Little Mary’s Strings

This was my entry for the quarterly SizeRiot contests – specifically CruelJan20 – organized by the awesome AborigenGTS. It had the honor of tying for first for the “psychological cruelty” category.

Link to SizeRiot

Link to CruelJan20 Stories

Normally cruelty is not my main focus. I like to explore characters and their circumstances, have fun repartee between a couple people if so possible, and enjoy the extreme size aspect of a lot of it, even if there’s some peril involved.

That was not the case for this story. This story, I decided to be ugly and horrid and to be honest it put me in a bad headspace many times in the course of writing it. Someone asked me about inspiration for this story, and truth be told a lot of it’s been building up just from seeing certain groups bully others on the internet.

There’s a lot I can say about the kind of truly malicious subculture this story reflects, but I’m not here to rant. Please mind the content warnings below.

Content Warning: NSFW, giantess, violence, death, gore, vore, crush, body modification, noncon, psychological cruelty

Estimated Reading Time: 10 minutes


The sky’s red here.

look

There’s no mention of a direction, but something moves her head anyway. She sees the sun sloping down on the horizon, off to bless the rest of the world. Her gaze turns downward, to where the ocean kisses the coast and buildings sprout in a garden of metal and glass, with a vine of blue piercing through.

It’s absolutely stunning. 

The tallest skyscraper ekes upwards by two meters on her. She wants to stand and admire the ingenuity, the beauty.

ur ex live there?

She does. They’d parted on amicable terms but the thought of Robin sends a soft pang through her trailer-sized heart. It joins the rest of the aches and pains and hushes, muzzled.

Her pale skin is raw and burnt a deep, dangerous red. It’s a percussion of agony that keeps getting shoved into the closet in favor of those commands, but something about the city rouses more fight in her.

he sux, right?

No, she doesn’t.

she?
lol
tht's hot

She responds to this with the same emotional detachment as before. It isn’t autopilot and it isn’t sleepwalking. She’s aware of everything around her, but her thoughts can’t disturb the placidity of her conscious state. Like a dream, except not hers.

What had she been doing before? Where had she been going? Those thoughts don’t matter anymore. Just the commands.

…right?

go say hi

She doesn’t want to though. Not like this.

cmon
it'll be sexy

There’s a road curling around her ankles, long and winding like an asphalt snake. Brushery dots the surrounding vista, and she sees now the power lines leading from tower to tower, arcing their way into various parts of the city.

If she gets any closer she’ll blow out the power leading into the city. People will panic, get hurt.

who cares

She doesn’t. Does she?

step on that car

Something – not her, definitely not her – lifts her foot. The lines of cars and trucks and stick figures scrambling away increase their pace.

A memory pushes to the forefront. She remembers first grade, when the boy she had a crush on pushed her into the sand and right before he pressed her face into the anthill. She remembers how gross the sand tasted and her uselessness, crying and blubbering snot down on their scampering lines.

Some of that fear bubbles up again. It spikes up her hindbrain, kick-starting her fight-or-flight response, only to smooth over just as fast.

There’s someone in the car. Trapped. She can’t make out their details but they’re jerking, slamming against the dashboard.

Screaming?

even better
Ur so much bigger than hi.m

The sound her foot makes when it crushes the lipstick red convertible leaves her hollow. A sound like aluminum foil and a dying mechanical whine.

She doesn’t even feel the driver underfoot.

No. Oh god no.

not god
goddess

She wants to throw up, just like in first grade.

grind your foot, it’ll feel good

It doesn’t. Her foot’s plowed through asphalt and made a crater. Grinding her foot into the road is like running it along thorny bristles and sharp rocks. Metal and stone cut into her skin, lacerating it, and that too joins the catalog of sensations that are not important right now.

lmao look at that guy

She spots another man. He’s on his front, crawling away from her. Dapper business suit rumpled, a smudgy trail of dark liquid trailing behind him. He’s alternating, left right left, with his hands, pulling himself as fast and far away as he can get. His suit end around mid-thigh, where bloody stumps gush.

pick him up

He’s dying. He needs help.

stick him ur pussy

That prompts a physical reaction from her. She recoils, the mental fog lifting, and she gasps, greedily sucking in the thin air as she grabs her stomach, bends over, gags and-

do it
do it
do it
Fucking do it u bitch

The fog descends on her once more, and she straightens. Her face contorts into something unrecognizable, like she’s got a plastic mold under her skin: lips curved, mouth open, teeth exposed. She feels like a demented giant clown.

fuck
this is awesome lol

She’s aware now. Every little thing previously filed under unimportant. The sky, the burn on her skin, the slow unrelenting drag on her limbs from being large enough to crush an Audi.

