First post of 2021 right here and coming in with the first completed story in literal months!

So, the background on this story is that in December I came across a tweet that just…struck me. It was the kind of flashing inspiration that hits me once in a while, but for once I actually had the time to follow through on it.

Here’s the original tweet by the seriously awesome Pseudoclever (@Pseudo_size):

Naturally, things changed between the original draft and the end product, but this is perhaps the core of how I got started with it. It took me probably two days of 10-12 hours each of writing to finish the first draft, with barely any sleep because I was just so excited to make headway on something.

The original version was a lot darker, but in looking at the characters’ motivations, I realized that there was a dissonance between their words and their actions, so I began the process of correcting that and making sure there was an internal cohesion didn’t break. So often, my biggest trouble with any piece of media is internal cohesion. It is why I sometimes have difficulty getting into other fiction. The story is still a little dark, because, well, 2020 was a year that happened, and I was in a curious place mentally, but it’s brightened up quite a lot since the first draft.

With regards to the ending, I like to leave it a little ambiguous. Obviously, were the situation happening for real there’s a whole host of things they have to talk about. That’s why I’m tagging this dubcon. This is not meant to be indicative of a totally healthy relationship, but it is a fantasy fictional one that I thought interesting to explore.

With that said, I hope you enjoy this story at least a fraction of how much I enjoyed writing it. As always, if I miss out on any content warnings or tags, please feel free to reach out to me and let me know. I’m always trying to be conscious of others and am happy to learn or be made aware of any mistakes.

Content Warnings: giant man, shrunken woman, M/f, mini giant, dubcon (dubious consent), shrinking, playful domination, praise kink, some objectification, gentle, mouthplay, dry humping, toy insertion, some overstimulation, and very very NSFW

Estimated Reading Time: 40 mins

The doorbell chimed bright and early that Saturday morning, and Marisol was half-asleep—brown eyes bleary, brain pea-soup foggy, chestnut hair askew—when she answered it.

A dark-haired hulk of a man stood out in the hall, looking far too cheerful under the aged fluorescent lighting and ungodly hour. He held a tray with two steaming styrofoam cups in one hand and wore a tight forest-green sleeveless top that showcased every single one of his very distracting abs. Rafael beamed and opened his arms wide as if for a hug. “Marisol!”

Marisol yelped, panicked, and slammed the door in her personal trainer’s face.


She closed her eyes and leaned back against the door, thoughts blurring into each other. Saturday. Right. Yes. Today was Saturday. First Saturday of the year. She’d known he was coming. At least, a past version of her had known. Everything else was still fuzzy.

This was the first time she’d seen him since…June was it? She’d first blown him off in favor of a Doctor Who marathon and demolished half a dozen boxes of thin mints in the same day. One thing led to another and before she knew it a month had passed. And then it was December, the year sifting through her fingers like sand. One awkward run-in at the corner store and impromptu New Year’s resolution later, they’d arranged to pick up with her classes again.

He knocked on the door. “Marisol? It’s me, Rafael.” She heard him shuffle in place, waiting for her to open. “Do you need to reschedule again?”

“Yes!” she shouted back reflexive, before guilt tore that down. “Wait, no! I mean yes, but no! It’s just…ugh.” I need coffee. The earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee from her favorite corner café wafted in from the other side. She looked over at the mess that was her living room.

Picking right at the heart of her hesitance, Rafael said, “Look, if you’ve got other stuff going on, I can drop the invoice for this lesson and you won’t ever have to hear from me a—”

“Wait!” Making a split-second decision, Marisol quickly primped herself—smoothed her hair, tucked it behind her ears, wiped the drool from her cheek—and opened the door before he could leave. Rafael looked too put together for someone who just braved an early January New England morning on foot, but the only hint of his trek was the light sheen of perspiration on his warm brown skin. “Hey! Hi! Uh, sorry about that.” There was an awkward pause as she floundered for words that could somehow explain her previous absences. “Come on in.”

He flashed her a brilliant smile and followed inside. Pure mortification shot up her spine as she led him past the reminders of last night’s Lord of the Rings binge session: discarded clothing, chocolate wrappers and an empty tub of ice cream were only some of what laid strewn about in plain sight.

He placed the coffee tray on the center table and looked around. He seemed amused about something. “Fun night?”

Oh my god, kill me now. “Just a party with some old girlfriends from out of town.” It was better than admitting the mess was all hers and that she’d forgotten he was coming “They’re gone now. It’s just us.”

Rafael arched an eyebrow, and Marisol’s treacherous heart ka-thudded inside her chest. Her other resolution rang within her ears, eager yet somehow hesitant to voice itself. “Well, I guess it won’t be in the way much. Today’s a special lesson to catch you up, after all.” He sat on the couch, his strong muscled legs vaulting like Roman columns that he leaned forward on. His bark-colored mane was longer than last time she saw him, reaching down to his shoulders, granting him a wild, more leonine appearance. “You might want to freshen up, have some coffee. We still have to talk about your expectations for these sessions.” He punctuated this with a playful wink.

“Um.” Marisol swallowed and blinked rapidly to quell the sudden dryness in her eyes. Her cheeks burned, giving her away. “Oh. Uh. Um.”

Even sitting down he had a presence she usually associated with large animals. It used to fluster her, more than his exercises would tire her out, and made talking around him an ordeal. She’d thought she’d gotten over it, but evidently not. Now if only he could stop being a regular nightly visitor in her dreams, then everything else would be a lot less awkward.

After excusing herself to change into something more fitting—finding only a black sports bra and grey yoga pants that fit a little tighter than she remembered—she returned to find Rafael still on the couch, sipping his coffee.

“Hey,” she said, drawing his attention. There was lightning in his eyes. Marisol blinked and it was gone, a trick of the light. “Sorry for bailing on you last year. Things kind of got to me there for a bit and I nosedived on a lot of things.” He was still staring. Marisol swallowed thickly and resolutely maintained his gaze. “So, uh, thank you. For sticking with me. I swear I’ll be better this time.”

He waved her concerns off. “You’re not the first person to struggle, you won’t be the last.” Raising his cup to her, he said, “Though you lasted a lot longer than most of my clients if it makes you feel any better. Most just drop me by February.”

She slid into her armchair opposite him. “You know it’s not you, right?”

He offered her a grateful smile. “I’m just not used to people sticking with me. I know I can be intense.”

“Some people like that.” Grabbing her coffee, she dragged a long sip from the cup to give herself time to think. She noted the lovely flavor of the cocoa beans, the slight tingle of cinnamon on her tongue. She couldn’t help but note he’d remembered her favorite order after all these months. “Like me. I like intense.”

“Careful there.” He wagged a finger. “Too much talk like that I’ll start thinking you actually like me for more than my body.”

Fuck it, might as well take the leap. New year, new you, right?

“Want to grab breakfast after this?” She blurted out. Seeing him jerk back, and blink owlishly at her, she sped on, not giving pause for her telltale nerves to steal the wheel and bring her to port once more. “Or brunch, if you do that sort of thing and you don’t have somewhere else to be.” Like far, far, away from me.

She wasn’t sure what the ethics of asking out someone she already hired to help work her body to mush was, but it was too late now.

Rafael stared for far longer than she expected. She was on the verge of spiriting into her bedroom and vowing to become a hermit when he let out a long, shaky breath. “You really don’t do anything by half, huh?”

It wasn’t a ‘no’. “Half measures is how I got where I am now.” She gestured to the messy room. “I’m trying something new. Got a trial subscription to this thing called assertiveness.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Not sure.” She swallowed the thickness building in her throat. “Still waiting to find out.”

He stared off into space, looking pensive, before focusing on her. “I’m not saying ‘yes’, just yet.” At her crumbling look, he raised a hand. “But I’m also not saying ‘no’.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Try asking me again after our class.” She looked annoyed and he hastened to explain. “I’m not jerking your chain. Trust me, it’s for both our sakes. You might change your mind afterward. You’ll see why in a little bit. I just…wasn’t expecting to have feelings come into play today.”

He seemed genuine. Marisol wondered what he was planning that he was so sure might change her opinion. “Fine.”

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Damn, Marisol, you really love to throw me curveballs huh?”

“Call me Mari. All my close friends do.” Hint hint, wink wink, pretty boy.

“Alright, Mari then.” He shook his head, as if marveling at her, before rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get down to business: what do you want out of these classes?” His attention was scalding but she sat ramrod straight, sipping her coffee carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you looking to get out of this?” He was definitely larger, she noticed. Rafael had always been lean, but now his shirt contoured to strong sinewy muscle that drew and teased her eyes with promises of what was beneath. It also made following his words an exercise in self-control. “Are you looking to tone up? Lose weight? Run a marathon by a set date? What are your goals?”

“Oh.” Those were actually good questions. She gave it a few seconds of consideration. “I guess I just want to feel like I’m accomplishing something. Changing. Growing into a better person.” As soon as she heard herself say it she looked down at her lap. “I just don’t want to fall into bad habits again. Sorry, that’s probably not very helpful to hear.”

“You’re wrong.” His lips quirked up. She didn’t think she’d said anything particularly amusing. “It’s actually really helpful.” He seemed to hesitate before asking, “What do you know about incubi?”

She frowned, thinking back to terrible special effects and low-budget horror movies. “Not much. Why’re you asking?”

“Because I am one.” He said it with such severity she almost believed him.

“Right.” She quirked an eyebrow at his strange joke while her stomach broiled with discomfort. “So you mentioned working out the details? I gotta warn you. I haven’t so much as looked at my kettlebell in months.”

“You think I’m lying.”

She snorted, and tried not to feel too disappointed he was too gutless to give her a straight answer to the breakfast question. “I think your brain is oxygen deprived from climbing four stories in excessively tight spandex and I think you’re trying to let me down easy and—”

“Mari,” he interrupted. His smile faded. “Look at me. Closer.”

She did, and then she stiffened. His canines were sharper. Not a lot, just enough to draw the eye when he smiled or licked his lips. Which he did, just for her. “That’s a neat trick.”

“Not a trick.” He leaned forward in his seat, rolling his shoulders once again as if to stretch and somehow stretching out, legs diving under the coffee table as his knees bumped the edges and rocked it back. “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

She laughed instead, hoping to deflect and reboot her brain. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”

“Just the one pretty girl, actually.”

She couldn’t stop the blooming cotton-candy feeling under her skin at that. Whatever riposte she had left fled her, because Rafael was still changing. Growing.

His mild expression curved into something roguish as he grew. He hunched forward as his eye level rose up past hers. His shirt rode up his midriff, no longer form-fitting but stretched to its limits, hiding none of his torso. His shorts remained, way past snug and outright bulging with muscle as well as other more tantalizing body parts. Even her couch sagged in further where he sat, burdened by his gradual ascent.

He examined the empty styrofoam cup, which looked smaller than a shot glass in his grip, before tossing it over his shoulder and waving down at himself. “What do you think?”

Marisol stared, heart thundering at a thousand beats per second, unsure if she was seeing what she was seeing or if her dry-spell-driven brain had snapped. “You’re huge.”

Rafael preened at her description. “Thank you. You look positively petite yourself. Like a little doll.”

Those words should not have had the effect on her that they did. Her heart pounding in her burning ears stopped her from formulating a response. Stop staring. Say something. Lust later. Rafael picked up a pillow in one dinner plate sized hand. Okay, lust now, but quietly. Was she blinking a lot? Oh god, could he tell what kind of effect he was having on her? She cleared her throat, trying for something resembling normalcy. “So…incubus?”

He nodded, taking her shock in with aplomb. “Incubus.”

“Is this…normal?”

“Nothing’s quite ‘normal’ with us,” he said, using finger quotes. A very insistent and growing part of her wanted to know just how big those fingers were, for reasons. “But in general, yes, we’re larger than average than most of you little humans. Makes persuasion easier.” He grinned, showing off his sharp teeth. “More fun.”

“So you not agreeing earlier was…” She didn’t even know where to go with that trail of thought. She was still stuck wishing she had cameras in her eyes.

Rafael’s head tilted to the side, inspecting her as if she were a curio. “Mostly? Respect. I was already planning on revealing this to you. I just didn’t want to give you an answer before you ah, knew who you were dealing with.” Lightning eyes crinkled in amusement. “That, and there’s a decent chance you’ll hate me after we’re done.”

“Why’s that?”

She was having a conversation with an incubus. Raphael was an incubus, which apparently meant he was also a giant. What the hell was her life?

“You know your little ‘bad habits’ problem? What if I said I could help you with that?” He tugged at the hem of his shorts, which were riding up thighs each as big as her. There was a very noticeable bulge along one leg. “Call it a special talent of mine.”

“A talent,” she said, skeptical.

“A gift.” He crossed his legs, ankle over knee, and leaned in, resting his head on his palm. “From me to you.”

“You make it sound sexual.” She ignored the tiny voice inside her eagerly nodding along and shouting please like there was no tomorrow.

Rafael snorted. “I’m literally a supernatural sex demon. What do you think it is?”

Gurk! That was the extent of her thoughts. She tried not to ogle, but his casual movements only highlighted the fluid grace he possessed—the overwhelming physical power compressed in his very large body.

He started drumming his fingers over his leg, each tap sounding more like a thunk that had her thinking of dark rooms and bed sheets. “Of course, if you think you can’t do it, you can always take the easy route. The boring route.”

She glared up at him, hearing his teasing tone. “What’s with the sing-song?”

“Because I already know which one you’re going to pick,” he rumbled. “You haven’t exactly been subtle with your staring.” A finger tugged at his collar. “Not that I can blame you.”

“You’re not that pretty.”

“I am, in point of fact, that pretty. Kind of the point of the whole incubus deal.” Rafael looked her over with half-lidded eyes. “Well, what do you say?”

“You haven’t even given me an answer to the breakfast question.” She was feeling contrary, even if every fiber of her being was also very curious what his special talent entailed.

Rafael startled, as if her question caught him off guard, before languid confidence took over. “Tell you what, you accept my offer and go through with the whole lesson, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

She frowned, and folded her arms. “You weren’t this difficult last year. Or upfront.”

“You weren’t this interesting last year.” The giant on her couch flashed her a starlight smile. “New Year’s resolution working out for you?”

“Can’t complain.” She really couldn’t. She’d been hoping for post-workout endorphins and waffles. Not pre-workout blushing and flirty giants. Steadying herself, she met his stare, defiant. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

The approving noise he let out as he rose from the couch made her stomach somersault. “Good.”

There was a snap of air, a flash of color, and her vision went cross-eyed as she leaned back even further in her seat, which shouldn’t have been possible.

Rafael’s head brushed just under the top of her ceiling, thudding against the light fixture in the center. The sound spurred something in her, some primal instinct that called on her fight-or-flight. She pushed herself off the seat, ready to bolt…and fell, landing among her sports bra, cotton fabric cushioning her as she bounced once, twice. Her hair elastic plopped down around her, like an oversized hula hoop.

“Ow!” Marisol winced, rubbing where she’d hit the floor. Then she took notice of her surroundings. “What? What happened to me?”

One colossal leg came down beside her, and she couldn’t help the instinctive shriek that escaped her at the gargantuan limb. Another joined it on her other side, and Marisol bit down on the second gasp before glaring up at the culprit.

Rafael crouched down, the mere movement from bending his knees and sudden displacement of air blowing Marisol back on her ass. “Why don’t you take a guess what happened, Mari?”

Marisol chanced a glance away, trying to realign her frame of reference. Her single-seater reached up to the ceiling like some ancient architecture built into the side of a mountain. Underneath it lay a Coke can she’d discarded the night before. Even laying on its side, it was just barely taller than she was.

“I shrank,” she said, numb. She tried to tie a point between when she sat down and when she shrank and found her mind sliding over the details as if it were black ice on a winter’s morning.

Rafael tutted and treated her to an up-close view of what happens when a tonnage of defined calf muscles flexed. It was…distracting. “Close,” he said, sounding much like when he would help her crush a push-up or correct her plank form. “I shrank you. Welcome to your very own VIP treatment. Let’s see if we can’t work some of that laziness out today, eh?”

Those specific words reminded her of the predicament she was in. Marisol glared up at him, at once overwhelmed, aroused, and afraid, but unwilling to give him either satisfaction. “This wasn’t what you promised.”

“I didn’t promise anything. I just said I’d cure you of your little laziness problem.” He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet. His shorts, once comfortably slack enough to allow some breathing room, looked fit to burst just from that simple motion. Marisol couldn’t help how her eyes drifted up along his leg and landed at the bulge that ran along his inner thigh. “Hard to be lazy when you’re tiny. Oh we’re going to have fun, aren’t we?”

“Like hell we are! This is insane!” Marisol flipped him the bird. At his appreciative lewd gaze, she startled and realized she was naked. With a minor squeak, she spun around, covering her breasts and crotch to shield herself from his stare. Her stomach fluttered as she realized he’d already seen everything, but that didn’t stop the warmth spreading through her limbs as his shadow encompassed her. “And stop staring!” she shot back over her shoulder.

“None of that now.”

Two fingers—each wider than her torso, and still bearing that intoxicating heat that seemed to radiate from him—clamped around her sides, pinning her arms in place. She yelped, too slow to react, and then she was rising, air rushing around her, and it hit her then, that this was real, that this wasn’t some weird fever dream from too much junk food and lustful fantasies. She was tiny, a little taller than two inches, and he was a hulking, enormous titan.

Fuck, he’s big, her brain supplied. Big felt like something of an understatement when he looked like he could hip check Godzilla. Her heart fluttered beneath her breast even as she struggled in his pincer grip.

“Careful,” he said, bringing her up to eye level. His grip was gentle, despite the immense disparity between them, and Marisol’s stupid lizard-brain couldn’t decide between focusing on the shape of his mouth or the way his bright eyes roved her minuscule self like she was something to be savored. “Wouldn’t want to tire yourself out before we even start, Mari.”

Mari. The sudden switch felt deeply personal, another step over the professional barrier between them. Marisol’s cheeks flushed harder, this time not from exertion. “What lesson? I’m freaking tiny.”

Rafael hummed and tilted his head. His sleeveless shirt had bunched up around his chest, exposing more flesh than she’d ever seen from him before. He grabbed the collar and ripped the whole thing off with a flourish, unmindful of the casual display of strength. Her breath hitched as she took in the hard lines and grooves of his upper body, each as large as an earthly crevasse compared to her.

“You’d be surprised at how easy it is to internalize things when you’re smaller than a mouse. A lot fewer distractions when you’re that size. Or just the one. Me.” The wooden frame of the couch creaked as he sat down once more, the noise rising in urgency until it snapped and he sunk into the now broken seat. “Besides, you agreed. How else do you think you’re going to get back to normal?” He laughed, leaning back against upholstered fabric and drawing another whine from the wood as he stretched out.

“Hey!” she shouted, wriggling and kicking empty air, “That’s my stuff you’re breaking you big oaf! And don’t go getting a big head! You’re— you’re not that attractive! You’re just big!”

“Really? ‘Just’ big?” Rafael looked her over with half-lidded eyes, and she squeaked. “Thought so. You’ve always been a spitfire.” He smirked and, gentle as an ocean breeze, deposited her just above his navel. The surface of his skin was smooth and hard, and very warm. “Let’s see you focus that energy elsewhere. Cardio sounds like a good start. Climb.”

