You expect the rest of the day to go much as it has so far, with you trapped but relatively comfortable in Mary Lynn's bra and her going about her workday. It doesn't work out that way. Eventually you hear her tell someone she's going to lunch, and, sure enough, you can tell she's walking somewhere, opening a refrigerator, and then walking somewhere else before sitting down. She eats her lunch in silence, as you assume she's looking at her phone. Or reading a book, since she is after all a librarian.
Once she's done, she stands up, walks around a bit, and without any warning, the giant fingers come shoving into her bra. You throw up your hands at first to defend yourself, as if you could, and those giant fingers wrap around you. Now's the time for the confrontation, you think.
You're wrong there too. She lowers you to around the level of her navel, and you look around to see you're in some small room, almost like a closet. Nothing otherwise seems amiss until you look down and realize she's been fumbling with the button of her pants with her free hand. By the time you catch on, she's unzipping her pants and pulling out her panties. You have no idea why she's doing this in a room that's clearly not a bathroom, until you're suddenly flipped around. And then there's nothing beneath you.
You panic, instantly imagining yourself plummeting to the ground. But of course her panties are right beneath you, and you land on the soft fabric before bouncing backwards into her thick hairs. For some reason, your first thought in this moment is to realize you're upside down. Right as you're about to fall right side up, Mary Lynn lets go of her panties, and once again, you're pinned in place. This time upside down. As you gain your bearings, the darkness becomes even darker and even tighter as Mary Lynn zips up her pants. You're really trapped now.
It's tighter in her panties than in her bra, and it's not great being upside down. But what's really unpleasant is the thatch of wiry hairs that you're pressed into. It's a little like being held firmly against a giant mass of computer cables, except that computer cables don't have the same thick smell as Mary Lynn's pussy. It's a little musky, sure, and you think you smell more than a little pee, too, but the real issue is that it's just everywhere. It's absolutely dominating all your senses. You try to get used to it.
And you do, as the day goes along. When Mary Lynn sits at her desk, her legs are pressed against each other and you're really squeezed in. You can still breathe, but you start to worry about your safety for the first time. You get a short reprieve in the afternoon when Mary Lynn goes to the bathroom. Instead of pulling down her panties, she simply uses a few fingers to pull her panties, and you with them, to the side, so you have a close-up view of not just her titanic pussy but the stream of hot, yellow piss coming out of her. It's pretty gross, especially since you get more than a few flecks of urine in your face. After that, to your surprise, Mary Lynn masturbates with her other hand, stroking her clit over and over for a few minutes, increasingly fast until she begins grunting, ending with a strong but muffled shout. You're surprised she's able to get away with this in the office, but maybe no one's around to hear her. You certainly have no idea what bathroom she's using.
You feel a bit like things are changing, or at least that your presence there is turning her on, but she still acts like you're not even there.
While she uses toilet paper to wipe her pussy pretty thoroughly, once she puts you back in place and zips you up again in your hot, dark prison, it smells even more like pee than it did before.
In fact, it's not until the end of the day when she talks to you. She finishes work and leaves, saying goodbye to her work friends and getting in her car. She drives for about twenty minutes and then says, out of nowhere, "START CRAWLING AROUND INSIDE MY PUSSY. I COULD USE A FEW MICRO-ORGASMS DURING DINNER."
Well, that's certainly an unceremonious introduction. She seems to be thinking of you mostly as a sex device to turn her on. And while that might have sounded cool at one point, you've been pressed up against her wet, dark, smelly snatch for long enough that you just feel terrified. You're not even sure if you have the ability to move at all at this point, much less crawl inside her pussy.
Suddenly you feel a strong shove against your back. It must have only been one finger, but it felt like a tree trunk. "I'M NOT KIDDING," you hear. "MOVE."