The man crawling away doesn’t care though. All he sees are her fingers flopping him into her palm. There’s rough push and shove as she’s forced to insert his whole body in a place meant for no man. It’s revolting.

u likke it 
right?

Screaming. She’s screaming now. Her mouth is making lewd noises but her heart is shrieking.

She doesn’t want this. She never wanted this.

go
find ur ex

This time, she resists. She wants to turn around and run. Cut off her strings, turn tail and hide in the desert and just die like the miserable wretch she is. 

Oh god, she can’t even feel them anymore. Not even bloody paste. Nothing.

Her resistance doesn’t last long though. Whatever perverse power is in control twists her head to survey to the city once more and, joint by joint, deliberate and slow, purposeful, her body walks in that direction.

kick that truck

She does. It folds in around her instep and seems tethered to the planet for a brief second before it lifts off, flying. It soars over the city outskirts before colliding with a building unlucky enough to be taller than others around it. 

There’s no bloom of fire like she expects, no loud resounding crash. It’s all a dreadful quiet, interrupted only by her own body’s breathing.

She thinks she hears sirens. She clings to that thought. It’s a human thought, belonging to a human person.

She’s a person, right?

jump on that house

She does so and with gusto. Her body relishes in the action, and seems to delight in pinning several on-scene officers under her toes, before curling and feeling something sickeningly like bubble wrap pops.

rofl their so tiny

Power lines tangle around her legs, and contrary to her expectations it hurts. Like that time she’d gone to the beach with Robin and got stung by jellyfish.

She fights herself. Fights against the thing making her smile and taunt and kill.

She fails.

makke her beg

Her body complies. It grabs the strawberry blonde that’s waving people through an opening in crushed traffic. Pinches the head between two fingers bigger than she is tall, pulls up and instead of lifting the tiny woman by the head, all she does is wrench her neck. The former blonde’s body flops to the ground, discarded. Someone rushes to it, too late, too small to do anything.

His anguish jerks at the hold the monstrous power has over her; she snaps into control for a millisecond-

I’msorryI’msorryohgodrunrunI’m-”

-and then falls back into that dark ocean, heart freezing over once more. 

It’s not like dreaming anymore. She’s sitting in a theater, eyes taped open, limbs velcroed to her side and a hand jerking her mouth up and down.

plz stop fighting
U like this, right?
then stop
uwu

She hates this.

fuck u
pick tha guy up

The man’s still clutching the dead body, hunched over. Her body cocks her head, as if curious. Then, ignoring all the smoke and chaos around her, she bends over, fingers digging into the ground and just scooping up the area like a gardener would soil.

The man is still immobile, uncaring of his incoming fate.

I’m sorry, she tries to say, but her mouth doesn’t comply. All that comes out is, “You like that, little man?”

put him between ur boobs

She wants to ask why, but the answer soon becomes clear.

Tingling, then aching, and then her breasts feel like they’re on fire as mass pours into them. Her nipples harden to the point of pain and she breaks a little bit more inside, because of course this is happening now. Her body isn’t hers anymore.

omg sexy
goddess
U r sooooo big uwu

She’s disgusting.

She drops the mound between her breasts, a space that could pass for geological cleavage as well as her own, and the man doesn’t fight it. He holds on to the dead woman’s body, his face obscured by dust and blood, and tries to mourn.

He dies instantly as her body grabs her new disgustingly enormous breasts and smashes them together like they’re a pair of cymbals. It’s violent and deadly and pointless. Her soul is flaying with every passing second and all her body does is laugh at the atrocity.

When she separates her boobs to see the results of her handiwork there’s a smear that doesn’t even look real anymore. Something’s pricked the side of her breast, the remains of an underground pipe when she scooped up the ground. 