Marisol stilled at the command, fighting against the instinctive urge to follow his instructions. He sounded like he would any other time, walking her through exercises. “What?” She took him in, noting the way the incline of his upper body got steeper the higher she looked. His pectorals stood out as massive cliffs that she doubted an experienced free-climber could scale. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rafael’s sultry smile gave nothing away. The ground beneath Marisol’s feet sunk and then bounced back. A simple core tightening exercise he’d shown her many times over only now on a scale many times larger. Any remaining protest left her as she tumbled back, rolling over twice and stopping just above the waistband of his shorts.

Oh fuck oh fuck. Her thoughts were a whir of rapid-fire curses and swears and a pooling heat in her belly that had nothing to do with exercise. Oh my fuck, he’s huge.

Her body tingled, thrumming with yes and please wherever her skin touched his. She tried to remember the sights and sounds of her home, tried to ground herself in something less unreal and dangerous for her self-control, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from him, from the monolith of lines and curves that were her surroundings, all belonging to him.

“See what complaining gets you?” He said it like that had been a punishment. Draping his arm around the back of the couch, he fixed her with an unassailable look of someone who expected to be listened to. “Climb for me.”

Gulping, Marisol did the only logical thing she could. She got on her knees and began her slow, careful climb up his body. She passed his bellybutton, now an opening large enough to catch her leg in if she fell, and her progress hiccuped as the vast difference between her and him impressed on her impressionable mind once more. His warm golden skin was a vast vista that demanded her full attention.

“Good.” The word settled in her ears like a blanket and she jerked, surprised at the electric way her body reacted to his voice. “You’re doing so well, Mari.” A ravenous, shuddering breath rippled down his body and under her palms. “Keep going.”

“I hate you so much,” she hissed, wiping her hair from her face.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

(He’d never been this commanding before. She kind of liked it.)

Marisol didn’t dignify him with a response and kept her gaze on the ground in front of her: the strong, living flesh of her PT, whose live wire attention felt oppressive when she was smaller than his thumb. It slanted here, near his obliques, both off to the side and downward to his Adonis belt, a reminder of how far she’d made it already. She pressed closer, unintentionally grinding against him to keep as much of her stuck as possible.

“There we go,” he cooed. Marisol whimpered, biting her lip to muffle the sound. She flattened herself against his body again, hoping he wouldn’t see her expression as she all but humped him. There was a rustle and rumble as he adjusted himself, his body tensed and coiled, moving with a fluid grace she envied. “Come on, you’re almost there.”

She opened her eyes and shook. Sweat drenched her, and every part of her that wasn’t in contact with him felt cold and aching.

He could fuck me with his pinkie, she thought, as her climb turned near vertical, near his pecs. Fuck, he’d break me in half if he tried.

(Part of her wanted him to try.)

Rafael’s breathing was loud, but even. His chest rose and fell in measured beats, and Marisol had to resort to careful positioning and timing to make any progress. Several times, her foot would slip or her nonexistent grip would loosen, and she’d lose several critical inches in her climb, which to her were like several feet. Her arms strained, her legs shouted at her to rest, Marisol blocked it all out and focused on the climb.

Climb higher, she thought, fighting to press her lower body tighter against his chest. Get closer. Keep going!

She never even noticed how Rafael’s words of praise and encouragement became the base for her mental chant, how her hips ground against his muscle in time with the words, how her synapses fired with every vertical gain.

“Yes, that’s it.” Smoky words emboldened her sore limbs. “Almost there. You can do it.”

Unsure of whether that was him or her own stubborn self speaking out loud, Marisol grunted, drawing strength from the lactic burn—the sweet, sweet ache of work and stubbornness. With a roar that would have shocked her at her normal size, Marisol threw her leg up over the top of his chest, right where the muscle met bone at his clavicle. She hooked her foot over and, with all her remaining strength, heaved herself up, rolling onto her back in the small dip of Rafael’s shoulder.

Rafael applauded. He grabbed her from his shoulder and placed her on the coffee table, a veritable marvel of glass and metalwork at her size now, one larger than a football field.

I did it. I did it, she thought, still gasping and sucking in air. Rafael hovered in the corner of her eye, a monument to gorgeousness and impossibility. Holy shit. I actually did it.

It was the most thrilling thing she’d done in weeks. She almost couldn’t believe it, even more than she could the situation. There was a sunset-glow ache in her, deep and throbbing, but so satisfying that it brought tears to her eyes.

“My, my,” Rafael’s voice cut in, mellow and pleased. Marisol squirmed, too tired to hide herself from his gaze any longer, but still at odds with how she longed to please this trickster. “See what happens when you put the effort in?” He threw his head back and let out a throaty happy noise that stoked the embers inside her. “You feel delicious, Mari.”

Marisol covered her face. The flush and high of victory was a persistent pressure of pleasure under her skin. Even though every bit of her ached, she couldn’t help her simple, hungry need for his praise.

“You did a good job,” Rafael continued. He sounded so happy for her that Marisol’s arousal—muted from her previous exhaustion—returned full force. “I’m proud of you.”

She arched her back, hot magma gathering in her center, and she squeezed her legs together as his words sunk far deeper into her soul than any previous lover’s, melding with the heat and overflowing for just a brief instant. A quiet, intimate tremble held her together, even as her eyes closed, and then opened wide. She ached then, with a need that both scared and enticed her.

Ohmygod, she thought. Did I just…?

His beaming expression, pointed incisors and all, was pure wanton pleasure and it elicited more of those feelings in her she didn’t want to feel, not with the man that stole her size and left her in this predicament.

(But she did want that. She wanted it a lot.)

Swallowing thickly, she directed a question at the behemoth in her house. “Can you grow me back now?”

Rafael’s smile only widened. It was so devout, caring, and kind that Marisol almost forgot what she’d even asked. “Not yet,” he said. He inched closer in his seat, crunching several pieces hidden in the couch’s frame, looming over her and casting her in shadow. To her he was more a god then, than an incubus. “We’re just getting started. Unless you want to call it quits already?”

She gaped and spluttered indignantly, gesturing to her sweaty self. “There’s no way I can do more! I’m exhausted!”

He sighed, melodramatic. “Guess that date wasn’t worth much after all.”

“You incorrigible jerk!” she shouted, but she couldn’t deny the lightness in her chest and belly. This was the most alive she’d felt in forever. “I shouldn’t have to pass a test to get you to go out with me!”

“Think of it more as a taste than a test.” A pause, a chink in his normal blithe armor. “Incubi aren’t known for doing simple, dear. There’s a reason most people leave eventually. Unless you think you can’t handle it…”

Well…fuck. He was clearly goading her and what was worse she was falling for it. She wanted to surpass his expectations. Prove him wrong. Earn his praise. “Fine,” she grumbled. “Keep going. Just take it easy on me.”

“You’re just out of practice,” he offered, as if this were the norm. Maybe it was for him. His face was a massive mountain carving of desire, mischief and danger, and each of those struck a chord in her. “If it helps, you’re doing better than I expected. Besides, you’re missing one very important thing here.”

She stood up, limbs burning as she put her sore muscles to use once more. Hands on her hips, she glared, defiant. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I’m still in charge here.” Rafael made a show of licking his lips, running it over his canines, before looking Marisol up and down. “And Mari, precious, the lesson isn’t over yet.”

She stilled at the nickname again, but more importantly at the succeeding word. Precious…

He swiped her off the table before she could react, never mind that she had no strength left to resist. He scooped her into his cupped palm and carried her, the thick trunks of his fingers blocking most of her view as he lumbered through her apartment, rummaging through her kitchen cabinets and turning the sink on for some unknown reason.

Oh. This is nice, she thought, leaning back into the crook of his palm. His hand differed from the rest of what she’d seen of his impeccable body: his skin was rougher here, more worn, but still soft. This was the sign of someone used to working with his hands.

Sudden boldness taking her, Marisol rolled onto her front and pressed a kiss into the largest groove—his heart line if she wasn’t mistaken.

“I felt that,” he said, earning a squeak of surprise from her. Marisol looked up at him, and even at their difference sizes she saw the teasing grin. “Don’t go thinking I don’t know what you’re thinking.” She didn’t even know what she was thinking. “Ready for the next part?”

Marisol ignored her combative gut response, and instead asked, “What’s that?”

“Hydrating.” He turned his palm upside down and dropped her in a bowl of water so deep it might as well have been the ocean for all the difference it made to her.

The shock of the cold water hit her system like a freight train. The sounds of the world faded away, leaving only the rush of blood in her ears as she kicked, punched, and thrashed before finally figuring out which direction was up. When her head broke the surface, she gasped, the taste of oxygen too delicious to pass up.

“You…fucker!” she yelled, coughing and spluttering as she floated in the bowl. She blinked, focusing on her surroundings. She was in her nice glass bowl, the one she reserved for baking. “What did you do that for?”

He chuckled. “Can’t have you getting dehydrated on me.” Rafael’s face hovered over her like some great storm cloud. He blew on the surface, creating powerful ripples that sent her sprawling and paddling harder to keep herself afloat. “Besides, I thought you were being good for me?”

Marisol’s curse muffled as she choked on some water. She was ready to swim to the rim of the bowl to see if she could climb over the edge like she’d climbed Rafael just now. At first it was like the sway of the sea, push and pull on her entirety, but then the water level angle changed. She spun around, frantically splashing as she saw Rafael holding the bowl to his mouth, lips parted to drink in the bowl’s entirety.

“W-wait a second!” He didn’t seem to hear her. “Now hold, what’re you—” Water gushed into her mouth and Marisol gave up on yelling and instead swam against the powerful current, pushing herself harder and faster than she’d ever before. Still it wasn’t enough and soon, Rafael’s mouth—maw widening to receive her and oh god he was so big—became all she could see.

She kicked her legs, hoping for some purchase or stroke of luck, but he was too big to fight against. Her upper half pounded against his septum, trying and failing to pry herself out while her lower half dangled in his mouth, warm and humid despite the cold water rushing past her body into his gullet. He’s enormous. Her mind couldn’t help but focus on this. He could just—

Her thoughts melted away as she felt something soft and moist lapping at her bottom. His tongue. It licked and lunged and tackled her legs, separating them and touching her intimately, at once gentle and unimaginably powerful.

“Oh god,” she whispered, the little core of heat from earlier returning with a vengeance. Tears pricked in her eyes as she struggled and fought the oncoming tide, but his tongue stayed where it was, lovingly resting against her vulva. As if in response to her plea, his tongue moved back and forth against her. Marisol whimpered. “Oh god. Rafael…please…” She didn’t even know what she was asking for anymore.

Rafael’s lips curved against her—a well-deserved pat on the back for flustering her so absolutely that all she could think about was how to earn more.

Marisol tensed, unable to do anything but comply with the behemoth toying with her. She tried swinging her legs away, but Rafael’s tongue was there, parting her thighs as easily as before. This time, the tip of his tongue pressed against her vulva and she whined, torn between escape or surrender to her giant incubus.

“Please,” she pleaded, breathless, putty to his whims. “Please, Rafael. I…I…” Her voice trailed off as he pressed his tongue against her entrance once more. “Fuck,” she gasped.

The water in the bowl emptied at last, but his toying with her didn’t abate. No, instead, Rafael stopped reclining his head, letting Marisol dangle from his lips like a miniature push-pop. The force of gravity on her body yanked at her already weakened limbs and she mewled, batting her arms against his upper lip even as she rested against his bottom one. Her mind was awash in a fog of need that she couldn’t quantify, even as Rafael’s tongue teased, tortured, and taunted her past the limits of what should be possible.

I’m gonna—

Marisol’s first clear thought in a while shorted out as Rafael started humming. The vibrations wrapped around her lower half, passing from mouth to tongue to cunt as he filled her with his sound.

“Good,” he murmured through his lips, the words husky, low, and possessive. “You’re doing so well, aren’t you?”

Was he talking to her? Marisol couldn’t focus.

“A good little thing for me.” His lips puckered around her like a kiss, his saliva coating her breasts. She felt it coming, that terrifying, wondrous, enormous feeling that couldn’t belong to someone as small as herself. “So precious.”

Marisol quailed at the word, unable to believe how good it felt to hear. She couldn’t remember why it scared her earlier.

Rafael’s tongue settled on her vulva once more, its tip somehow finding her clit, and he throbbed against her.

Her predicament didn’t seem so strange anymore. Rafael was huge, unearthly, massive and gorgeous and she was small and in his grasp. Where was the wrong with that?

She ached. Oh god, she ached. Her limbs burned with a soreness that felt unreal. Her mind was gibbering at everything, the impossibility of her situation, how delicious Rafael looked with half of her between his lips, and the unending, pervasive, touch of wetness between her legs, which he took and took and took as was his right.

“Rafael,” she said, his name tasting like nectar, sweat beading down her brow as she lay prostrate in his mouth. “Rafael, please I-I’m gonna’—”

A pause, a single terrifying moment where she thought he wouldn’t continue, and then she felt it, like the incoming tide.

Cum for me.

They weren’t her words. They were his, his command, given to her by his tongue and unimaginable size to her diminutive existence.

“Fuck,” Marisol gasped. Her entire body tensed, quivering, and at last she slouched back, washed away by the bursting dam inside her. Rafael’s tongue wrapped around her and licked her and caressed her and where he touched, she turned to honey.

She felt seen and touched and worthy, basking in this indescribable luxury, and she knew now, she was irrevocably changed.

I’m in trouble, she thought, not for the first time. That was twice she’d cum already: once in the afterglow of his praise after dry humping his chest, and once from his tongue. How much more could she endure?

With care that belied his own strength, Rafael spit her out and back into his palm as he hunched over on all fours, out of the kitchen and back into the living room. She lay there for a bit, a wet, sopping mess, cheeks flushed, and unable to muster even a word of protest.

“That takes care of cardio too,” he said. His lips looked fuller, a stark reminder of him sucking and kissing her entire body, lavishing attention she felt almost unworthy of receiving. “Do you know what comes next, dear?”

He is having way too much fun with this. Marisol gulped. I am too. She pushed herself up on trembling arms into a sitting position. Fatigue tugged at every inch of her, what little there was, but his voice roused the primal piece of her that longed for more. She examined her surroundings instead, hoping to still the pulsing want that Rafael inspired in her. They were in her bedroom. “How long am I going to be like this?” she said instead.

“Tsk!” Rafael plopped her on her bed with a flourish, stretched his arms out, his reach as long as the room was wide. “Practice and patience are the key components to any change in physique.”

“Unless you cheat and use magic. Then it’s just playtime.” She tried to glare at him, but she wasn’t sure how effective it was when he’d just proven he could turn her inside out with just his tongue.

“Now you get it!”

She glared some more.

Rafael snorted and turned around to rummage through her dresser. He spent a few seconds fumbling on the drawer handles with his thick fingers before he just lifted the whole thing and shook them loose.

“Hey!” She stomped her foot on the bed, the memory foam topper offering just enough give to throw her off balance. “That’s mine! And private!”

Rafael spared her a glance over his shoulder, bemused. “Do you have anything to hide after what we just shared?”

Marisol eeped at his blunt reminder. She folded her arms across her chest, and turned to the side, hiding her front from him best as she could. Being tiny wasn’t disorienting enough, Rafael’s enlarged form had a heavy presence on the environment and her. Her attention gravitated to him, space and reality bending around him as he sifted through panties and bras and favorite shirts that now dwarfed her a dozen times over. If he’d been his normal tall, lean self, then maybe Marisol could reconcile her situation and the pool of delicious sensations waiting on the shore of her consciousness.

Phantom touches along her legs elicited real shivers. Even if he was a beast, a monster, a giant, she could never forget what it was like to have his tongue lavishing her with intimate care she seldom received.

Rafael let out a soft hum of approval, holding up something she couldn’t see before facing her. “What comes after cardio?”

She blew a stray lock out of her eyes and refused to look at him.


The memory of this mouth still scalded hot against her skin. She bit her lip.

“Look at me.” His tone was a dulcet song.

She brought her hands to her neck, feeling how warm and flushed she was. Magic, she reasoned, Incubus magic. She wasn’t into this. She couldn’t be. She was just following along because she needed to shove it into his arrogant face that she could.

“Mari.” The soft, almost loving way he used her nickname eroded her resistance in an instant. “Precious, would you look at me?”

He could just make her. Pick her up and drop her in his palm like he’d done before, force her to meet his eyes. But he didn’t. His words weren’t supplicant, but they held her even so.

Okay, she admitted as she turned around and experienced seeing Rafael in his immense state once again. Maybe it isn’t incubus magic.

She had to crane her neck to grasp him, and even then she felt lacking, unable to take him in with her little eyes. Her bedroom ceiling was somewhere around twelve feet tall, vaulted steps receding from the walls in order to make the room feel more spacious. Rafael stole that space and made it his. His dark locks looked more like vines now, scalable and luscious with a vivid shine. His shoulders spanned most of the wall behind him, longer than the dresser he’d discarded at his feet. Arms like machine pistons waited, hiding something behind his back.

He was there, he was huge, and he was looking right at her.

“Good.” Goosebumps rose along her skin as she heard the word. “Was that so hard?”

It had been too easy. That was the problem. Marisol’s breath came in shallower the longer she stared at Rafael.

“Strength training,” he said, answering his earlier question. Without warning, he sat down on the dresser behind him, crashing through it with his ass and resting on the skeleton frame like a throne. “Your favorite.”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing his surprise. It was a dildo. It was her dildo. Purple, frighteningly thick, nine inches long, and ribbed in her favorite way. Rafael waved it over her like a wand, a gluttonous indulgence in his every motion. Every bit of fight in her fled, and Marisol watched, mesmerized, as he placed the toy beside her. She stared at it, disbelieving it was even hers.

Had she ever been that big? How had she ever fit something that enormous inside her? It seemed impossible, standing so close to it now. It towered over her, leaning purple silicone with a tip that would tear her in two if she ever entertained the ludicrous thought of trying to insert it.

“I can’t,” she said. Nerves made her hesitant to even be near the thing. “I-I can’t do it.”

He leaned forward, smirking, his immense form swallowing her in his shadow. “You don’t even know what I’m going to suggest.”

“I can’t.” Tears pricked at her eyes for reasons unknown—was it fear? Shame at being unable to do his bidding?—and she angrily wiped them away. “It’s too big.” She worked at the words that felt wrong to say, but not untrue. “I’m too small!”

“Nonsense.” Rafael reached out with a single proffered finger and wiped the tear streak with more care than should have been possible for someone so big. Had she shrunken some more? Or maybe he’d grown. It was getting hard to keep track. “You’re perfect.”

Marisol hated how the flow of warmth and pleasure inside her quivered at those words. She hated it.

(She loved it.)

“It’s not you that’s the problem here,” he soothed, knuckle-brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll sort it out.”

He raised his other hand over the dildo, palm flat, and face down. Within moments the purple monstrosity was dwindling, much like she had. It happened fast, faster than she could almost make sense of. Between one blink and the next the gargantuan faux-penis disappeared, and in its place a much smaller replica.

Marisol walked over to it and picked it up. She giggled. It wasn’t intimidating anymore; it was just cute, the size of her palm, more a novelty item, with how small it was. Hard to believe it had ever been as long as her forearm. The mere idea seemed more like a dream now.

“Call it a gift,” Rafael mused, watching her intently, chin in his hand. “I do like you. Even if you did ghost me.”

Instinctive, reflexive shame rose in her belly, and Marisol looked down. She’d done that, hadn’t she? Everything before this morning felt foggy and out of focus.

