tiny cycle. He sensed their texture, wetness, and temperature, recalling how they felt on his cheeks - now filling in finer details. Pressing harder, he perceived the lines of muscle beneath the surface, and the rigidity of her pubic bone still further below.

"Now we'll shift to my inner lips, my labia minora," she said with a Latin lilt.

She directed his fingers to grasp the flaps of skin, soft and slick like oyster flesh, and to lightly rub them back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. Tom giddily remembered the puffy folds surrounding his nose. Then his mind whirred, documenting each minute cleansing step and each blessed detail. His little stiffy pulsed in the air with each tiny squeeze.

"Next, we'll move up to my clitoris, where you'll make sure to clean under the hood, which is basically a foreskin. You wouldn't know since your parents chose to snip yours off, but believe me: we're in very sensitive territory here. Absolutely no sudden movements."

Tom's breath caught as he remembered spying the stamen of her orchid, amazed by its ripe color, size, and succulence. She led his finger around and under the folds of her clitoral hood, until he sensed his pads touching opposite sides of her engorged clit. Her body shivered. His cock strained in its skin.

"Careful now, boy," Sophie gasped. "Clean around the base, making sure no part is adhered to the hood - but whatever you do, don't stroke my shaft."

Her fingers guided him slowly, and her breaths grew deeper.

"Try to form a mental picture of its girth: the foundation of my towering spire, the root of your irrepressible envy..."

Tom sucked in an uneven breath as his fingers slid around the edges of her hood, tracing the circumference of her organ, dismayingly uncertain of its size. With every other part of her body, his brain was able to catalogue shape and dimensions to exacting specification. But here, it was almost as if a mystic force shrouded Her in obscurity. He tried to visualize his brief glimpse of it before, yet he was confounded, unable to discern if it was the diameter of a shirt button or a poker chip; an inch long - or five.

"Ambiguity is such a delicious sensation, isn't it?" Sophie asked rhetorically, reading his exact thoughts. "From one side it's bigger, from the other it's smaller..."

Tom startled as her words evoked the fateful night of Homecoming, when she took him on a mind-blowing journey through her Wonderland. He could feel Sophie inside his head, confusing him, manipulating him into seeing and feeling what she wanted. Bending his reality. Compelling him to covet her clitoris.

Sophie laughed mischievously, then abruptly reverted to a professorial tone: