The gym had been hell. Not just hard — wet, suffocating, unrelenting hell.

With the AC dead for the second week straight, your giantess gym buddy had still gone all-in on squats, hip thrusts, and leg presses — sweat pouring off her by the gallon. Now, in the muggy, abandoned women's locker room, she staggered toward the bench like a survivor crawling to safety.

Her sports bra was soaked. Her leggings were practically dripping. Her breath came in ragged, humid bursts. And when she spotted you — your tiny self standing near her gym bag — her eyes lit up instantly.

“Oh thank God you’re still here,” she groaned, towering over you. Without hesitation, she reached down, scooping you up in two fingers slick with sweat. “Don’t fight it. I need this.”

She didn’t even wait. She dropped onto the bench, sighed loudly, and peeled her leggings all the way down — past her thighs, over her hips — until her bare ass hit the air, flushed and glistening. Her skin shone with sweat, the massive, muscular cheeks red from exertion and streaked with the gleam of heat and effort.

“I’m dying down there,” she muttered, lifting herself just enough to slide you beneath her. “Seriously, I’ve been sitting in a swamp for two hours. I think my butt left a mark on the squat rack.”

And then, without warning — she sat.

You were pressed face-first into one of her cheeks — bare, burning-hot, slick with butt sweat. The flesh was soft, but the pressure was overwhelming. Her glutes were huge, worked hard, and radiating heat from deep within. She shifted slightly, grinding your tiny form into the slick valley between them.

The smell was immediate. Not just sweat — deep, musky heat, earthy and thick with hours of built-up intensity. This wasn’t the surface-level stink of a foot. This was core temperature stuff. The humid, sticky atmosphere between her cheeks clung to your skin and filled your nose.

“Ohhh yeah,” she sighed in relief. “That’s the spot. You’re like… a little cooling pad. For my ass.”

She lifted one cheek slightly, then let it fall back down on you with a soft, wet thump. The impact smeared you deeper into her skin.

“Sorry,” she murmured, “but I needed something to soak this up. And you were just standing there…”

She relaxed again, letting her full weight settle onto you — enveloping you in sweat-drenched flesh.

“Don’t worry,” she added with a faint smirk, “you’re still my best friend. You just happen to be perfectly sized for butt relief.”

She reached for her water bottle, lazily rolling her hips against the bench, dragging you back and forth under her.