He huffed. His next words were clipped, purposeful. “Now, put it in.”

Marisol hesitated at first, but grabbed the toy. His instructions seemed harmless on first glance. The dildo was minuscule compared to before. She turned away from Rafael, somehow embarrassed despite everything that transpired already. Parting her legs, she maneuvered the tip of the toy to her pussy’s entrance. Her body trembled under his attention, and in preparation she dipped her fingers there, ready to provide more lubrication. She parted her lips with one finger, grazed her clit with another and—

She jerked, falling to her hands and knees. A guttural moan escaped her, a sound so lewd and perverse she covered her mouth, shaking with the implications. Goodfuckinggodthatfeelsgood, she thought, panting and squinting her eyes shut against the influx of pleasurable noise on her senses.

It wasn’t the dildo. It wasn’t even inside her. She was clutching its base in one trembling hand, its tip just touching her folds, tapping against her thigh while her whole damn arm shook from the pleasure-quake. With her other hand Marisol gripped at the cable wire thick fibers of her cotton sheets, digging her face into the material to hide from Rafael’s waiting, watching face. That wasn’t even an orgasm. Marisol struggled to put the feeling into words, into thought.

It was the instant right before she came, when she stood on a precipice, staring out at something vast and deep and rushing right at her, when she relinquished control to her body’s hunger. That moment encapsulated in a single brush against her clit, which ached and yearned for more. Regular aftershocks started hitting her. Waves that felt like tsunamis had her buckling every few seconds.

“Having a little trouble?” Rafael’s amusement rang like silver bells.

Marisol swore, gritting her teeth to stop herself from rewarding him with another moan like that. It was his touch driving her wild, his words pushing her senses to their limits, and his magic saturating the air and everything he touched. It was all his fault.

“M’fine.” She was light-headed, but determined. “Just gimme’ a second.”

The giant incubus toying with her started tapping the bed, reverberations of impatience through the cloth. “I’m waiting.”

With hitched breath, Marisol tentatively reached down once more, mindful of the way she tingled even so long after his tongue left her. She twitched, fought off two more not-orgasms, and let out a strained breath as her fingers came away from her inner labia slick and lubricated.

With a grunt and a hiss, Marisol rose to her knees. She positioned the dildo so it wouldn’t send her into another sensation-overload and inched it in, the girth of it much more manageable at its relative size. Certain it would stay lodged, even with its diminished size, she rose, the pleasurable pressure comfortable and normal compared to everything else.

“How’s it feel?” Rafael asked. He loomed over her and she could see the faint pinched spots in his chest where she’d climbed him, a lifetime ago.

Marisol sighed and faced him. The action caused little thunder shocks of pleasure to radiate out from her pussy, but she didn’t show it. “S’fine.”

Rafael’s knowing grin was almost as unbearable as how much she wanted him to use that tongue of his again. He leaned closer, inspecting her, before tutting. “It’s not all the way in.” A pair of monolithic fingers pinched her sides, holding her in place, much like one would a figurine. “Don’t worry, I’ll spot you. Just relax.”

“Easy—” Gasp. Shudder. Fullness drumbeating bliss throughout her. “—for you to say.”

Another finger caressed her backside, and Marisol writhed having some understanding of what he was going to do. She yelped, and kicked, but he was too big—no she was too small, so small compared to him. Without further ado, he parted her legs with the side of his enormous finger, adding pressure to the toy and her mound. She clenched, the toy somehow filling her more than before, touching on that core thirst that never quenched. Rafael’s finger rested against the base of the dildo, pausing as if to let her brace herself, and with the most minor nudge possible, the dildo went deep inside, and Marisol groaned, helpless in his hand.

“You’re doing fantastic.” He let her down to rest on her front on the bed. “There’s a good little one. See, I knew you could do it.”

Marisol writhed, stuck in pleasure hell. She tried to relax, thinking of peaceful things, but her cavewoman brain kept yanking her back to the oh fuck feeling permeating every aspect of her being. The dildo she’d thought harmless stuck out of her, filling her so much more than ever before. The width of the toy stretched her insides when she inhaled and tightened her core. The special siding sent jolts of mind-numbing goodness with every breath.

Had he grown the dildo with it inside her, she wondered. It didn’t seem possible she could fit something this big in her and yet he’d done it with just a dab of his finger, a flex of minuscule power that was everything to her.

“How does it feel?” His words thrummed inside her like a drum beat, and she somehow knew he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Nice?”

Nice didn’t cover even the first paragraph of the volumes of her pleasure. Nice was a simple term, reserved her past self who thought the best sex could get was a halfhearted oral session from a one-night stand. Fuck the word Nice.

“You ready for the last part of the lesson?”

Marisol’s eyes shot open. This wasn’t it?!

Rafael chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. What did I say came after cardio? Strength training. This was just prep.”

“Fffff.” She tried to swear, but her mouth didn’t make the right noises and her body rebelled, quelling her rising ire in favor of toe-curling throbs from her cunt, where the ribbed edges of the dildo tapped at her G-spot. Her breath came in short, wispy gasps, and she laid prone, helpless. A gathering mass of sensation was forming inside her, not close, but not far either.

Taking that as assent, Rafael scooped her into his palm and crawled out into the living room, hunkering down to jam his way through her doorway. It caught on his upper back just as he surged out, and a drunken giggle was all she could manage as she watched her PT carry her to her fate. Rafael was unmarked, only sporting a divine glow, and even the hanging corner of the doorframe around his neck didn’t disturb him.

He was bigger than before. Marisol wasn’t one for math—even without the lurid violet haze of arousal—but someone who busted a six and a half foot tall doorway with just his shoulders couldn’t stand up in her apartment without ruining her insurance. Rafael crawled through her home on all fours, brushing aside a bookcase with a swipe of his hands and kicking her couch into the corner with his heel.

She raised her jelly arms up as if she could somehow wrap her arms around even the idea of a giant, sexy Rafael in her living room.

The basso rumble chuckle he let out was impressive and louder than a jet engine to her ears. “Yes, Mari. I’m big,” he said. “And you’re small. So small. Tiny. And all for me, isn’t that right?”

Panic registered as a blip of emotion on her radar before it ebbed out to the ocean. She sounded her answer out with her lips before saying, “Yesh.”

What she didn’t say was how she was having trouble conjuring memories of when she didn’t use to be small. She knew they existed, she knew she’d once been normal-sized, but now she struggled to even put into words what normal was. Rafael had a habit of distorting the world around him, whether it was physical as with his growth and her shrinking, or immaterial. Would she even be the same Marisol when he left?

The questions weighed deep on her consciousness. The appeal of surrendering to her shrunken state was growing by the second. She was tiny. She was Mari. She was precious.

She repeated those three sentences, over and over as Rafael wrecked her home. They’d always exercised in the living room for her sessions, after she had the forethought to clear space for them. It wasn’t even a rampage either. Rafael crawled backwards and forwards on his arms and knees, clearing space for some unknown reason, and he did it with such efficiency and practice Marisol had to wonder how many times he’d done this before.

The arm holding her bumped against something—a wall, a chair, she didn’t catch it—and another storm of overwhelming sensations invaded her very being, spreading out from her center. The dildo was no longer hers and maybe had never been. It belonged to Rafael, yet another teaching tool to toy with her. She could feel his touch inside her somehow, his magic filling her even while his body played with her.

“You have no idea how perfect you look. A little treasure, all for me.” He hunched forward on his knees, his shorts somehow holding on after all this time, well past the point of reason. With unimaginable care he cupped his hands together and guided her onto the floor. She laid flat on her back, gazing up at his immense overhanging body spanning wall to wall. “Now we can begin.”

What maddening demand would he make of her this time? Despite everything, some morbid, tamed piece of her was curious to see.

Marisol arched her back as the floor vibrated around her while Rafael got into a push-up position. Everything was a dull ache, with herself used and fucked in more ways than she thought possible for someone as small as she was.

“It’s simple,” Rafael said, unheeding of her inner thoughts. He straightened his body, drops of sweat snapping off as he tensed. “You just have to get away. Lift me up and get away.”

Marisol frowned, his words running into some logical disconnect in her soul. Get away? That’s what she’d been trying to do this whole time. Except she hadn’t. She’d fallen in line. Sassed him a few times, sure, but she’d followed instructions, as if this were any normal lesson.

But what was that nonsense about lifting him?

“That’s all you have to do.” His face was somewhere far away too, out of sight. “Just get away before I finish.” He balanced himself on one hand and brought the other down to his elastic shorts. A blue flash spread over the material and before Marisol’s tired, overwhelmed mind could react the largest cock she’d ever seen crashed into her, free from its confines. It hit her with a wet, fleshy, thud, smothering her face against his frenulum.

Her movements re-lit the bonfire stoking inside, and that full, punch-drunk, goodness flooded her senses once more. She could only blink and gasp as the throbs and pulses of her body and his cock encompassed all of her being. The dildo stretched her out from within, and his cock pressed her in from all directions, trapping her between them.

“Come on,” he urged her, his voice muffled through the cock covering her.

After a few seconds he rose, lifting the weight from her. Marisol coughed as some thick and salty liquid coated her face. She was too tired to move, too small to offer even token resistance. She could only marvel at the twitching leviathan rising in the air above her.

“One.” Rafael counted, finishing his push-up.

And then he dipped again—slow, lumbering, absolute. Marisol froze, unable to do anything but lay helpless as his penis flopped onto her tiny body once more. It pressed into her, hot and throbbing as one particularly thick vein pulsed against her gut. She inhaled, bracing herself against the satisfying pressure of being held down by his dick. Another sliver of precum touched her lips, and she moaned, amorously licking it, ashamed and turned on at the same time.

Marisol’s heart thundered in her chest, muted compared to Rafael’s pulsating dick.

The weight lifted once more, and this time she missed it.


This time he didn’t wait or pause for breath. Rafael dipped, and once more his cock smothered her so much she couldn’t even squeeze an arm out from underneath him.

“Come on,” he whispered down to her. “You’re so close. Three.”

The pressure lessened as he rose. Sweat glistened off his broad, muscular chest, in the morning light pouring in from her windows. He was ethereal, a dream turned real. She couldn’t not gaze in awe as he pushed off the floor with such ease. Did she start at his chest and try not to sink into the memory of vaulting herself over his pecs? Did she drool at his abs, sculpted perfection and powerful enough to have tossed her earlier with a simple crunch?

Rafael groaned, and a thick slip of cum dribbled out of his slit. It slithered down his shaft, before gathering in a single spot and—


—right onto her.

Fuck me. Marisol shook as his drop of cum coated her, her eyes rolling up into her head as her legs shook uncontrollably. Fuuuuuck.

There were no coherent thoughts anymore: her self-control was washing away, as more and more dripped and covered her. She tried to speak but somewhere between her brain and her mouth the words crumbled and all that escaped was a high-pitched whine. Her body was on fire in the best way possible.

And then Rafael’s cock landed on her once more, and her thoughts turned to mush. Her insides twinged with delight as she clenched and unclenched. No worries, just dick. Huge, incubus dick.

When he rose, it was too soon. When he spoke, it was heaven. “Four…”

And on and on it went. Rafael’s form was perfect and every time he lowered himself. Marisol was in paradise. Subsumed by his scent, his strength, his size, she could only lie there and take it. Everything tingled, her body punch-drunk with pleasure and unwilling to do much but savor it all. The heat mounted inside her once more, and where before she balked at its approach, now she welcomed it. She kissed Rafael’s cock whenever it touched her and longed for it whenever it didn’t.

“Mari,” he groaned, breaking the count after dozens of reps. “You need to try. F-fifty eight…”

Cum-covered dick fell atop her one more time. He added an extra thrust this time, rubbing her along the floor on the underside of his shaft, knocking out what little breath she had left.

Mustering every ounce of her remaining strength, Mari thrust her arms up into him. The pulsating heat of his member, skin slippery with fresh precum, resisted her push, not even letting her extend her arms.

The bestial, hoarse moan that Rafael let out was subsonic and coaxing. “More.”

He rose and dipped, one fluid action that shook the floor as his dick made contact, forming a vacuum seal of space that eclipsed and pinned her.

“More.” And then he did it again. “More.” Again, just as earth-shattering as the last. “More.”

She felt the building orgasm in him with every thrust, every edging step he took to completion, and she welcomed it with open arms. Pushing against him when she could, breathless, but undaunted by his request. She wanted to be good. She wanted to earn that title of hers.


The hulking giant in her home thrust against the surface once more, and Marisol felt the cresting wave of warmth in her churn and morph into something unstoppable. Before she knew, it she was peaking, flying, leaping over the horizon, too much too much too much to keep it all inside. Wet, watery gasps; muscles clenching; the last ruins of resistance fading. Marisol’s third orgasm of the day crashed into her like a meteor, purging all nonessentials from her system. Self-control, defiance, shame. All that remained was the chocolatey pleasure, an endless ocean’s worth.

Rafael’s breathing rose to a fever pitch, and something in his rhythm changed. He sucked in a hot air balloon’s worth of oxygen and, in one throaty gasp, growled out, “Mine.”

His release was tremendous to behold. Rafael arched his back, pushing up into the ceiling, his body so huge as to fill the space of her home even curled in on himself. His cock jutted out along the floor, pinning her underneath, and exploded all over the floor. Thick ropes of cum hit the far wall, splattering against hanging photo frames and knocking a souvenir from abroad off a shelf. Marisol only just glimpsed this, trapped under his throbbing dick, only able to enjoy the ride.

Desperate, heavy huffs filled the space between them for some indeterminable amount of time afterwards. Marisol let it all pass her by like a river, with her on its banks.

“Good.” Rafael’s voice strained. “Perfect. Fucking amazing.”

Marisol closed her ears and wiggled beneath him, sending arcing tingles of goodness throughout her body. Her pussy ached, sore and used and still so full, but she was…happy.

Rafael jerked, and righted himself before he burst out of the room, laughing. “Careful there, or I’ll take you home with me. Steal you away all for myself. Forever.”

Forever? What was forever? Marisol rubbed her face against his now-flaccid dick, failing to find the words to put meaning to what was coursing through her.

He shuddered when she did that. There was a pregnant pause. “Hey, did you hear me?”

She murmured something against his flesh. The first words she’d spoken in, well, forever, but too quiet to reach him.

“Mari?” Her body was goo, useless and unresponsive to most anything, but the effect was instantaneous. Mari whimpered and hugged what she could touch of him.

She couldn’t place what happened next. Thick clouds of magic conjured from nowhere, bending space and time like a pretzel knot. When the smoke cleared she wasn’t on the semen-covered floor anymore, but in his hands. Rafael was no longer so large he could break supporting beams, but her apartment still laid trashed. She could make out at least a dozen holes in the walls and ceiling, little bits of plaster drifting down in pieces almost as large as her.

Rafael inspected her. His sleeveless shirt was back, obscuring his chest in a way that felt insulting to Mari.

“Can you hear me?” he murmured.

She nodded, giggling. He’d removed the dildo inside her, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still overflowing with pleasant sparks and bubbles. She concentrated on the syllables in her mind, formed the shapes with her mouth, lips wobbling, and tried again. All that came out was a reedy little exhale.

“I can grow you back now.” His voice was a whisper, nearly inaudible, but if anything she did not want that anymore. She couldn’t remember wanting that.

He turned his ear to her, leaning down to hear her.

Mari sniffled, banished all doubts plaguing her and tried one more time. She gathered the word in her gut and pushed it out with all her strength. “Yours.”

Rafael blinked, face going through a myriad of expressions, before settling on something like caring. Protective, yes, that’s what it was. “Of course.” A massive finger caressed her, gentle, flitting over her front like a plush down blanket. “Mine. My precious little Mari. So you…want to stay little?”

She nodded, covering her face. It felt like such a selfish request after everything, but she wasn’t ready to be big again. She wasn’t ready to return to that self, filled with indecision and awkwardness. Maybe later she would, but not right now.

(Maybe never.)

“I’ll have to take you with me. To keep you safe.”

That sounded wonderful.

But there was still one last thing buoying her awake. It was with no small effort and no tiny amount of pride that she uttered one final word. “Date?”

“I’m a incubus of my word.” Rafael chuckled. “Congratulations on getting through your first workout of the new year, Mari.”


He continued like that, feather-light pets gracing every course of her miniature body, turning her over and over, touching as much of her as she could handle, careful not to overstimulate. He lulled her with his words and his praise and the comfort and safety of his presence, until she could no longer fight the growing drowsiness, and drifted off to sleep.

Who We Were; Who We Are – Chapter 2

One thing that is probably obvious to those who’ve read more than one of my stories is that I thoroughly enjoy when characters enjoy themselves or at least have thoughts and opinions on their circumstances. While we are all subject to various outside factors, I try to be an agent in my own life or at least an active participant. Likewise, I seek to reflect this in writing.

Characters who want, characters who act, and characters who talk are some of my favorite characters. They don’t need to develop in my opinion, as static but exciting characters can tell a fine story, but if they take an active role in their story that’s my ideal.

Someone with a more concise style could probably have unveiled this chapter with a quarter less of the words, but, and this might came as a surprise to some, I’m often indulgent when writing. I’ve already cut out a fair amount of unnecessary fluff here. That said, this was fun to write from start to finish.

In this, we get a couple more glimpses into their relationship, along with a healthy heaping of domination.

You don’t necessarily need to read the first chapter, as I tried to make this one as standalone as possible for the enjoyment of those who pursue erotic Size fiction for, well, the erotica.

Previous Chapter ||||| Next Chapter — In Progress

General Story Warnings: giant couple, NSFW, MF/f, MF/m, MF/mf, growth, shrink, cruel, insertion, oral sex, humiliation, domination, noncon, clothes ripping, sexist slurs, former bullying and harassment, language, alcohol use, pain, established relationship.

Chapter Specific Warnings: shrunken woman, domination, language, MF/f, humiliation, insertion, penis, mouthplay, minigiant, oral sex, some pain

Estimated Reading Time: 20 minutes

The library was almost pitch dark. Natural moonlight filtered through wide windows ad provided the only illumination, but cast the room in eerie shadows. Bookcases, cubicles, and tables with ancient computers decorated the layout, interspersed with racks of faded magazines. A large round table was tucked away behind a semicircular bookcase with bowing shelves loaded with knowledge. It reminded Hazel of a hidden glade, sequestered away even from the solitude of the rest of the library.

Maya navigated and led him there without second-guessing her footsteps, and he guessed this was a favorite spot of hers. She stretched her arms out to both sides upon reaching the table and let out a satisfied sighed, as if more relieved to be here with the weight of memories around to keep her safe. She walked over shelf, examining the laminated spines of various books.

He almost asked her why there specifically, when his foot—sluggish and crammed into a suede Oxford shoe more befitting a man than the behemoth he was—jammed into a wheeling cart stacked with a tower of books. Hazel grunted and bit back a curse, bracing himself against the bookcase while Chloe struggled in his other palm.

“Let me go!” Chloe yelled. Maya had handed her off to him so she could pick the lock to the library. “Let me go, you fucker! You can’t do this to me!”

Hazel dangled her by a foot, upturning her. Chloe shrieked at the sudden swaying movement, but didn’t relent in her verbal assault. “She’s loud,” he said, scrutinizing her. Her face was blotchy with makeup and exertion. On a whim, he puffed air onto her, eliciting a fresh round of screaming as she clutched her ears. “Not very smart either.”

