Makoto Niijima

Spoken are the words unto the Meta-Nav,

Mementos.

"The humidity is even worse than last time," muttered a stern voice, alongside a chorus of high-pitched SQUUEEEEAA~RRRR~K of leather and latex stretching into form across tremendous hips. Makoto, or Queen as she titles herself in this place, grips the material at her hip to give it a pull - letting it ripple back against her wobblewagon with a heavy SNAP that jiggles from one side of her tremendous hips to the other.

"That's better.~" In one hand rises the iron visor, and she spreads her black riding boots in a dramatic pose as her companion sits flummoxed from the jarring ride across realities. "Hey, you.~ Can't study how to fight in a textbook - you ready to see how it's done, huh? Oh! And call me Queen, while we're here," she nearly stammers, holding her cool smile as she rests the iron mask into place upon her visage.

The high-pressure groan in her belly nearly matches the pitch of the tormented attire wrapped along her gargant clapcakes as she shifts to turn - steering around with a ~glrrbll~bllbll~ of sloshing fat and the powerful gargling within that tight-waisted tummy. Viewed behind, it's clear as day the recent modification to her suit - a grand split-down-the-middle window that lays bare her entire sweat-dripping asscrack, laid bare like a proud weapon.

A heavy boot thuds the metal-grate floor, K-CHUNK.. plap, wobble, jiggle~jostle goes the rest of her figure settling its pornworthy mass. ".. I'm still not used to this outfit. You ready?"

[A: Where are we?!] 🍑 [B: "Looking cool, Queen!"] 🍑💦 [C: Ready to Fight! Probably.] 🍑

Within the Upper Layers of the Mementos consciousness-labyrinth,

"This is Johanna! Lemme give you a ride, rookie - hop on!" .. hop on where? That titanic quadruple-decker cake of the student council present is swallowing up the entire passenger seat, with sweat cascading from her enormous buttwindow cleavage of pale bare assmeat on wholesale display and down the chrome polish of the fantastic ride's ear chassis. "Hey, come on - what's the hold up?"

The absolute girlstink of her ass is magnified by the heat of incensed mana-exhaust billowing from Johanna's backpipes, and another jiggle-wiggle of adjustment has the rear suspension bouncing in herculean effort to keep that caked-up booty meat from crushing the rear tire into the tracks. .. the tracks! Holy God, that's going to be one bumpy ride.. "You're not afraid of a little horsepower, are you?~♫"

[A: Spread those cheeks and pile ass upon yon lap!] 🍑 [B: Really struggle to get in there!] 🍑💦 [C: "Your persona is a motorbike?!"] 🍑

With the final blow unto a particularly powerful shadow-thing, retaliation came:

Queen's ginormous hips, enchanted and accentuated thrice-over with her defensive Marakukaja technique, now cork her helplessly into a cratered gash in the wall. She might have raised her defense stat a little too high...

... and now she's naught but kicks and squirms, clapping and jostling her quake-cake with a muffled "mmngh, mmmfh, mwrrhfhfh!!" of her voice heard beneath the swampy sloshing of her ultra pudge-packed flanks!

She's buried waist-deep into some sort of wall vent!

Kick! Stomp! Squirm! Those fat legs are in a frenzy of latex-clad hams kicking their strained boots every which way, a motion that only fumes the intense brain-fogging pheromonal haze of Queen's ass across the now-vacant battlefield as their foe lay vanquished.

Oh! Right. She's here with someone else. Surely they'll be able to help her! That gurgling anxiety in her belly might signal that they ought to work fast in working her loose, though...

[A: Grab those hips and pull?] 🍑 [B: Smack her ass like you ain't no yellow-belly.] 🍑💦 [C: Spread those cheeks!] 🍑

"Hey, hi! Grab a seat, I'm aaaalmost done with this page.. they really laid it thick on the homework tonight," she grumbles, adjusting her seat. What remains of it, anyway.

Holy MOLY!

That thing is being engulfed into the tremendous span of her unholy porncakes, great heaving mounds of double-decker bootycheeks still engorged from a recent outing into the Metaverse - lingering with the growth of her Marakukaja technique.

Heavier, fattier, sweatier..

.. as if she needed such a boon. "Y'know, I started reading manga recently.." she mentions idly as she refocuses on her assignment paper, humming contentedly. "They're actually quite entertaining! Good recommendation.. erm. That was you, wasn't it?"

She's not quite listening to the answer, focused on her work. A squirm leaves her gigantic butt squeaking slightly against the tortured material of the thing buried between her blubber-buns, and there's that ominous grrrgl~ deep within her slim, compact tummy.

".. aaalmost done.."

[A: Ask about Metaverse?] 🍑 [B: ~Accidentally~ smack her ass!] 🍑💦 [C: "Let me be you throne instead, my queen!"] 🍑

A wager dealt,

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

Sweat flies, ass claps, meat jostles dizzyingly ahead as Makoto conquered her personal feud with gravity, sloshing her immense pudge-packed gigawobbler one side and the other in a commotion that slung the sweat from her ass every time her megadonk smashed back inward to shockwave the impact of flesh upon flesh. For some, this would be the simple act of sprinting.

Not for Makoto's mindbending clapcakes, though. She's keeping her shocker lead and panting with maddened intensity as every lifetime-trained fiber of her impossible physique flared into motion at a desperate pace, leaving behind her a swampy heat that trailed like a knee-jellying exhaust trail of her fertile steam!

It might be a little frightening to the one who knows the purpose true of Makoto's intensity: the fate of a week spent at the mercy of a man-flattening ass that's presently rippling gut-clenched expulsions like a biomechanical heatsink trying its best to avoid a meltdown.

[A: You're not about to be crushed!] 🍑 __[B: .. or maybe you are. Keep sandbagging!]__🍑💦 [C: Ponder the aroma.] 🍑

PLAP!

Squish! Plap. Clap-clap-clap! Stood directly behind her as one currently finds themselves positioned, that tremendously sweaty lardass of the council president, kept modest by only a whaletail thong swallowed between her clapcakes and a far-too-tiny skirt garnished atop the bloom of her hips, has nowhere else to go but to cushion and contour to the lap flanking her massive jiggly twerkpillows! Plap! "Ugh. They really need to figure out why these things are so shaky..." Makoto grumbles, holding tight the metal pole as she stood as resolute as one can be with some-400-lbs of cheekmeat dragging her momentum to and fro.

Mako's got her eyes glued to her phone, scrolling through recent tabloids and news-bits for any potential leads on a new case, and trying her best to ignore the constant neediness in messages many given unto her position as council president.

"Where were we headed, anyway...?"

[A: Ramen shop date!] 🍑 [B: Huh, what? Hump her butt? A lot?] 🍑💦 [C: Movie date at home, duh!] 🍑