The piercing throb originating from it is nauseating, a super-sized splinter, but like everything else she’s forced to ignore it.

go find robin

Her trek into downtown whiles away time with more of the same. 

Houses kicked in, people squashed like bugs, cars mashed together like bread loaves. Her body laughs and sneers all the while, saying horrid things she doesn’t mean but can’t stop. At one point she picks up a bus, places it atop a roof and forces the people inside to exit one by one, to be squeezed like grapes over her open mouth.

People don’t taste like anything, she learns, other than bitterness and grit.

She manages another second of true rebellion then, when she has an elderly couple clinging to each other desperately as they both exit the bus. Not stopping to apologize, she cups both of them in her hands and swivels down to the clearest patch of street she can find. 

Her hands open a couple meters from the ground before she loses control once again, and the couple drops to the ground.

wtf!

The whipping return to her previous stance is like battery acid and a hot iron ramming down her gullet. Her eyes prick and sting but something’s superglued her tear ducts shut.

Did they even survive the drop, she wonders.

jesus u suk at this
u r big
stop caring
stop fkkin w me

Go die, she thinks, as vicious a thought as she ever conjured.

pick up the bus

She does so. Some of the riders have left, but she can see some still inside, cowering. Her hand shakes the vehicle like a soda can, and spiderweb cracks form along the glass.

Her face isn’t twisted into the facsimile of a smile anymore at least. It’s empty, void of her torment. She’s tiring them.

lick it

Her tongue coats the bus in her nonexistent saliva. Siding and glass stick to the floor of her mouth, and it’s like licking those stupid pop rocks from her childhood, except worse because this time her mouth doesn’t just feel like it’s bleeding.

now stick it in ur pussy

Again?

Is there even a point to this…

The bus isn’t comfortable. It crumples in on itself when she pulls her vaginal lips apart and tries to shove it in dry, falling apart in her hand like a stack of crackers and even if she’ll never be a normal human again she enjoys this spiteful moment from the laws of physics. 

It hurts like hell’s nails, but she won’t say it’s not worth it.

fuck!

She pulls at the leash around her soul once more, howling, hoping to break free with that opening.

u stupid slut!

In her moment of freedom her eyes turn downtown, to the highrise buildings. Before she loses control once more they zero in on something: a figure – tall, gorgeous, pixie cut – staring out the floor to ceiling window in abject horror.

Robin.

grab her

No…

eat her

No!

step on her, goddess

NO!

:D

5 thoughts on “Little Mary’s Strings

  1. I found this one rather hateful, as I expect you intended. It was one of the more effective of the many deconstructions of size fantasy tropes we’ve been seeing recently. It reminded me of why I reflexively avoided cruel stories for years.
    My favorite part is that she never, ever pretends that she is actually enjoying her rampage. She defies her controller until the end.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. “Hateful” is right on the money. I kind of balked at the idea at first, when I thought of it, but it was a personal challenge because I wanted to confront why something like this made me uncomfortable. I just had to write it, eventually. There are people who constantly have to deal with troglodytes who attempt stuff like this.

      I’m really glad you liked that she defied her controller, because it’s definitely something I wanted to make sure was constantly present. That she is diametrically opposed to everything that is happening.

      I’ve also admittedly been put off by cruel content first, but it’s something I’ve learned and am still learning is a part of me too.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. For me, if a cruel story (size-related or not) is to work, I have to be able to empathize on some level or at some point with the cruel character(s). I have to understand their motive for being cruel, and anticipate their cruel actions. It’s sort of like rooting for the monster to eat someone, even if the monster is ultimately defeated.

    I didn’t have that here, and that is why as a story it failed for me. It’s an excellent piece of polemic writing, however.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. That’s an interesting way of viewing cruel content! I too enjoy being able to connect in some fashion with entities, whether kind or cruel. So in the case of something unknowable or with a completely alien character set, do you struggle with that connection?

      Like

      1. In the case where there’s no identifying with or understanding a character or plot element, then the focus is entirely on those we do identify with. The unknowable force is then the equivalent of weather or an earthquake or volcano, and the plot becomes what is necessary for survival. If that plot is weak or tedious, then it’s just assembly-line atrocity. Your giantess here is a real person with genuine reactions to her controller, and the tension is whether she can hold out or surrender. That kept the story alive until the end.

        Liked by 1 person

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