She started, “Fuck you, you overgrown—”

Hazel switched hands and pressed her down with his thumb. All she could do was let out a weak gasp as his finger passed over her face, her chest, and parted her legs without resistance. He let his thumb rest there, enjoying her whine. “She’s fun to play with though, even if she’s mouthy.”

Even with their difference in size, the warmth in Chloe’s body’s exuded through her skin to his like a tactile signal flare. Her miniature whimper was crystal in the low whiskey silence of the library, and he just knew she was horrified and wretched at being so easily manhandled.

“Yeah, she’s always been like that.” Maya stopped her inspection of the books and turned to him. “Always with an opinion. Always sharing that opinion. Always running to her daddy if something didn’t go her way.”

Shared history there, but he didn’t press. “Sounds like a lot,” he said instead.

“She is.” Maya nodded. She stuck her hand out to him, expectant. “Now hand her over. We’re going to have a long overdue conversation.”

Considering library sex was on the bucket list she mentioned earlier, he doubted it.

“Ruin my fun, will you?” Hazel said, but complied anyway. Chloe tumbled from his hand into Maya’s open palm. She looked dazed and exhausted, and it took her a few seconds to rise.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be more fun for you.” Maya blew him a kiss and then closed her fingers around Chloe, leaving just her head exposed. “Heya, girlfriend,” she said, sounding far too cheerful to be anything but trouble.

Chloe wheezed, her chest too compressed to speak words.

“God, how long has it been? Ten years, right? Ever think you’d see me again?” Maya said. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and continued, “What was it you said, ‘everyone gets what they deserve’?” She shook her fist, drawing a nonsensical gasp from the shrunken woman. “Well, Chlo, think you deserve this?”

Hazel pulled a chair out for himself a couple seats down and draped his blazer along the back of another. He’d heard several ominous tears along the seams of his outfit and he needed to burn off some size before he outgrew their little nook, if not the library wing itself. Without prompt, he unzipped his pants and released the absurd pressure in his crotch.

At his sigh of relief, Maya’s glanced at him, eyes widening as she took in his magnified appearance. One cheshire grin and a wink later and before Hazel knew it she stood before him, glowing in the moonlight. Her chest rose and fell with a heavy pause between each electric breath while she looked him up and down. She brought Chloe up to her face and let loose a throaty laugh. “Well? Everyone get’s what’s coming to them, right?” she said.

Chloe was helpless to reply. Even when Maya loosened her hold and let the woman scrabble on, over, and under her fingers like a spider, it looked like it took everything she had just to hold on without falling.

Hazel tracked the way Maya’s eyes followed the tiny woman, never wavering as Chloe slid, clung to, and grappled with fingers the size of tree logs. It was less what she deserved, he mused, and more what he and Maya wanted. He had no quarrel with anyone at the reunion short of the assholes who’d singled her out earlier, and even then, it wasn’t his call. Maya needed this, despite her earlier assurances of wanting a night to just ‘show him off’.

He let out a pleased hum as he extricated his cock from the confines of his boxers and slid his pants down, watching his wife dominate her old acquaintance. A low drone lilted in his ears, telling him to grow, to shrink, to take, to give, but he focused on Maya instead. He centered her in his mind, focused on her presence and slowly wrestled his volatile power and growth to a stall. He even reversed some of it. His shirt, stretched taut across his chest and belly, loosened its stranglehold and he released the tension building in his body. Sore muscles grumbled their discontent, but at least claustrophobia stopped clawing at his extremities. Just to be on the safe side, he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing a gray undershirt damp with sweat.

After shrinking back to a higher-than-average NBA player’s height, he was still level with Maya while sitting down. His brain was even happier to remind him of just how much smaller Chloe was.

Hazel closed his eyes and remembered Paris, when he and Maya spent their honeymoon week with a young couple in their grasp: Julius and Jean, tucked into recesses and bouncing between the size of gnats to action figures, had been far more enthused about the arrangements than Chloe. They even had an open invitation to come visit whenever they wanted, provided they didn’t mind experimenting with the opposite end of things. When he opened his eyes, Maya was tossing Chloe up and down like a toy. “Having fun?” he said.

“Something like that,” she replied. Her lips turned up with curious glee.

The little blonde’s dress had torn in the meantime, a single strap of cloth trailing in the air like a gilded streamer. Suddenly, Maya pinched the end of it and began dangling Chloe out over one hand like a yo-yo. Incoherent squeaks and obscenities echoed through the air, and Maya stopped. She brought the shrunken woman to her ear, paused, and snorted with derision.

Without further ado, Maya grabbed Hazel’s erect dick with the hand holding Chloe, earning a harsh gasp from him. Like a hungry beast, his power prowled at the edge of his attention, wanting more. Grow, shrink, give, take. Power like his was less servant and more belligerent copilot, and he wasn’t in the habit of giving in to anything except Maya, who pushed and challenged him with every word.

“Speaking of fun, someone’s enjoying himself.” Maya formed a ring with her thumb and index fingers, and started stroking him, sweet, sensual, and slow. “Was this your plan all along?”

He kissed her, before biting her lower lip and earning a sharp inhale from her. He let her go. A tempting pink tinged Maya’s cheeks. “Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind,” he murmured.

“Terrible influence,” she said, quoting him earlier. Her breath steamed against his face, and Hazel shivered at her dulcet tone. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Before I met you, I used to be pretty vanilla.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that. “Tell me, which one of us thought tucking herself into my cock would be an appropriate way to join me on my morning run after two weeks of dating?”

Maya’s blush was luminescent. “Shut up. It’s only because you dared me to come up with something exciting.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” He leaned back in his seat, a rumble building in his chest the longer she touched him. He felt Chloe struggling against his shaft, her tiny body working magic on his cock, smearing herself with his precum the longer she fought. Maya leaned over him in his seat, one hand on his chest while she stroked and teased him with her shrunken former classmate. He reached up, cupped her face, and nibbled her lower lip once more as she squeezed and released, squeezed and released. “You’re still the one calling the shots tonight.”

“Putting all the work on me then?” Maya asked, grinning wickedly even as he trembled at her touch. In one motion, she let Chloe go, dropping her between his legs, trailing her fingers to his base. “What a lazy husband you are. Not even going to help me out?” The inflection in her words was clear.

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Hazel kept one eye on Chloe, who recuperated well enough and stumbled to the edge of the chair where a multi-story drop awaited her. One of her shoes was missing. She looked up at them, some combination of exhausted and terror visible in her stance even in the dim light. “I’m just saying, I’m keeping my mouth shut. Unless you’re looking for ideas.”

“Ideas.” Maya’s fingers trailed down his chest as she knelt before the chair. Chloe recoiled at the sight of her immense face looming over her. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know—” he waved airily, “—ideas.”

Chloe scrambled back, running toward his balls, only to come to a full stop as she realized her predicament.

Ravenous power flooded through Hazel. The wooden chair creaked with a sudden increase in weight as his thighs filled each leg of his boxers to the point of bursting. His breathing heavy, Hazel adjusted himself, all his progress in reversing himself undone in an instant.

Chloe cried out at the sight his towering cock, now many times larger than her. He wasn’t as large as he could get, but still he felt extraordinarily powerful.

Smirking, he winked at Maya and with one hand started guiding his erect cock down. Chloe fell back, turned on her stomach and tried crawling away.

“Look at him,” Maya voice was clipped and demanding. “Fucking look at him, Chloe.”

Chloe looked up from her belly crawl and flinched. Something in the Maya’s voice tone must have sunk in though, because she flipped onto her back. Hazel hovered his cock over her, delighting in the way Chloe struggled to look anywhere but at him. Her hair was in disarray and still she covered her eyes.

With surgical precision, Maya knocked her hands out of her way and pinned them to the sides with one finger each. Chloe wrenched herself, trying to free her arms with all her strength, failing in the face of undeniable mass.

“Chloe, meet my husband, Hazel. Hazel, meet the bitch who got me suspended because I told her her boyfriend was cheating on her. Tell me honestly, Chlo,” Maya said, her brown locks hanging over the side of her face like some portentous storm, “He’s got a nice dick, right?”

Chloe blinked and gaped up at her, while Hazel enjoyed himself with the scene. A tiny shrunken woman completely at their mercy, despite her fighting, all while Maya coaxed and talked and worked her way round to demonstrating this former classmate her new reality.

“Wha?” Chloe said. She sounded breathless, even with how quiet her small voice was.

“His dick.” Maya snuck a glance at him and he nodded. She dabbed a finger against the tip of his cock, soaking it in precum, and Hazel let out an animalistic grunt in response. “Here you go. Remember what you used to say, girlfriends share everything?”

“No! No!” Chloe turned her head, even as she kicked and kicked and tried to free her pinned arms. “This is bullshit!”

“We can always make you smaller,” Maya said, nonchalant, even as she waved her cum-soaked finger above the woman. “Small enough I wouldn’t be able to see you. Small enough… to lose. How long do you think you’d last if I just left you here?”

Chloe paled, and it was several seconds of her starting and failing to sound out words before she said, “You wouldn’t. You can’t.”

“Can’t?” Maya’s smirk was evil and everything he could ever want. “Nah. We definitely can. Wouldn’t? Well, that’s up to you.”

Sparkling, glittery tears sprung up in Chloe’s eyes.

Without prompt Maya smeared his pre in her face. She rubbed the shrunken woman’s face, turning it back and forth, covering her in his juices. Despite rubbing her earlier along his cock, this was much more personal.

“There we go,” Maya cooed, admiring her handiwork. “Much better. You’re much better like this. So much more likable.” Her voice gained a dangerous edge. “Do you it, Chloe?”

“L-like what?” Chloe hiccuped. Her legs pressed tight as her chest heaved, desperate for her nightmare to end.

“Do you like being a slutty little toy.”

Maya nodded at Haze, and before Chloe could react, he covered her entire body with his cock. A surprised wail pierced the air before getting muffled by a mountain of dick.

“Fuck this is hot,” Hazel growled. Soft pats against his cock hooked right into the pleasure center of his brain and he groaned. Temptation begged him to follow through on Maya’s promise: shrink her smaller, so small she’d stick to him.

After a minute of rubbing himself on her, Hazel lifted his cock to admire the results of their work. Chloe’s dress was unrecognizable, ripped in many places, including her chest. A miniature pale breast poked out of her dress, while tears, makeup, and precum smeared her face. She swallowed three heavy breaths, helpless as she stared up at both him and Maya.

A second of contemplation later and Chloe sneered. She spat out one word, “Bitch.”

Maya snorted and then broke out into uncontrollable giggles.

“Bitch. Whore. Skank. Slut.” Chloe tried many words and seemed to grow more and more hysterical with the futility of each one. Finally she said, “When daddy hears about this you’ll regret it you stupid c—”

Maya didn’t give her the chance to finish. She slammed her hand atop Chloe—with all her break-a-bitches-face-in-half strength—and silenced the woman. Hazel didn’t worry though, because as Chloe found out, her new size came with some benefits. All the energy and pressure applied in that instant dissipated throughout her body, lightning quick and painful, leaving Chloe keening like a whelp even as Maya brought the woman up to her face again, pinched between two ruby-tipped fingers. She sounded dismayed that that hadn’t ended it.

“I was being nice, y’know, for old times sake,” she said, observing the way Chloe’s head lolled around with disorientation. “But I guess the kid gloves have to come off for you.”

She opened her mouth wide and angled the tiny woman towards it. Chloe fought against the fingers, voice turning nonsensical, wheedling, and panicky the closer the gaping maw got. Maya’s gaze was flinty and uncaring as she reached out with her tongue, suffocating Chloe’s whines and eneveloping the smaller woman in one gulp.

Maya moaned as her lips closed around the woman’s legs. One hand came down between her legs and Hazel smiled, delighting in her enthusiastic participation.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, eyes roving every inch of her. He could grow her, right here, right now. Grow her big enough to fit even a normal person in her mouth, and god if he didn’t want to, but this was her night, and he promised her this. Like hell was he giving into his baser urges.

Winking at him, Maya climbed onto the desk. She kicked off her footwear, slid the hem of her dress up, and shot him a sultry, inviting look. She closed her eyes and hummed, rolling Chloe around in her mouth. After a few seconds, she spat the woman out into her hand. Saliva coated the woman, even as she groaned from the thrashing she’d received via Maya’s tongue.

“You taste disgusting,” Maya said, one sliding her dress up and pulling the lining of her panties aside. “Not even good enough for that, Chlo? At least I know you can’t fuck up this next part too much. Hazel, if you’d be so kind?” She offered the shrunken woman out to him.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he said and accepted the tiny. His visceral delight in handling her was palpable after her last ditch barrage of insults.

He scooted the chair closer to the table and leaned close, lining his face up with Maya’s crotch. Chloe righted herself and scrambled to toss herself off the edge of his hand, now content to try her luck with a fall. He caught her just as she leapt, pinching her around her midsection and rolling her between two fingers like a marble. “She’s still got some fight in her,” he noted.

“Not for long.”

On seeing where she was going, Chloe started biting, kicking, punching his palm, harping about No and Stop. All of which drowned as he traced her upper body against his wife’s inner folds. Maya was wet and inviting, and her breathing turned pitched as he rubbed the little blonde against her labia much like a vibrating toy.

He smiled softly as he elicited a keen wanting noise from his wife. “So impatient,” he chided, humor in his tone.

“Bastard,” she breathed, and then gasped as he pressed Chloe’s entire body against her lips. Thigh muscles on both sides tightened as he held the fidgeting tiny against her most sensitive spot. “Tease,” she followed up with.

Chloe was tiring. She’d tried covering her head with her arms, but even the mild gentle force of Hazel guiding her against his wife’s vagina made it pointless. Her hair was matted and askew with both his juices and Maya’s, but still she resisted. It was almost admirable.

Hazel hummed with satisfaction and continued his ministrations, pausing now and then to appreciate every soft noise, including Chloe’s fruitless panting and desperate squeaks. He propped his other hand on the table and parted Maya’s labia, exposing the hooded pearl of her clit. She squirmed, herself growing impatient with his continued abeyance, at least until he brushed Chloe against her and she jerked at the sudden influx.

“She’s so small,” he crooned, twirling Chloe in his hand like a paintbrush, earning cries from both women. “And she’s all yours.”

Maya’s hand clamped down on his wrist, and he looked up to see her, radiant with a flush he’d never tire of, and with a silent, demanding face. Her nostrils flared, even as a vein in her neck pulsed with every minute twitch in his fingers.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please,” Chloe said, in between sputtering coughs.

Satisfied he’d frustrated them both, Hazel carefully but purposefully parted Maya’s pussy lips and slid the thrashing diminutive woman in his hand up his wife headfirst. She fought him, bracing her twig arms against skin, but he and Maya were inexorable and soon her strength gave out, the last sight of her being a pair of feet kicking uselessly as he pushed her inside.

Maya shook, laughing drunkenly as her eyes rolled back and her body turned languid.

Not happy with leaving it as is, Hazel dove in, tongue eager and mouth hungry for a taste since he could remember.

Maya grabbed the back of his head, urging him closer.

“Not yet,” he chuckled, voice hushed even in the library’s placidity. “Slow down. Enjoy yourself.”

“Your fault.” Gasping, she released her grip and brought her hand back to support herself.

He brushed his mouth against her inner thigh, eliciting goosebumps where lips met skin. He moved his hands to her legs, both propped up on both sides of his head. If he strained he could almost hear Chloe yelling to be let out, her voice muffled to near indistinct.

Maya trembled and slid forward along the desk, but he kept her stable, stopping her from going over the edge.

“F-fuck,” she swore. “She’s still going.”

He continued his journey. For every minor twitch of her body, Hazel savored the reaction, a virtual vista that he’d seen both large and small and he never tired of. His lips moved ever inward. His mouth, tongue, and teeth mapped every step of the way, kissing, licking, nipping lightly the closer he got.

“Tease,” she repeated, growling the word like a curse. “I swear next time I’m— oh!”

His tongue darted out, reaching for her core. His mouth found her bush, and like the addict he was he inhaled, burying his face against the soft pubic hair inviting him to stay.

He heard Chloe even clearer now. She was panting, raging at this indignity. He wondered if she even appreciated this, how lucky she was to be with them? How small she was, to be at their mercy?

“She’s quite energetic,” he mused, trailing kisses around Maya’s mound. Each one earned him a shudder that did wonders for his ego until he reached his goal: the delicious-looking pink nub that made him hunger for her so much it hurt. Before she could react, he darted in, quick as a thief, tracing his tongue along her folds.

Maya bucked her hips again—cursing or praising, he couldn’t tell—moving into his face. Hazel luxuriated in the sounds she made as he continued his dance, licking her, rolling the flat of his tongue against her in time and in various ways to his wife’s pleas.

“Yes.” She rolled her head back, relaxing against the desk. “God yes.”

Hazel started humming, a low, even noise that moved from the back of his throat into Maya’s body. Soft pants decorated the relative stillness, punctuated now and then with a mewl that did things to his hindbrain that should be illegal.

More. He wanted more.

A meek cry for help reached him. Chloe.

“Oh, she’s moving. She’s— fuck! Fuck—she’s trying to get out.” Maya bit her lip. Her face was awash with pleasure. “She’s so small and she’s— she’s stuck!” Giggles turned to gasps. “Oh god, she feels so good.”

His face was covered in her juices but still he heard her want in her every inelegant sigh and whisper that left her lips. Despite taking the time to shrink down to normal earlier, he was once again fit to burst in his outfit even with the loosened constraints. Maya, whose base height was almost a foot shorter than him, was petite to him now. Despite that, his tongue moved, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue, driving ever more desperate sounds from his wife with every instance.

He heard Chloe again. Stuck inside his wife, she must have felt like she struggling against a force of nature, surrounded by Maya in a way so absolute it was a wonder she hadn’t given up yet. It was forcing Maya to tense and clench to hold her in, which only ramped up the intensity as Chloe’s resistance stimulated Maya past the brink.

“She’s strong!” Maya gasped. “Oh fuck— oh yes, right there you little bitch!”

Hazel smiled against her crotch. Maya had a vindictive streak a mile wide and he loved her for it.

Not finished, Hazel brought up a hand and gently dabbed Maya’s entrance, jolting and interrupting Chloe’s desperate bid for escape. Tiny limbs prodded against his finger and with no hesitation he pushed their owner back inside. Maya’s vaginal walls throbbed as he shoved the tiny prisoner deeper, and the trembling in her body turned anticipatory.

“No!” Chloe’s muted yell reached him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Maya please get me out please please—”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Maya interrupted. She rose on her elbows and met his own eyes. “Keep going. Keep going, please keep going Hazel, or I swear to god I’ll—”

Her sentence cut off into a pleased moan as he slid a second finger inside her. He curled both finger, and enjoyed the visceral tightening and throb of her walls as pulled back and repeated the motion.

“Fuck. Fuck.” She smacked her palm against the tabletop to brace herself from sliding. “Did you… grow again?”

“I did. Sue me.” He kissed her clit once more, earning another pleased mewl from his wife, all while he explored her inside, massaging Chloe into her soft, wet walls. He was well in the realm of the abnormal now, and he had half a mind to discard his outfit for the evening and find out just how quiet they could be at twenty, thirty, fifty feet tall and growing. “You can’t be the only one having fun.”

Just one finger and he’d pushed Chloe so deep inside his wife she had no choice but to sink into the motions. She was such a little nothing now. Did she realize this yet?

He nipped the pink nub before him as softly as he dared. Maya swore.

It was then someone entered the library, rapped their knuckles against the receptionist’s desk in four symmetrically spaced knocks, and called out, in a loud and inquisitive voice, “Maya? Are you in here?”

Previous Chapter ||||| Next Chapter — In Progress

Who We Were; Who We Are – Chapter 1

One of the biggest struggles with writing people in a romantic relationship is also finding the pieces that make up both of them and figuring out what slots with what and what particular faults and virtues they each have. How do you stop characters from blending into each other and becoming indistinct?

The aim of this particular story, from a writing perspective, is to write the perspective of two people who probably aren’t considered good necessarily in the regular sense, but are still protagonists and can get the audience to root for them. I enjoy a good story where my protagonists’ morality align with my own and all, but I also yearn for more from my stories.

Too often a narrative tries to justify a character or reframe them as something they are not. This one isn’t really an attempt to do that. It’s more to say that this is what happens when two people don’t let the world push them around, and instead push the world together. That, if anything, is the driving force behind the ‘Cruel’ tag.

I’m expecting this one to be 4-5 chapters and already have the second chapter written. It merely needs to undergo editing and betaing. This post will be updated with a link to it once it is uploaded.

(I say this knowing I have another WIP I’ve neglected and fully acknowledge needing to get right back to)

As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Queries and observations as well.

Next Chapter

General Story Warnings: giant couple, NSFW, MF/f, MF/m, MF/mf, growth, shrink, cruel, insertion, oral sex, humiliation, domination, noncon, clothes ripping, sexist slurs, former bullying and harassment, language, alcohol use, pain, established relationship.

Chapter Specific Warnings: established relationship, instant shrinking, shrunken woman, domination, sexist slurs, F/f, former bullying and harassment, slight cruelty.

Estimated Reading Time: 17 minutes

Maya never said much about her high school experience. Judging by the growing coil of tension in her shoulders as they passed a balloon archway there was a reason for that.

The gym was like any other out there: azure painted walls, high ceilings full of trapped discards balls, the sour tang of fear that followed every dodgeball class, and worn beige rubber flooring reeking of dried sweat. White track lines circled the various courts and someone had opened the windows along the upper perimeter to air out the inside. If nothing else, Hazel appreciated the fresh air. Bleachers pushed back against the wall opened up the reception area even more.

Hazel didn’t look up, despite his instincts. Tall ceilings called to his senses with silent challenges, and he already had a hard time staying within the realm of heights on a normal outing.

“You all right there?” Maya said, coming to his side after escaping conversation with the event’s photographer. “If this is too much, we can head back.”

Hazel exhaled, releasing the power he’d gathered with an effort of will. He focused on her instead.

She wore a simple strapless navy dress that showed off her pale calves and she’d done something with her chestnut hair to catch his attention every time her curls bounced. Light makeup drew attention to eyes the color of rain clouds and cheekbones he loved to trace whenever she was small.

Maya noticed his staring. “What? Is there something in my teeth?”

“Nah, just in love.” He grinned.

She pushed him, her small hand strong against his chest in his cinder gray suit. A delightful curl of pink sprouted up her neckline. It was Hazel’s favorite color in the world.

“Jerk,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t drop stuff like that on me out of the blue. You know I’ve been stressing about tonight.”

All he thought was ‘cute’, even as he answered, “Yes, dear.”

“I’m serious.” Maya looked at the already sizable crowd. People were still filtering in through the gold and silver balloon arch over the entrance, all of them stopping to pose for the photographer. Forecast predicted a cramped dance floor for the night. “I don’t even know why we came to this thing.”

“Because you wanted to show off to your old high school friends how well you’re doing?”

“I wanted to show you off.” She scrunched her nose. “Sorry, that sounds like I’m using you.”

“Don’t be,” he assured, before leaning in and whispering in her ear, “After this morning, I’d say you using me would be completely fair.”

Maya shivered and took a purposeful step back from him. “You’re incorrigible.”

Hazel chuckled and gave a showy bow. “At your service.”

The tension lining her shoulders faded.

A raucous set of high-pitched squeals and giggles pierced the early event hush, prompting everyone with a working set of ears to look over. A group of women hovered around the entrance, jumping up and down, clutching each other tight enough to leave bruises.

“Nope.” Maya muttered, “I am not dealing with her. Not tonight.”

“Friend of yours?” The thrum and pulse from the deejay’s selection rose and reverberated through the reception, but he still heard the women talking. Well, yelling.

“Ten years was too short,” Maya continued from earlier, to herself. “Twenty year reunion would’ve been better. Maybe thirty. Fuck, might as well even do fifty.” She was getting too deep in her own head again.

“Hey hun?”


Hazel pulled her into a hug, his broad arms wrapping around her and pinning her movements. She tensed and then relaxed, falling into the embrace after a second. She was a bird, small in every sense compared to him, awkward and petite, but still free in his arms.

He let her go, but not before squeezing more reassurances into her shoulders.

“Thanks.” She’d added purple highlights, and that combined with the dimmer lighting of the gym made her ethereal.

“Anytime. Want to talk about it?”

“Not a chance.” She resumed her rubbernecking, looking over at the gaggle of women with a sullen focus.

Hazel nearly asked her who she was looking for when she jerked and did an about-face.

“Come on,” she said, ushering him away and toward the drinks table.

“O… kay?” Maya was a hair above five two, almost a foot shorter than him, but Hazel let her drag him away. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not a chance,” she said tersely. “Just someone I haven’t talked to in a while. I want to keep it that way.”

Hazel thought the point of a high school reunion was to talk to people you hadn’t seen in years, but who was he to judge? He’d skipped out on his own last year. “Maya?”

She didn’t respond and kept pulling him away.

They passed a group of loud hooting men, who Hazel could only assign the roles of former football team members in his head. They had the same stances and overall shape. Some wore suits, but most just sported their nicest pants and what Hazel could only call car salesmen ties. Boisterous, arrogant, each of them looked like extras for B-list action movies.

One took notice and pointed at Maya. “Hey, ain’t that Slutty Mary’s girl?”

Maya froze in her tracks. War drums burst to life in Hazel’s ears, but he’d promised he wouldn’t do anything without her say so. Tonight was her night.

“The fuck?”

“Shit man, no way.”

“Can’t be she’s way too—”


“No!” said the idiot. This one had a neck like a Mack pickup, and a sunburnt balding pate. “She’s too clean. You guys remember her, yeah? She always had really oily hair and looked fuckin’ gross, like she was sick or something. And she was blonde.”

One of his buddies elbowed him, grinning like a sleaze. “You would know wouldn’t ya? South stairwell, right? How was she?”

The two men engaged in a shoving match more akin to something from Animal Planet.

Maya’s shoulders bunched up. Her face lowered so her bangs shadowed her face and she let go of Hazel’s hand. The war drums in his ears faded to make way for explosions.

“—sides, you remember what happened to her, right? She got sent up to St. Carson’s after that shit with Mr. Tannen—”

Hazel side-eyed them, a not-human snarl rising his throat. His power waited, drifting just below the surface of his skin, ready to answer his call if he so wished. One snap of his fingers and the former football star would lose at least six inches after tonight. If Hazel was generous.

But Mr. Stereotype wasn’t a priority.

“Maya,” Hazel whispered, coming up beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “What gives? Come on, talk to me, love.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, not facing him. He could hear the tears building up.

“Don’t sound like nothing.” He stepped in front of her, grabbed her hands, and opted for a tactic that never failed to garner a reaction. “Come on, you and me. On top of the world, remember?”

It wasn’t just a cheesy line. It was an invitation.

She snorted. “We’re in public.”

He grinned and lifted her chin. “Never stepped us before.”

“Those were empty fields and forests. Far away from others.” She still looked to the side, ashamed.

“I mean, yeah, at the start.” Hazel conceded her point with a nod. “Not sure how anything can be far when we get to that size though. Are you saying you haven’t thought about it tonight?” His eyes cut over to the group of simpletons engaging in another verbal dick-measuring contest. “Or what about the opposite? Anyone you feel could be more humble?”

She choked out a laugh and stopped averting his gaze.

There were tears in her eyes. The Jackass over there just got promoted to Supreme Jackass. His power bristled, irritated at the leash holding it back, but Hazel held on. There were benefits to patience.

“Not tonight,” Maya said, seeing his expression. She looked over at the group of men, who’d moved on in topic, heedless of her actual state after being called out. “We’re not doing that tonight, not yet anyway. I wanted to bring you here, dance with you, and maybe catch up with some old friends.”

He wondered if she caught the ‘yet’ she added in the middle there.

“So I’m guessing not mister football captain over there?”

“No, god no.” Maya gave him a curious look. “How’d you know Tyler was captain?”

“Too much of a cliché,” Hazel answered wryly. “That and they’re all wearing their team rings. Not to mention… ”

“Not to mention?” she pressed.

“It’s not a nice answer.”

Maya stepped in close, wrapping her arms around his midsection. Despite their different statures, Hazel got weak-kneed response every time she did this. Clearly, her mood had improved.

“I didn’t marry you because you’re nice,” Maya said. The tightness in her face slackened. “I married you because you’re mine.”

He saw the echoes of her laughter from earlier that day, when she’d spent it in his boxers being a brat, all while he tossed her around with ease. Despite their difference in power, he would have no one else at his side. From the second she walked into his life, he was completely and utterly fucked. In more ways than one.

“Fine, fine.” He rolled his neck and shrugged. If his suit was more snug along the shoulders, well, who would believe it other than Maya? “They just look like they peaked in high school.”

Maya slapped his arm, as if scolding him, but he didn’t miss the way her lips quirked upwards in the ghost of a smile.

“You’re going to be like this all night, aren’t you?” she mused. They found a solitary standing table already covered with the crumbs of cheap hors d’oeuvres. They stood on the outskirts, observing the gathering, apart and still within the growing throng of people. “Just being a complete nuisance. Hiding your little growth spurts whenever you think I won’t notice.”

His response was to put his hands on her waist and lift her. Maya yelped, squeaking at him to put her down. He spun her in the air, conscious of the eyes of every bystander, guest and organizer there. The music was now loud enough to drown out regular conversation, but a man spinning a woman like she was lighter than air attracted attention, music or not.

He put her down, having drifted several feet to the side, in the middle of the dance floor. Maya was laughing, breathless, that tantalizing, gorgeous pink blooming across her cheeks, asking him, daring him to do more.

“Guilty.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Every time I see you getting down, I’ll be there, being a terrible influence.” He smirked. “Such as now, see anyone that ever pissed you off?”

“Of course.“ Maya raised a brow and grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him back to their spot on the outskirts. “There’s this guy: tall, dark-haired, lean, kind of scruffy, standing right next to me.”

“I like him already.”

“He’d be cute too, if he didn’t open his mouth.”

“Love you too, dear, but seriously—”

“Oh! My! God~! Maya?” cut in a voice. “Is that Maya Mendoza I see? C’mere girlfriend!”

Maya looked pained. Before he could react a willowy blonde wearing a peach, strapless dress weaved through the burgeoning crowd of alumni and all but yanked her into one of those hugs made to hurt.

“Oh sweetie!” said the woman, pulling back. She had the plastic smile Hazel would expect from a wax mannequin. “How ya been, you poor thing? Goodness me, when I heard you got sent up with the sisters at St. Carson’s I could not believe it! Y’know I was all for marching right on up there and givin’ ‘em a piece of my mind and—”

“Hi Chloe,” Maya said, interrupting her and extricating herself from the woman’s claws. “Good to see you too. Yeah, no, I didn’t get sent to Carson’s. I actually got into Corrain, funny enough. You remember, your first choice? Oh wait, you knew about that. I won that scholarship, after all.”

Chloe face twitched. It was an experience to watch, all nerves and muscles responding artificially to incorrect stimulus and somehow scrambling to form a response other than a sneer.

“How’s your mother, dear?” Chloe tried this time, her voice still sweet enough to give him diabetes. “Is she still trying to sleep her way onto City Council over in Clearwater Falls? You know no one’s going to vote for her after daddy exposed her business like that. After all, whores don’t know how to be anything but whores.”

Maya stared at the woman with a blank expression for a good thirty seconds. It was thirty seconds too long in Hazel’s opinion but it gave him plenty of time to unlock the mental seals and unlatch the door to his power. If someone had thought to, they’d notice the dry and static taste of a storm on the horizon.

“Hey Hazel?” Maya said, addressing him while staring Chloe down. “I change my mind. This one.”

For all that she reigned him in, Maya was the one who often jumped off that cliff first.

Hazel cracked his neck and took off his blazer. Stupid thing was expensive, and he didn’t want to chance mystical splashback. “How small?”

“Remember Paris?”

His raised his eyebrows, surprised despite the flint and matchstick nature of the situation. “Not sure if I should feel jealous or horny. She’s gonna be a yapper, judging by the bitchy chic dress.”

Maya’s smile sent shivers up his spine. “Good.”

“Excuse me, I am right here,” Chloe interjected. She sounded more irritated with being ignored than the insult. “Who the hell do you think you are, you little hussy, you can’t just—”

Hazel snapped his fingers. At the same time a thunderous boom coincidentally exploded from the speakers set up around the building, drawing everyone’s attention away from the sudden ‘pop’ of air rushing to fill a person-shaped vacuum.

A smaller ‘pop’ followed and there on the table in front of them stood a miniaturized version of Chloe. The woman stumbled as if drunk from the sudden displacement and now struggled to find her balance in a world much more unaccommodating of her than before.

“Wha… ?” Chloe looked around, supporting herself against an electric candle in the center of the table. It was about the size of a solo cup, but more than twice her height. “What’s going on?”

The pitch of her voice had risen. She was larger than he’d left Maya most of the day, but Maya was fond of nestling into his boxers when she was stressing out about something. She enjoyed it when he overwhelmed her body with the most casual of motions, mere breaths or unconscious twitches. It soothed her to be so close and so small.

Maya slammed her hand down on the table next to Chloe. The impact shook the surface and sent the tiny woman sprawling.

“Hey Chloe,” Maya drawled. “How’s it going, girlfriend?”

With one hand blocking any interloper’s view, she finger-walked her other hand over to the tiny woman. Chloe scrabbled back, squeaking, kicking uselessly with a set of heels whose material to cost ratio had just gone through the roof.

Hazel clenched and released a fist, feeling the cuff of his dress shirt pull at his wrist. He still wasn’t used to precision: his shirt was no longer snug, but painful, cutting into his circulation along his neck. Carefully, he released his cuffs, rolling the sleeves up his now bulging forearms and almost popping the top button from his shirt as he fiddled with it for some air.

“Careful,” Maya said, shooting his arms an appreciative glance before rounding back on the shrunken Chloe. “Any more of that and I’m not responsible for what I do to you.”

Without missing a beat she poked Chloe, knocking her down, and then pinning her to the tablecloth with a pinky. She rolled the woman around, back and forth, like a cat toying with its prey. It was a small action, but he saw from Chloe’s disheveled expression that this was most she’d ever been tossed around.

Fuck, he was getting hard just watching them.

The bottom of Chloe’s dress—a tight peach-colored sheath that looked good on her—ripped. It rode up her thigh as she continued a useless struggle against Maya’s hands. She took a breath during a break in the tussle, filled her lungs, and arched her back, readying for a scream fit for a final girl.

“Hush now.” Maya said, smirking, sapping little Chloe’s strength with just her words. She leaned her elbow on the table, hovering over Chloe like a gorgeous kaiju. One hand twirled a stray purple-tipped lock while the other came down again, pressing the tiny woman’s stomach with a finger. “For once in your life, you’re going to listen. Listen and behave.”

Chloe fought even harder. She couldn’t budge Maya’s finger.

“Is there anywhere we can go for a moment of privacy?” he asked Maya. The gym was almost full, and people were spreading out, joining up with old cliques and rediscovering how much or how little everyone moved with their lives. “I’m gonna need a moment to shrink down, and it’s getting kind of, uh, hard to focus watching you toy with her.”

Maya scooped Chloe into her palm.

“There’s always the southern stairwell.” Maya mused. She pinched Chloe around the middle between two fingers, squinting at the expression the little woman was making. “Bet you’d know all about it, wouldn’t you, Chlo? It’s kind of gross, though. Most schools are. How about the library?”

It was taking everything he had not to burst out of his clothes and that was only because he liked this outfit.

“Honey, we can go to a custodial closet for all I care. I just need to get out of here before I—” power surged and his shoes, once comfortable, encroached in on his feet like a bear trap. He groaned and failed to think small thoughts.

Maya blinked, as if waking from a trance, and looked at him properly. “Holy crap, Hazel, how are you still fitting into that?”

“Hard work and determination,” he gritted out. He’d altered his clothing to allow personal growth, but there was only so much before fabric tore and he got blisters because his shoes were cutting into his ankles. “Small or big as you want her to be, I swear, but we need to leave. Library. Now.”

“Alright, alright, but I want some time with you mister before you come down and join the rest of us mortals.”

“Are you talking about—”

“What can I say?” Maya shrugged, tossed Chloe up in the air and caught her. A brief shriek punctuated the shrunken woman’s fall, before disappearing into an inescapable fist. “It’s on my bucket list.”

Next Chapter


I have a document multiple pages long with pitches, lines, and ideas for #SizeKink stories: some gentle, some cruel, some smutty, and some soft. I call that document The Pit because it’s a hole I keep digging myself into.

This is just one such piece from that document. I hope you enjoy it.

Content Warnings: shrink, SFW, 2nd person pov, gentle

Estimated Reading Time: < 5 minutes

There is no word for the feeling of skin on skin in an embrace so careful it’s poetry. If there was, it’d be a wonderful, sexy word: capable of drawing the beginning and end of their body, the pleased hum of their heartbeat as it grows and grows and you shrink and shrink.

Your lips are parched with a thirst for affection only they can return, as you dwindle, and fall, and become something precious in their arms. Is that a blush? Are you warm? Is that hitch in their breath one of care, one of dare, or both?

It’s not long before they are holding you aloft, your feet kicking and swinging in the air, and still they hold you, murmuring all the things they want to do with you. Assurances and wishes and kisses.

They look at you like something wonderful, and their stare is hot, and stirs feelings in you so strong it’s a diving freefall into smallness. Their palm holds you now, and you lay aspread, gasping. Even that isn’t enough. they hold you to their chest, right below their heart.

You expect a colossal heartbeat but instead it feels like pulses of love leaping from them to you by touch. It’s not long before they can hold you with a finger at your back, the softness of their skin at your front, a plush heat that surrounds and protects and treasures.

There is no word for the feeling of your tiny body reaching for every piece of them, and their enormity clutching you close. The closest that comes to mind is one: Safe.

Lotus Eater

This was my entry for the quarterly SizeRiot contests – specifically GentleApril20 – organized by AborigenGTS. I was a lot more experimental with this one (at least from my perspective) so when I received the feedback that I did and saw that it did rather well in the evaluations, I was floored and humbled.

Link to SizeRiot

Link to GentleApril20 Stories

I’ve added around 180 extra words to this story, and have modified some existing lines based on some feedback I received, along with input from my wife. The original version can still be found at the link above, and if you haven’t read the stories, I highly recommend looking through them. This go ’round seemed to hit me particularly intensely and I’m so happy to have had the pleasure of reading through these.

For this story in particular, with the topic being “Rescue”, I spent a long time deliberating how I wanted to approach it. In a lot of media, whenever there is any situation needing a ‘rescue’, often times the rescuee is often the one subject to change, rather than an agent of it. I wanted to make it clear that Cana wasn’t just caught in tides and eddies of something larger than her, but that she was an active participant in her fate.

There comes a point with writing that I want to add too much to a story. Most of my original drafts are often bloated with description and dialogue, so I find that I have to pick and choose the most impactful lines to fit a scene. This story could have existed as something much larger, and its original incarnation was something like 4K~ words, but in trimming it down to meet the word count, I was able to pick out the sections that I feel delivered the best story I could. It’s better as a shorter story, than a longer one, which is a lesson I try to take to heart.

Content Warning: giantess, F/f, gentle, NSFW, giantess, failed relationship, gaslighting, language, nudity, panic attack, rescue, ambiguous ending

Estimated Reading Time: 10 minutes

The surface she’d been lying on rose and fell in smooth, rolling motions, in time with the waves.

Her world looked down at her with a beatific smile. “You with me, Cana?”


Orphea started humming something: some ancient song that dug deep into Cana’s spirit and brought light to the surface like bubbles in a bath. Cana laughed and stood up from her lover’s navel. Soon she was dancing, diving into the languid melody with her body and halfway to heaven.

“You’re very good,” Orphea said after what felt like hours of dancing. Hours or centuries. Cana collapsed and draped herself along a thigh that stretched from the tree line to shore.

Cana shrugged lethargically and turned over on her side. Orphea’s corded muscle was comfier than any mattress. The corner of her mouth was sticky with the remains of some fruit she couldn’t remember eating.

“What do you want to do today?” Orphea ran a finger along her back and Cana shivered at the ember warm touch. “Anything my special girl feel like doing?”


Orphea, her world, cooed, “You’re my special girl, aren’t you?”

“You’re going to spoil me.”

“That would imply you could ever be anything but adorable.” Orphea’s palm settled over Cana like a blanket. “Why are you arguing?”

Cana shook her head, digging her face into the sun-kissed tan of her lover’s massive leg. Stray sand pricked at her eyes. “I’m not. I’m just… happy.”

She smelled like the ocean. Like salt and sun and a sea so vast Cana could get lost in her for eternity.

“What’s wrong with that?” Orphea said. “Don’t you deserve to be happy?”

Cana closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the reef. Nightfall wasn’t far.

Fingers the size of logs scooped her up into a palm, but Cana wasn’t startled. Enormous lips settled on her body, gentle as a flower’s petal. The kiss was otherworldly soft and caring and Cana giggled drunkenly on the endorphin high of affection.

When she pulled back, Orphea was beaming. “I love you, little bird.”

Heat bloomed in Cana’s chest at the words, followed by a tightness in her belly.

“Cana?” Orphea frowned, brow knitting together. “Are you with me?”

Cana shook her head and wiped away sudden and unbidden tears. Orphea looked distant, too distant. Even sitting in her palm surrounded by her, it didn’t change the mysterious pang and wrench in her heart.

“…always,” Cana said eventually.

The concern in Orphea’s eyes abated. She stroked Cana’s head with her thumb before offering a leafy branch, daintily pinched between two fingers. Golden yellow fruit hung from its leaves.

Cana plucked one. It glistened with a lovely, enticing sheen and tasted even better than it looked. Slick fruit juice dribbled down the side of her mouth and her vision swayed.

The world felt so big. She felt so safe.

Eons passed and she laid there, content and dazed. Everything was perfect.



Cana ignored it, curling up and digging her head into her arms.

The voice tried again, more insistent. “Cana, wake up.”

She groaned, aimlessly shooing the voice away.

“Cana, you need to wake up right now…”


Life with Orphea was a treasure. It was waking at dawn and rising with the moon and always fitting time in moments when nothing was happening. Cana couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t have a fruit in her hand and a giantess around to tease her.

“Join me!” Orphea called, winking at Cana, who approached the newly discovered lake with a suspicious eye. “Come on! Someone’s been making me work up a surprising amount of sweat lately.”

“Is it safe?” Cana asked, but couldn’t help how her eyes drew to the way water sluiced down a thigh many times larger than any tree around. She could take a shower in just the runoff from Orphea’s body.

“I’ll keep you safe.”


A hand grabbed her shoulder. Cana’s eyes shot open at the foreignness of the sensation. A woman knelt over her. A regular woman.

She had her hair up in a bun, had some kind of jumpsuit, and she looked off in that most crucial of ways.

“Hey,” said the woman, smiling. She sounded relieved. “Good to see you, little bird. Thanks for coming up.”

Tears pooled in Cana’s eyes.


She and Orphea stared at a never-ending sunset, burning a trail down the horizon and their corneas. She sat cross-legged in Orphea’s lap, the heat of her lover’s body protecting her from night’s encroaching chill.

She felt…worn. Which was expected, given the day’s activities, but it went deeper than just the mild stickiness and delicious relief everywhere in her limbs. Four times may not have been a lot to some, but it was a point of pride of Cana’s that this time it was all unassisted. Her body ached with something like satisfaction but far more delicious.

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of me?” Cana asked.

“Oh Cana,” Orphea cooed, above her. “How could I ever get tired of you? Now come here, I think you need a tongue bath for that mess you made…”

Cana jumped to her feet, leaping off from the lap of a woman who could run laps around a small country.

“You’ll have to catch me first!”


“You can’t be here.” Cana scrabbled backwards, away from the aberration, kicking up sand. It was nighttime. The wind had stopped. The sea was still. The island was asleep. “You can’t. This is wrong. This is— no, you’re wrong.”

The woman looked like Orphea. She had the same general features—deep auburn hair, round face, cupid’s bow lips, and a mole just below her left eye—but the similarities ended there. Orphea’s expression was always kind, her mouth never held anything but smiles. This stranger’s mouth was pursed thin, and her eyes were hard.

Imperfections that accented a nightmare.

“I’m here,” the woman said, as if that made it better. “Cana, sweetie, I’m here.”

“You left,” Cana accused. “You left.”

Orphea—no, not Orphea, Cana reminded herself—grimaced. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know we left on a bad note but…we weren’t good for each other.”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

The woman flinched, but took a step closer anyways. “It makes me human.”

Cana snarled at the blasé retort. Words she’d thought long forgotten rose to the tip of her tongue, ready to spew. They were words reserved for someone who’d always made her feel worthless. Made her feel like nothing, like she never mattered.

“I’m sorry,” said the fake. “I’m sorry I said those things, but we can’t stay here, Cana. This place isn’t right–”

“Then leave!” Cana spat. She grabbed a rotting fruit from her branch and lugged it at her, missing by a mile. Her muscles shrieked at the sudden, violent motion but Cana paid them no mind. “Leave like you did before! Leave like you did when I bared my soul to you, told you about every fucked thought that’s ever crossed my head, about my fantasies, about how I—” here her voice broke, and Cana cursed her weakness to follow through.


“You’re incredibly small,” Orphea said one day, out of the blue. “Do you ever get tired of that? It must be awfully inconvenient.”

Cana giggled and bit into the jujube fruit in her hand, smearing sweet juices along her cheeks but emboldening the pervasive tipsy glow beneath her chest. Her brown hair was long and tangled, and her face hadn’t seen a makeup brush in forever, but still she felt precious. Precious and treasured on this isle of nothing, surrounded by a single woman.

“It would be,” Cana said, before running along the branch of the enormous tree that extended out over the lower back of the only woman for her, jumping off without a thought. She was over fifty feet in the air, and still she felt no fear. Air rushed past her face as she reached near terminal velocity, and—

“Careful!” Orphea scolded, turning over and catching her so gently it defied all logic.

“But I know you’ll always be there for me.”


“Leave,” she croaked. Her voice cracked with thirst and heartbreak as she continued. “Please. I— I don’t want to see you again.”

Where was Orphea? She wanted Orphea.

“That’s not fair,” the fake said. She looked wretched, leagues better than Cana felt. “You can’t just throw this stuff back in my face. That was a long time ago.”

Was it? Cana could scarcely remember things outside of earlier that morning. That pleasurable haze of rock-climbing up the rump of her enormous lover, diving into that bush between two legs that parted to reveal treasure more precious than any pearl. Of singing and dancing in the flat of her palm, singing words that had no meaning for the one who meant everything.

“You have to leave,” Cana asserted weakly once more.

“Cana, sweetie, I’m right here. I came back!” said the fake. “I’m sorry about before. I’m sorry I was so insensitive, but you’re in trouble if you stay here much longer.” Something in her chest pocket beeped and the woman made a face. “Look, just stay right here. I need to send up the signal to get home and the longer I wait—”

Cana stood and turned away from her. She suddenly felt ashamed in front of this woman. She barely even remembered the idea of clothing before now, but she wanted to hide now. Hide her self, her body from this creature who rejected her once before.

A series of low toned buzzes and beeps, along with rushed codified terms from the woman that Cana couldn’t catch in its entirety.

She tried storming off but stopped due to a sudden onset of vertigo. She fell to her knees, skin prickling with dislike.

“What did you do to her?!” she rasped, and then called out, “Orphea! Orphea!”

Cana coughed. Her head was stuffed with cotton, her arms and legs filled with cement.

“Christ. This is what I’m talking about,” muttered the fake. She walked up next to Cana and plopped down beside her, knees up and facing the sea. Another difference struck Cana: this woman didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s this place. Your dreams. Lotus Syndrome.”

“Shut. Up.” Cana breathed in hard through the tears and gasped once again, “Orphea!”

The fake shot her a twisted, yet familiar expression. Pity. “You’re dreaming, Cana. There’s no one here but us.”

“You’re—” she coughed, “—lying.

“I’m the only one around.” The fake lit up a cigarette, pulling it and a lighter out from some chest pocket in her suit. “And you would not believe the crap I had to go through to get here. Tests, training, brain dives… you’ve got a real fucked up head, you know that? Signal’s been sent by the way. We’re going home.”

Cana sobbed, robbed of her energy in this most sacred of places.

“I’m really sorry about before,” the fake continued, not even referring to what. “But when I heard you got hit with Lotus Syndrome, I couldn’t just leave you.”

“I was happy. I am happy.”

“Oh honey.” The thing in Orphea’s skin sounded earnest and condescending. “You’re sick. I’m sorry me leaving did this to you.”

Cana would have laughed if she wasn’t choking on air. The sweetness from before was gone, along with Orphea.

“Don’t worry, things are going to be rough up there, but—” and here the woman had the gall to smile, and pat her on the head comfortingly, as if she had the right, “—we’ll make it through this, little bird. Together. Are you with me?”


The woman jerked her hand back from the outburst.

“We were together!” Cana yelled, “We were! But then you called me a fucking sicko and you left and now you’re back and I’m supposed to just accept that? What, did the guilt suddenly get too much?” She snorted derisively. “Did they promise to fix the sicko’s fetish for you too if you jumped in her head?”

Her breaths came like sucking down a gas pipe of frustration, but still she fought against her body, at the feeling of reality shackling her. She clawed desperately at the ground, digging into the beach for something other than useless sand. It couldn’t end like this.

“Cana, you don’t think that,” said the fake, as if she thought this was a conversation. “It’s just the disease. We’re real deep in your subconscious right now and—”

There. Her fingers found purchase on something soft and buried. She clenched her hand instinctively around it and yanked it out.

The fake stopped talking, and swore.

“Cana,” said the fake. She sounded wary. “Put that down. It’s not actually there. You’re mind is just supplying a substitute for—”

Cana bit down. It was rotten, mushy and disgusting to the core, but the pit seed still had some juice, and she whimpered as she realized what it was. What it always tasted like.



“So what do you want to do today, little bird?”

KinkyScribble: Breathe With Me

The second #KinkyScribble story I’ve written. As before let me present the numbers on this one:

Writing: 4 hours
Editing Time: ~1 hour

Much thanks to the very awesome Elle Largesse for starting the #KinkyScribble idea, whose stories and website can be found at this link.

For those interested in more #KinkyScribble stories, I suggest following the hashtag on Twitter, as some amazing stories have come from this.

The idea for this one came about after a particularly harrowing phone call in which I, the dutiful employee who didn’t rock boats, had to sit and converse with one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever had to speak with. I am usually pretty sympathetic to others’ plight, but this person was highly aggressive, combative, and insinuated several things that I sadly can’t report them for.

It’s something of a byproduct of the work I do, or at least the work culture I currently am. Fortunately, this kind of interaction is a rarity, but it doesn’t always take a poor interaction with someone to instigate that feeling hopelessness in me. Even a mild conversation where my brain latches on to some minor imperfection or fault in me can spark panic.

This story is something of a parable of how someone in my life helped me through one of these moments, hence the 1st person POV. That said, I’ve tried to remove as many mentions to narrator’s gender as possible, in hopes of making it more accessible.

I still get panic attacks, they’re absolutely debilitating and I utterly loathe them. My transcription of the panic attack as my best approximation as to how they feel for me, not necessarily anyone else.

Please mind the content warnings and tags below, as while it is a gentle SFW story, there are themes which may be triggering to some readers.

Content Warning: sfw, panic attacks, F/nb, established relationship, sizeshifting, mentions of non-sexual nudity, shrinking

Estimated Reading Time: 20 minutes

I keep my hand still and motionless against the desk. There’s a coiling, hissing, angry thing rousing in my gut and it’s taking everything I have not to bolt from my chair.

“Do you understand?” says the voice in my headset. I almost don’t recognize him. I just feel the oil and poison of their words slither down my spine like a rotten egg.

“Of course,” I answer. My voice is straining—shit shit shit—but they don’t notice. Or maybe they do and they just don’t care.

My vision blurs as I move my mouse over to the office chat, hover over my avatar, right-click and—fuck!—have to stop because I can’t read the menu lettering.

“Then tell me, what are you going to do?” the voice on the other end of the call says. Not a voice. He. He says.

I can’t even remember. Something’s crushing my spirit with mortar and pestle and every passing second is like tinfoil in the microwave, all sparks and flickers and dancing closer and closer to the edge of a cliff.

“I’ll take care of it right away, sir. I’ll make sure of it,” I say instead. The broken glass comes all too naturally, and I hate it. They can’t even tell I’m smiling, so why am I doing it?

“I’ll let Nolan know about our conversation, of course.” 


The voice hacks and coughs and then comes back, rasping like a middle-aged nicotine addiction in human flesh. “When does Frederico come back?”

“Mr. Marcone has actually left the company. He’s now an—”

“Shame,” interrupts the voice. “I liked him.”

The ‘I don’t like you’ is left silent, because he’s nothing if not about the appearance of professionalism. Looking busy, meaningless updates, talking about their golf game with the many replaceable background faces in a company that claims to pride itself on its diversity.

“Is there anything else I can do for you today?” I try. Please say no.

“Just your job,” the voice replies.

I chuckle nervously and close my eyes. The room is spinning and I don’t want to throw up on my desk, at least not while I’m still on the phone call. My gut is hot and uncomfortable, as if I’ve swallowed curdled milk that had something living in it. The iron jammed in my limbs keeping me in place is melting and I can feel the shakes taking over. My button down hangs on me, empty and vast and heavy and even moving the mouse to keep the computer screen alive feels different.

“I hope you have a pleasant day, sir.”

He scoffs. The line cuts out. I give it a full minute of silence, just in case they feel like calling me back to let me know what else I colossally fucked up on and deserve lambasting for. 

When nothing happens, I carefully and deliberately take the headset off, pulling at my tie to loosen the knot.

I still can’t see much. My sight skews like the surface of the sea when someone massive and ancient comes up for air, and it’s everything I can do just to keep inhaling and exhaling in steady, measured breaths.

One two three. Four five six. Seven eight fuckup.

No. No, stop it.

I can almost hear him now, his voice in my head like some middle-management encore from hell. 

You suck. You cocked it up now, didn’t you? Oh boy oh fuck, wait till Nolan hear’s ‘bout this!

It was just a mistake.

Shut up.

It hurts to keep my eyes open like this.

The tears pool and blur my vision further, and I can’t remember how long it takes to breathe. Two seconds, five minutes, ten hours? I try to move my fingers, to click on that menu button that’ll free me from my desk, and it takes far too much effort to even do that. I hear the ding of a notification go off, letting me know someone’s trying to talk to me, right as I take my impromptu break.

And then another. And another.

I push back from the desk, slamming against the keyboard and I hear something, some plastic button that’s been threatening to break off for weeks if not months, snap clean. The sound is small and imperceptible in the cacophonous silence of my home office and I feel it reverberate in my mouth as I stand.

Snap. Snap snap. Snap snap snaaaaaa—

I can’t control it anymore. My shirt which started the day snug and comfortable just weighs me down, a draping coat atop my dwindling shoulders. The collar rises around my head as I fall without moving, creeping along my neck like quicksand and as the edge of it overtakes first my chin, my mouth, my nose and finally my eyes I’m treated to the familiar surroundings of the inside of my clothing.

There’s a rank stench of sweat and myself in this space and I cry out, throwing my arms up, hoping to throw my shirt off, but I’m falling, crying, turning smaller and smaller with every passing breath that comes in fast and heavy, socking me in the lungs like professional fastballs.

I take a step forward, or try to, and fail. My shoes are too big to lift, sized for someone who isn’t two feet tall and shrinking, someone normal and not such a colossal fuckup. The lip of my shoes hold my feet in place like cement boots, and I accidentally throw myself forward, collapsing, falling face first and incandescent pain bursts along my lower lip as I bite down in reflex.

Do your job. Do your job. Do your fucking job.

I lay there, prone and useless in my own clothing as I shrink down and down. Moaning, clutching at my head, my face, my lip which I frantically feel and dab it, hoping to god I’m not bleeding because I have a video conference later today and I can’t fuck this up too—

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m sorry.” 

My head is full of fuzz, on fire, and that thing in my gut from earlier is laughing, hissing, slithering, cooing like some venomous comfort. Its hold on me is absolute and incontrovertible as the phone call clarions back to my attention.

Everything I did wrong, all I could have done right. How idiotic and stupid I am being right now as I lay there, writhing like some wretch, trembling and— 

The floor shakes. The vibrations burrow underneath my shirt, my prison, and reach up through the surface, traveling along my body. Footsteps. They increase in pace, and I can hear something, some voice out there calling.

At first I think it’s me, my monster made manifest, come to claim its prize, and then I think it’s that man from the call, and that is worse.

My vision is still shit and I’m scrabbling, half-blind, as the footsteps gain power and traction and it’s a vicious battering ram against my psyche. Foundations of panic teeter and totter faster than it can rebuild and I’m left raw and miniscule as my body falls into the undercurrent of seismic strength.

The voice out there calls for something again. Through my mad state I can make out syllables and string them together.

My name. They’re saying my name.

It’s Nessa.

And like that, I hear her open the door. The turn and click of the door is a gong, reverberating through the room.

“Honey? It’s me,” she says, stepping into the empty room. I know this, because her footsteps reach me like the precursor quake of something truly epic. “I heard something fall downstairs, are you okay?”

I don’t respond.

She probably hasn’t turned the corner and seen the piles of clothes yet. It’s not uncommon for a bout of sizeshifting to hit me in the middle of work, and I have asked her not to come in before. I’m usually more in control of myself.

Usually. When I’m not being a colossal fuckup.

The press and punt of panic seeps in again, a second wind well underway, and I can’t help the keening sound that leaves me. It’s not a human sound, just something small and pathetic and useless, exactly like how I’m feeling.

“Honey?!” I hear the door open fully, handle slamming against the stopper on the wall. Quick explosions of sound and thumps against the hardwood floor throb along my body with every step of hers, and then the creak and cry as she kneels. “Honey, are you in there?”

Her voice is strained and concerned and dammit, I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean to worry her.

She hasn’t touched the clothes yet.

“Can you hear me?”

Maybe if I don’t answer she’ll leave.

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“How small are you right now?” Nessa whispers. The air around me takes on a charged feeling. I can tell she’s suppressing the urge to burrow through my clothing, to grab me and hold me tight, envelope me in her comfort, but she’s holding back. “I…should I move? Can you see me?”

I can see the corona of light beyond a shadow larger than any building I’ve chanced getting close to. Something about extremes, real or imaginary, tweek the dials and knobs of my already tenuous control over my shifting into overdrive and she’s always been the largest being I could let myself be near.

But even through the material of the shirt, I can see her blonde hair drape over her face as she looks down at the pile of clothing. That’s what I am now, a pile of clothing, a thing playing at being a functional human being.

I’ve stopped shrinking, I already know that, but I can’t help the rush of blood in my ears, cupping my head, suppressing my voice, my self, all so it would just stop! Here, trapped in my business clothes as I am, my breaths turn shallower. First, I gasp. Then I pant. My panting transforms into wheezing and then within seconds I’m full-on hyperventilating and the comparatively light fabric material of the shirt grows heavier and the darkness creeping in along the edges of my blurry sight begins to encroach and invade and—

Artificial light pierces through that darkness. I roll as my world twists and turns and I realize it’s her, flipping my shirt around and unbuttoning each fasten like lightning. Cool, mild air assaults my senses like a hurricane, but instead of overpowering it’s like diving into a lake: a brief moment of sensory overload, followed by a stillness of something deep and ancient.

She hovers above me, hands planted on both sides, pinning the arms of my shirt as if it were some dangerous creature, and the smile she has is wobbly and nervous and beautiful.

“Hey there,” she says.

I stare, stunned. I gape at her freckles, at the split ends she secretly dislikes, at the minor marks along her upper lip where she bites when she’s nervous. Her heart-shaped I can’t forget, but am always astounded by when I’m so small.

“Sorry,” she continues, “I heard you crying and I couldn’t just leave you. Um. Sorry.”

She looks so nervous I can’t help but chuckle. The sound is harsh and grating and it hurts my throat but it seems to ease her nerves just a tad and for that, I’m grateful.

“May I?” she says, gesturing down to me with an open hand.

I say nothing, I just turn my head to the side, that same ugly thing from before rises in my chest. It wraps around my heart, squeezing once with every pulse pounding second. Shame and guilt gnaw, ravenous vermin that they are. 

Fingers the size of tree trunks scoop me into a palm bigger than a basketball court. The contrast between the floor of my office and her hand is incomparable and I shudder in the heat of her hand, closing my eyes against the quilt of her scent. I am bare, naked in every meaning of the word, but still I try to hide my shame by covering my face with my hands. My cheeks feel blotchy and swollen with tears and that just sprouts a fresh wave of them.

“Hey, hey,” she whispers. Nessa always whispers when I’m small. I’ve told her time and time again that I’m durable, that I can handle far more danger when I’m like this than mere burst eardrums. She still whispers. “What’s up, love? What’s got you feeling tiny?”

She doesn’t mean it as an insult. At this size, at the threshold of my sizeshifting, calling me anything else would be disingenuous.

“It’s nothing,” I say. It’s an effort to speak.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” she says. She’s less arguing, and more asserting. “It’s clearly important to you to make you feel like this. Your feelings aren’t nothing.”

I peek through my fingers to see she’s still looking at me. She hasn’t moved one iota since she’s picked me up. I just see her face, filling my sight and beyond.

“Just a work thing,” I muster to reply. My breathing hitches thinking about it. My computer is blowing up with pings and notifications, a consecutive series of cattle prods that scrape at the inner lining of my mind. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have reacted like this.”

“Nothing about how you feel is stupid,” she says. Her breath washes over my prone body like spring bloom and I clutch at my face, helpless before her immensity. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I know.”

I do know. In some part of me. In some buried, sunken place, inaccessible to me in my state, I know this. It’s all stuff that we’ve gone over before, and I feel so goddamn stupid for making her come up here and take care of me while we’re both in the middle of a workday.

My chest hurts, it hurts like I’ve run through a thicket of thorns and each one’s left its mark on me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say, through my hands. I swallow the stone lodged in my throat. My insides feel hollow, empty, yet still I shake. “I don’t even know why I…it’s just this thing at work. I was on a call and I thought it was going to be okay but it turns out it’s not and he got so angry.” I hiccup, tears afresh as I blubber, “I fucked up this time, Nessa. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to come up here and check on me.”

“You say that as if checking in on you is ever an inconvenience.” The bumps and crevices of her palm crease ever so slightly as she curls her hand closer in an approximation of a hug. I feel the winding skin tighten. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” My lip flares with pain where my hand touches it, and I muffle the reflexive groan. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

My breathing is harsh, tense, dry. I want to curl up in her palm and ask to just be held, but something stops me. The room is alien now, immense and vast in a way that transforms even the mundane cerulean hues of the wall paint into something eldritch and hungry. I could drown in this room, on the hardwood floor panels and in my business attire, formerly filled by someone so much more.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Her giant face shifts, morphing from anxious concern to something softer. “You’re doing great honey, I promise.”

I’m not doing anything, I want to tell her. The dread is back and vengeful in spirit. It widens the pit inside me until I feel like I’m going to collapse inwards, just fall apart and shake myself into pieces.

“Let’s try focusing on something else,” she says. Asks? No, says. “Remember when I tried making dinner last week? Remember how silly I looked when you walked in the room?” She swallows thickly, yet still she remains steady. “I had pasta sauce in my hair. You called me a goober.”

She did. I had. The memory sparks something in me, forcing an uncontrollable little grin, before it too sinks to the bottom.

“Breathe with me,” she says. Beneath the veneer of calm and peace I can tell she’s concerned but nothing else shows. She’s here, holding me, and that’s everything and more. “Come on, honey, breathe with me. One.”

I try to follow suit. My chest hacks and hurts, and I want to cry more, but my tears are either gone or dried up.

Her exhale comes in like the tide, a warm haze that serves to relax only my extremities.

“You’re doing good,” she says. “Let’s go again. Two.”

I try again, focusing, lingering on the scent of her hand and mouth. This time, I manage something longer. Something more deserving than the whiff.

She exhales on me again, and I finally pull my hands away from my face.

“Good job. I’m proud of you.” The pulse and pound of her circulatory system drums beneath me. I can feel her pulse surrounding me, like one long hug from her core. “One more. Three.”

It continues like that, individual counts stretching through seconds into something interminable. With every pounding breath a little more poison leaves, and a little more me returns. I don’t grow back, but I don’t feel like the herald of something ominous and unavoidable is looking out from behind my eyes anymore either.


My body shakes, but it’s me in control now. I can lift my hand, spread my fingers, and wonder at the magnificence of this world without feeling like I’m turning into something meaningless anymore.


Nessa’s face is still the same, calm, with a sheen of sweat trailing down from her temple to her jawline. Her palms are steadier than any stone, any vehicle I’ve ever ridden.


I have a voicemail now. Maybe several. A few emails, most likely. I have a video conference to attend today, and the thought of it makes me want to close my eyes and sleep. Fatigue hounds my limbs now, sister to panic, and I rebel against it by lurching into a sitting position.


I watch Nessa. The way her mouth curves with every noise. The almost imperceptible gulp as she takes her last counting breath.

I close my eyes and let her exhale over me, filling me, rejuvenating me like a northern wind.

“…thank you,” I say at last, trying to fill everything into those two words. I’m too tired to talk too much. It’s a soul-fueled jet lag that hangs over in my mind.

“Of course,” she says, accepting it as if what she’d done for me wasn’t priceless. “Anything for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” I muster up. It feels wrong to let it be like that.

“You’ve done the same for me.” Nessa’s glance turns furtive, shy. “I’m not a shifter but, sometimes I panic too. And you help. A lot.” She looks down at me fondly and tentatively pats my whole body with her finger. It’s like getting hugged by a mountain, but still, I can sense her care for me. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired,” is the first thing that escapes me. “Worn out.”

Nessa makes an appreciative noise. She still hasn’t looked away from me, nor has he risen from her kneeling position on the floor, despite how much it must be aching. “You want me to let them know you need to log off?”

I look over at my computer, blowing up with notifications that would send me even at my normal size into a frenzy. At my shrunken size, the entire setup feels several degrees removed from what I can handle. The desk is a kind of ancient temple to be dug up and discovered by archaeologists ages from now.

“I shouldn’t,” I say, but even I can tell it’s half-hearted. “I’ve got a meeting.”

Nessa’s expression flickers between concern and visible disapproval at the computer. She doesn’t know much about what caused me to panic like this, but she’s never been a fan of how certain clients have treated me. It’s probably a good thing she wasn’t a shifter herself, otherwise I’m sure we’d have to install taller doorways.

“If you say so,” she says obliquely. “Want me to at least stay up here for the day? I’ll stay out of view.”

“I want them to fuck off,” I blurt out, because my brain filter is in hibernation.

She blinks, taken aback, and then lets out a weary laugh.

“So that’s a no then?” she says. The care with which she transfers me to her other hand is immeasurable. She puts her free hand on the desk and pulls herself to her feet, and the whole motion is smooth and as peaceful as a swaying hammock.

“Just let Nolan know I’m…taking a personal day,” I say with a yawn.

I fall back against her palm, stretching and luxuriating in her enormous presence.

A quick few clacks and taps of buttons as she enters my password and types out the message pass by.

“There,” she says, sounding satisfied. “I sent it.”

“Tha’s goo’.”

She sighs. Nessa’s got a pretty mouth. Even her sighs are pretty.

My head feels heavy as I try to look up. Some part of me is aware I’m crashing, coming down from a terrifying high that no one should go through, but I can’t help the giggle-snort that escapes me as I think about how comfortable everything is.

“Hey there, sleepy bear.” Aquamarine eyes move into view as she lifts her palm up to eye level. She’s breathtaking even at this angle. “How are you doing?”

“Sleepy,” I manage to utter.

“Want me to hold you while you do?”

Yes. I try to vocalize this one word, but my mouth feels funny now that I’m on the other side of that valley of fear and panic. It hangs and lolls, my eyelids are heavier than anchors.

“I got you,” she says. I think she’s moving. Walking. Leaving my home office behind her. I hear doors open and shut, and the thump thump thump of stairs as she goes descends them.

Cinnamon. That’s what she smells of. Like fresh cookies, still warm from the oven.

“I feel like an afternoon nap myself.” Something darkens behind my eyelids, the blinds drawing close. “Remember, honey, in and out. Breathe with me, one… two…”

I drift off into sleep before the three ever arrives.


I have been staring at this screen for what feels like the stretch of time between getting into bed and falling asleep. You know that period when everything happens, your brain is simultaneously picking up speed while your consciousness slowly meanders down a ramp of counting sheep?

Yeah, that long.

What do I talk about when I make a post categorized as “Size Thoughts”? Is that just a catch-all term for anything not story related?

I decided to make this particular post about my experience talking about #SizeKink with my wife, past partners and relationships. How I went about it, how they reacted, etc. None of this is to drum up sympathy. It’s more a diary entry that I hope to share with those who care to read it.

I’m going to start off by talking about my experience with revealing this side of myself with my wife. She and I have been married about 2 ½ years at the time of this post, and I learn new and fascinating things about her every day.

For one, she’s apparently been trying to catch me in a jump scare for months now, and I keep foiling her dastardly plans. I’ve been giving her tips on how to sneak up on me, like how to move without making the floorboards creak or making sure to stay out sight of reflective surfaces, etc.

Still hasn’t managed to do it just yet.

In any case, I first told my wife about this side of me completely on accident. I had an old tablet that I didn’t keep a password on — yes, yes, I know, for shame — and it just so happened that I’d forgotten to log out of one of the more well-known sites. Well, I told her she could use it for something or other, I think it was to look up a recipe, but in any case, it opened up to that sites landing page.

Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like that cannon launch of fear, panic, and shame when your significant other finds something like that before you’re ready. I was already deeply and vastly in love with her then, the kind of love-struck attitude that would be called ridiculous and over the top and various other disparaging terms by more cynically minded, but still, I’d been burned by revealing that part of me before. I wasn’t ready to tell anyone.

But after about ten seconds of me quietly asking for the tablet back, and thirty seconds of me stammering, looking away, waiting for the earth to swallow me whole, my wife (then girlfriend) just accepted that it wasn’t something I could talk about. She just told me that while she has questions, she wasn’t going to force me to answer them to satisfy her curiosity.

I explained in the barest of terms, what a giantess (the most common type of material I consumed because of personal ignorance) was, maybe in the hopes of staving off her questions and any google searches she might make.

The box was opened, but still I tried to pretend there was still a cover on top of it for about a year afterwards. Whenever topics of fetish, kink, and what we wanted came up, I could feel that small voice in the back of my head pondering, wondering, insisting on finishing that conversation properly.

It took about…oh I’d say a couple years afterwards, for me to fully address the topic. It didn’t come about as planned or anything, I’d mostly resigned myself to keeping quiet the rest of my life about it. But one night she’d shared something intensely personal with me and I, in the interest of doing the same, shared some things with her. Stories, vignettes, old crappy captions that I’d written. Mostly with her as an inspiration in part even if obviously I didn’t include the same physical characteristics or name.

I shared these with her, and was fully prepared to be lambasted for it, for daring to objectify her like this, and so on, a prepared to receive the kind of tongue lashing you could only find in a Lit class because she is good at putting thoughts to words.

She didn’t though. She just put her hand on my head, ran her fingers through my hair, and told me she already knew. She asked a few questions, the ideas behind my stories, and so on. She asked if I’d wanted to include anything like that in our intimate moments. She still occasionally asks questions, but where before I used to think of those as trials to overcome, to be parsed and carefully answered, now I’m much more relaxed.

Heck, she’s even betaed a couple stories.

It wasn’t grand or epic or some great painful ordeal anything along those lines. It was simply acceptance, in its purest form. And though she doesn’t share this kink with me or all the things that come with it including mad writing frenzies that can take up my mind for hours, days, weeks at a time, she has never made me feel lesser for it, unlike others to whom I’ve revealed it to.

It is in fact, because of her that I’ve begun learning and exploring more about myself. I’ve ventured from consuming and writing just giantess/shrunken man content to a lot more than that, helping to branch out and discover more and more of who I am.

I have talked to previous partners about this side of me before. One outright rejected the idea, calling it a sickness that needed to be cured. Another was clearly left uncomfortable with it, or at least wished to never think about it and frequently did not talk about sexual matters with me after that. Neither felt like acceptance, not even the latter, because both, whether intentionally or not, resolved to push the subject either out of the house or into a closet.

Love isn’t always romantic, nor is there always a sexual component. It is in the little things, like saying “I see this is important for you” or “I’m really thankful for sharing this with me”; just a hug and smile and letting them know you’re there for them; it’s holding someone while they cry and ramble; it’s letting them know that their worth to you isn’t contingent on anything except being them; that they’re feelings are not yours to govern, that they are valid, as messy and fraught with pitfalls as we all are.

Acceptance born of love, romantic or not, and not resignation, is what’s important when communicating this part of us, I feel. Acceptance of self, acceptance of others, and acceptance of the differences in everyone, even between partners.

Rule of Three – Foreplay

My first chaptered story on this site, and another story featuring a poly relationship!

Whereas my other story Matinee featured a (hopefully believable) throuple that likes to experiment with dates and scenarios, that are comfortable with each other, and their different sizes… this one I decided to tackle from the angle of a trio in the sapling stages of their sexual relationship—while already having a rapport with each other.

For this story, I decided to split it into three parts. Chapters essentially. The naming of the collective story and this chapter should probably be indicative about how on the nose I’m being but hopefully it’ll be a pleasant read nonetheless.

I will be updating this post with links to the other chapters as I post them as well. As much as this is meant to be a single story, I’ll also try to make each one individually consumable.

As a note, if anyone ever has constructive criticism, please don’t hesitate to mention it to me, either in a comment or in a direct email. I’m always willing to debate and talk about the finer aspects of writing, and self-improvement is a constant goal of mine.

In addition if you catch something else that should be tagged, I ask that you please let me know. I am a massive proponent of tagging and hope to do my part in making online experiences more easily accessible for everyone.

Content Warning: NSFW, Tiny woman, MF/f, Poly relationship, language, gentle, handholding, cum, entrapment with body parts, small spaces, mentions of alcohol consumption

Estimated Reading Time: 25 minutes

“Dinner’s ready!” 

“I’m coming!” she called back. “Need any help carrying things?”

Laughter drifted out from the kitchen entrance.

Out came Oscar, grinning over his shoulder and carrying a salad bowl large enough to swim in. Rena knew this because she did that the other day when Oscar and Patty spent the afternoon outside reading on their beach chairs, little makeshift pool between them.

Patricia – Patty, as only Oscar and Rena were privileged to call her – soon followed, carrying the plates and utensils. Like every night, she set out special seating: an old iPhone box she’d never tossed, cut in half along the side to be at seating height for Rena. Trimmed fabric served as the tablecloth, with a small serving dish atop it, along with a flat-bottom thimble.

“Don’t drink it all at once,” Oscar said from on high, pouring cider drops into the container with an expert hand. His hair was getting shaggy, but Rena could still make out his sharp cheeks and playful smile. “I don’t want to lug you around everywhere if you get too drunk. You’re heavy.”

She was smaller than his thumb.

“You poor thing,” Rena said, rolling her eyes. “Your life is so difficult, having me around.”

“Don’t poke too much fun at him,” Patty said. She stood over the table in a loose navy top, arranging things here and there, too large and too swift for Rena to catch it all. “You know how sensitive he is. Wouldn’t want him to sit on you.”

Rena perked up at that. “Can he? Tonight? Not now, I’m starving, but uh, later?”

A loud clattering of a fork hitting a plate gave away Oscar’s reaction. He recovered faster than Rena could turn in her seat to see him, but she didn’t miss the luminescent blush creep up along his neckline.

Oscar and Patty traded glances, and the latter cleared her throat. Avoiding Rena’s pointed stare, she said, “We should eat. The food’s getting cold.”

“You made a salad.”

“Quiet, you.”

A sprite, they called her when they came upon her last year. A little pixie. Rena didn’t know what to say. Her people had a history, but they never needed to name themselves. She’d only ever known the enormous creatures that looked like her, talked like her, and fucked like her were called humans.

Was it serendipity or fate that she crossed their paths? And did it matter?

The serving dish, something that could fit in Oscar’s palm with room to spare, was enormous compared to Rena, but still the smallest item they had for her. It filled her makeshift table, the healthy greens and cheese shreds piled well above Rena’s head, with a single crouton as large as her chest on the outskirt of the dish, and a small dollop of dressing for flavor.

Rena tore through the entire mass of food as fast as she could, before gulping down the entire thimble’s contents in one long chug worthy of a frat house ovation.

“Excitable tonight, aren’t we?” Oscar said, breaking the silence.

He speared a piece of lettuce, bringing it up to his mouth, and Rena didn’t bother filtering the lewd thoughts that rose at the sight. Oscar had a beautiful mouth. The kind Rena wanted to bury herself in. She often wondered what it’d be like to have his lips kiss her entire body against Patty’s vulva, press her against the skin soft and— 

“Why don’t you sit close to me for the rest of dinner, Ree?” Patty said, speaking up. Blue eyes as open and depthless as the sky fixed on Rena, their owner’s smile secretive and knowing. “Spend some girl time bonding.”

Rena sighed. “I suppose.”

Patty shot her a flat look. “Little minx.”

“Proud of it too.”

Rena rose from her seat – a whittled wooden bench that Oscar made for her months ago – and stretched. She stretched up, up, up with her arms and arched her back in such a way as to flaunt her tits at both her prospective giant lovers. Out of sheer coincidence her outfit, a toga style dress pinned at her shoulder, came loose and slid down her body.

“Whoops!” Rena made a show of shimmying out of the piled cloth, bending down to grab it, and exposing her ass to Oscar, who she was sure would blush and maybe even stammer and-

The table shook. A chair dragged across the floor. 

The next thing she knew Rena was going up instead of bending down, with two massive pincers made of flesh grabbing her round the middle, lifting her like she was a figurine. Each finger was more than twice her size and the overwhelming certainty that she was powerless here, at the mercy of this giant, gripped her mind.

Thump thump, went her heart.

Fuck fuck, went her libido.

Oscar turned her around to face him. Rena was momentarily stunned to be so close to him, with his eyes like warm coals and his cheeks’ delicate sharpness. The remnants of his blush were still there, unhidden to her who saw everything even at her size.

“Behave,” he said, with the tone of someone who expected to be heard.

He carried her over to his wife and dropped her into Patty’s waiting palm.

“Oof!” She bounced and scrambled to orient herself upright, watching Oscar retreat to his seat.

He sat down with a harrumph, a feigned discontent that Rena saw through, but that moment, those seconds of being entirely within his grasp to do with as he pleased, etched themselves into Rena’s mind. 

“I think you touched a nerve,” Patty whispered conspiratorially. Her heart-shaped face leaned in and washed over Rena with her voice. “What did you expect would happen?”

“Not that,” Rena said, rubbing her rear. Patty’s hands were wonderfully soft, but Oscar had dropped her without warning. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“You’ve been challenging him all day, dear.” Patty’s fingers curled up around her, a cage of flesh and bone akin to the old tales. She felt more on display, somehow, in her hand. “Should I be jealous?”

She smirked down at Rena at that last part and before she could react her world upended once more. Rena tumbled through the air, arms wheeling, veering close to Patty’s top but still too far to grasp. She flew past buttons like rock outcroppings and down into the small open valley between her girlfriends legs.

Rena hit the chair seating with an oof and an ow, all her clever ripostes and raunchy thoughts driven from her mind like the air from her lungs. She had a few seconds to stop and admire the view of Patty’s legs rising on either side of her like great walls in a crevasse, light fixture shining beyond the shadow of Patty’s face, before Oscar spoke up.

“Did you really just drop her between your legs?”

“I did.” Patty looked down at her, wicked smile still in place. “She looks much more comfortable here. How’s the view down there, Rena?”

Rena’s response was a mix of eep and gugh.

One redwood-sized leg eked closer, closing the gap by what was probably a paltry amount to Patty, but the entire length of Rena’s body in one go.

Rena tried to make a noise but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. It was getting very warm there, so close to Patty’s core, and though her giant friend still wore her sensible pants that did nothing to prevent the intense invisible pressure against her mind.

Oscar grumbled something Rena failed to catch, and Patty’s response was giggling.

“Oh, like you weren’t thinking the same thing yourself,” she said.

Her legs closed together this time, twice the distance as before and both of them at once. Rena’s breath hitched, seeing the massive plateau’s of Patty’s thighs enclose her further into darkness. Left and right were all she was left with—front and back were dominated by Patty’s overwhelmingly massive thighs.

And to her left was a winding, tightening hall of body and leg, leading to a place Rena had been dreaming about for months.

A shadow fell over her as she debated her choices going forward. Patty held a glass of cider in her hand on high, still full. Her girlfriend swirled the contents a little too much and spilled out on the side, dousing her with enough cider to drown a person.

And just like that the ramping sensual ambiance dissipated.

“Crap,” Patty said, pushing her chair out. She rose, freeing Rena from between her legs, and grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbing frantically. “Crap! Rena, babe, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you with that, did I?”

“I’m- ack– fine!” Rena said through gulping mouthfuls of cloth and alcohol. She always metabolized the drink fast enough to never worry for her health, but still the fumes and scent of apples was strong enough to leave her dizzy. “No worries – blech – here. Just peachy.”

“Sounds more like you’re appley,” Oscar said coming round the side. He put a hand on Patty’s shoulder, pausing her well-intentioned, but unhelpful attempts at care. “Why don’t you go throw those in the laundry, hun. I’ll take care of Ree.”

It was amazing how much Rena saw of their reactions, perhaps even more than they were aware of. She saw the minor twitch in Patty’s expression, an unconscious clench of her jaw, before she nodded. A sheen of something glassy appeared in Patty’s eyes before she turned and walked away, relenting.

Oscar grabbed a fresh napkin and kneeled on the floor, putting his face a lot more level with hers. With surprising forwardness, he guided Rena to an upright sitting position and began patting her gently with the cloth.

“Sorry about that,” Oscar mumbled. He was cupping one hand around her like a supporting wall while the other dried her. “She’s been on edge all day.”

“Is Patty upset with me or something?” Rena asked. She’d been fine until she spilled the cider, but if she was, if Rena had pushed too hard with her offers and questions, she’d never forgive herself.

His reply was instant. “What? No, of course not.” He dropped the napkin and ran a hand through his hair, keeping his other one at her back, still close, comforting. “She’s just… nervous. She was trying to be playful and I guess she’s worried she got carried away.”

He resumed his cleaning, this time slower, more purposeful. His touch was absolute and powerful like the pulse of a mountain, but still the care he showed was immutable.

“I thought you were the nervous one, tonight,” Rena admitted. “You’re always the one who blushes whenever I talk about it. Us. Together.”

He was striking, all pensive and thoughtful like this, and Rena wondered if he sensed the thunderbeat of her heart through the cloth.

“Of course I blush,” he muttered. His lips quirked up as his cloth hand settled on her chest. “In case you haven’t noticed Ree, I’m very attracted to both of you. You’re not supposed to be possible, but yet, here you are.” He threw the cloth aside, and scooped Rena up with the hand at her back. She leaned into his palm, nuzzling against his warmth “I could live with you for a thousand years and still find a reason to clam up whenever you two mess with me.”

“I don’t tease you that often,” she protested. 

“You told me earlier yesterday you wished you could sleep under my balls every night. You also said you shouldn’t because you’d be too horny.”

“I stand by what I said,” she said, defensively. “I still love thinking about that time you didn’t see me in your chair. I was trapped for hours.”

Oscar chuckled, a baritone locomotive sound that would lull any free-thinking pixie to sleep. “It’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy.”

Her thoughts turned to mush as he rose, carrying her with him. The world swiveled into shades of eggshell and mahogany as Oscar walked out into the living room, dinner forgotten. Still, she stayed still, trapped but not quite in a grip so massive it dwarfed the caverns back home.

His shirt was a robin’s eggshell blue, a full button up that pulled taut at his chest and reached up to his collar in crisp, clean lines. It was also Rena’s favorite. A wide expanse of a color as soft as that, a perfect representation of Oscar himself.

Her ruminations cut short as he, still holding her in his upturned palm, stretched and kicked back, planting his heels on the coffee table. With a gentleness that belied that strength and power he possessed her deposited on his chest, leaning back in his seat, as if relaxing for the first time that day.

“I can barely feel you on top of me,” Oscar mumbled, head against the sofa and eyes closed. “I have to focus. Tip tap, tip tap. That’s what you walking on my chest feels like.”

“Y-yeah.” At some point in the evening she’d lost control, but she couldn’t pinpoint when. “Well, maybe it’d help if you weren’t wearing a shirt.”

He huffed. “So eager to get me naked.”

“Can you blame me?” Rena looked up and down at the vertiginous length of his body. “I mean, damn.

“You’re going to make me blush again,” he said, even though he sounded as comfortable with her as he did with his wife.

“Never not going to enjoy that.” Rena ventured close to one of his buttons. Despite the fabric, she made out the pitched rise of bumps along her soles. Goosebumps.

“We’re lucky,” he said, king of non sequitur. His head lolled to the side as he looked at the bedroom doorway. “Wouldn’t you say so, honey?”

A light switched off, dousing the room in momentary darkness, leaving Rena with only the enormous life of Oscar’s chest as her single guiding sensation while her sight adjusted.

Shadows shifted on the edge of perception, but whereas that would have filled Rena to the brim with terror of unknown dangers, the only anxiety left to her was the hanging expectation of what the evening entailed.

Shapes and noise happened in the darkness and she heard the knock of wood of Patty putting something on the coffee table, followed by the single brilliant flare of the humans’ television blinking into existence like a solitary star.

“Very lucky,” Patty said. She slid into the seat beside Oscar, snuggling in close, causing nary a tremble in his steady hand. “Can’t say what we’d do without you, Ree.”

She’d let her hair down from before, a single black elastic adorning her wrist. Comfortable baby blue cotton pajamas and a much looser faded white top replaced her previous attire. Her collar hung down, stopping just above the swell of her breasts, curls swirling in enticing vines that Rena longed to climb.

In a word, stunning.

Oscar moved slowly to not disturb Rena, and wrapped an arm around his wife, squeezing her once as if to reassure her she was okay.

“Better?” he murmured. On the screen, words and meaningless pictures continued their routine sequence.

“A little,” Patty said, inching closer. Her head fell into the crook of his shoulder and it was like being up and center to a jumbo screen of loveliness. She’d washed out her makeup too. “How did you know I needed that?”

“Intuition.” Rena watched him run his hand along Patty’s scalp. “And ten years of knowing you.”

“Sorry about earlier,” Patty said, directing the words at Rena, who clung to Oscar’s shirt button like a life-preserver. “I’ve just been nervous. About tonight. Everything.” She paused and carefully said, “You’re still naked. Why are you still naked?”

Rena waited for Oscar to offer an explanation. 

It took her too long to realize he wasn’t going to. Both he and Patty were consciously involving her in the conversation.

These two…

“That’s what happens when you get showered in alcohol,” Rena said, aware of the clog of emotion in her throat. She coughed, trying to regain some of her previous insouciance. “By the way, Oscar’s a perv. He’s been manhandling me this whole time. Picking me up, touching me, he’s insatiable.”

“Guilty,” said the mountain in question. “Also, in the interest of full disclosure: I liked it. You’re very sexy, Ree.”

“See? Insatiable.” Rena bit her lip. “But just so we’re clear, I liked it too. He’s very gentle.”

Patty’s giggle was delicious. “Just wait until you really get him going, the man’s a brute.”

She knew.

There was no hiding Patty and Oscar’s intimate moments from her, and she often joined them in her mind, with deft fingers and a fresh supply of sounds and words to fill her spirit for hours.

“…that’s what I’m hoping for,” she said, filling the awkward gap from her lack of response. 

Oscar coughed, a minor sonic boom this close to his face, and she tumbled down a couple inches, only stopping once Patty put her hand in the way.

Rena closed her eyes, leaning into the body behind her.

They were both so warm.

They stayed like that for a time, chattering about nothing, seconds stretching into minutes, the warm haze of their collective aura wrapping around Rena like a personal hug.

The slope of their bodies rose and fell in long-stretches of inhales and releases, synchronized.

She was doomed from the moment she met them. 

She’d seen other humans – met others just as physically powerful as these two, just as attractive, just as big – who’d fulfill every one of her personal fantasies but never had she met two who could reassure her with their heartbeat.

She didn’t even care what, if anything, followed these moments. Oscar’s body was the perfect cushion and Patty’s nimble fingers, rubbing at her back in a pleasant soothing rhythm, were enough for Ren, who was lost in the lush reality of life with them.

“Getting sleepy, are we?” Patty said, breaking the spell and lifting her hand. Rena yelped at the sudden absence of support at her back but didn’t fall this time, instead clinging to the twill fabric material of Oscar’s shirt. A single massive finger came down on her back and pressed her against him, twisting as if to make her squirm. “I thought tonight was your idea?”

Rena gasped, propping her arms beneath to push herself up, but there was no use. Patty’s lone finger overpowered her entirely. Heat bloomed in her chest as she fought the pressure, but made no progress.

“I-I thought you weren’t-” she bit down a moan as her nipples hardened, pushed against Oscar’s idle massiveness, “-feeling like it. Fuck.

The last word left her in a keen of whine and frustration, a special kind of agony. Her thoughts were melting the longer Patty pinned her down, and Rena could only revel in every second, swayed by the torrent.

“Don’t be mean,” Oscar chided, high above and benevolent giant that he was. “I thought we were going to be nice to her tonight?”

The finger practically fusing her with his material stopped and lifted. Rena gasped, sucking in a revitalizing breath without Patty’s weight holding her down, but all that did was fill her mind with the scent and thoughts of both of them and she had to bite down on her lip to stifle the urge to call for something she couldn’t even name.

“Ree?” Patty asked, all tease gone. “I’m sorry, was that too much? If I went overboard I-”

Rena stopped her right there. 

“No! No, that was…” She couldn’t put a name to what that was. All she knew was that she wanted more. Like a fire, she burned with a want that had no word in any tongue she knew of. Everything she could think of fell short of the actual experience so she just said, “I liked that.”

And that was just her finger.

“You really did, didn’t you?”

Rena shivered against Oscar’s shirt. Her core was molten, stoked awake from its near slumber, and she desperately wanted to touch herself, to see if this wasn’t just some dream but reality.

She flipped onto her back and sucked in more air. Her skin caught fire where it touched the fabric of Oscar’s shirt, and Patty’s finger hung like a lumbering omen above her, waiting to descend once more.

Unbidden, she reached up and brushed her hand against the ridges and passive heat of Patty’s solitary digit. If she closed her eyes she could picture it, the life that awaited beyond the evening. The life she wanted.

“I really liked that,” she said, stronger this time. “That was… yes.”

Yes was the closest thing that fit.

The land beneath her roiled in amusement as Oscar huffed.

Patty rolled her eyes, but didn’t look away from Rena. There was something unique and thrilling about being the simultaneous focus of their attention.

“Well then,” she mused, tapping her lips with the same finger that trapped Rena, “I guess I can keep going then.”

Oscar’s chest vibrated as he hummed and asked, “What’re you thinking?”

There was no mistaking the practically audible twang of his muscles pulling taut when Patty cupped his crotch.

His breathing hitched the minutest amount possible, but Rena still saw it, saw it and felt it, with how the skin beneath his shirt shook with wanton desire.

Not content with merely surprising him, Patty angled her head to place her lips on his neck. Words not even Rena could hear fell from her lips, culminating in a lingering kiss that grazed the side of his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Minx,” he growled.

“Mmm, you love me.”

Next thing she knew Oscar was clearing his throat and adjusting himself, pulling up in his seat and sending Rena tumbling down the slope of his body once more. Buttons streamed past, faster than a raging river, and still the predominant sound in her ears was the breathy gasp Oscar let out as Patty started kissing his neck in earnest.

Rena came to stop at the base of his torso, thrown about and disoriented.

She looked up the human hill she’d just fallen down, somewhere between disappointed she didn’t have the chance to burn the experience into her mind for proper revisiting, and eager for what came next.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Oscar whispered in response to yet another wicked set of words Rena didn’t catch from Patty, who looked like she was having the time of her life whispering nothings into his ear. “Fuck.”

Patty’s response was a throaty chuckle. Her fingers danced from his collar down his shirt, deftly undoing each button faster that Rena could track. A thin trail of tantalizing skin emerged beneath the folds of the shirt, ending right where Rena sat.

“A little help?” Patty asked, hand dancing in the air above Rena.

Without another word Rena leapt to her feet and ran up the incline of his abdomen.

She reached under the edge of the button and flipped it up like a tire, hefting it against her upright body. The cotton fabric of his shirt slid under the bottom but stopped eventually, wedged between his body and the button before it fully slipped out.

“Why don’t I help you.”

Next thing she knew Oscar’s massive hand was batting her away, and a thumb and forefinger were pinching the same button she was struggling with just then.

Patty grabbed his hand, stopping him.

Oscar met his wife’s eyes, curious.

“I can do it,” Rena called out. Both of them turned to her. “No, really, I can.”

A second of hesitation before Oscar relented, drawing his hand away.

Rena attacked that button with twice as much gusto as before.

She wrenched the button upright once again, leveraging it against her hips for support. The shirt cloth jammed under it again, but this time, Rena pulled the piece of plastic, wrenching it as high as she could, sliding it over the opening in the shirt bit by painstakingly difficult bit.

This wasn’t just a chance at some extra titillation by getting Oscar shirtless, this was something else. Something important. She needed to pass this trial for herself if nothing else.

The opening in the cloth slid under the hard plastic and, whether through her own efforts or a little extra push from Oscar, the button snapped through the aperture in one silky smooth motion. Patty threw the shirt flaps aside, flicking Rena down to just above his beltline and exposing the vast expanse of his torso, the hills and ridges of the human form, a beguiling rise and fall of his chest signifying his increasingly harsh breaths.

Rena nearly passed out at the sight of it.

Patty’s hand landed on his belly. Skilful fingers, each longer than Rena was tall, started dancing, waltzing their way up his body, trailing gooseflesh wherever they touched.

“Go ahead,” Oscar said, amused, “you can touch, Ree.”

She got to her feet and took a tentative step forward. His bare skin wasn’t just warm, it was hot. Less sweltering and more comfort, the kind of heat she could linger and find shelter in.

Another step. And another. And soon Rena was leaping across him. There was so much space, so much to touch and if this wasn’t everything she asked for then she was dreaming and didn’t want to wake up. So excited was she that she missed the growing shadow.

Rena let out a sudden but honest eep as Patty’s hand eclipsed her view of the world and pressed her against her giant lover once more. Except this time there wasn’t a thin excuse of a shirt barring her from him and the experience was glorious.

Oscar let out a groan, a sonic boom of sound that spiked and stopped her struggling.

“You’re liking this,” Patty teased, voice coming in sultry and teasing. “Does seeing her down there, on top of you, so small, turn you on then? Do you like feeling her squirm against you?” She lifted her hand once more, and Rena followed the trajectory of her limb. It settled against and cupped a massive swelling bulge in his pants. “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Rena stared, captivated with creasing pant folds and the mounting hill emerging from his crotch.

Patty’s fingers found the zipper and, with a casual strength Rena could never hope to match, began unzipping, tooth by tooth.

Holy fuck, he was still getting bigger.

“You’re thinking about it now,” Patty said, halfway done. Oscar was breathing hard, subsumed and at her mercy. “What do you want to do first, hmm? Want to put her on top of your cock, have her squirm, see how long she can last before she falls down?” A grunt, and the slightest buck of his hips that told Rena everything he thought of that idea. “Or how about we see if she even can lift you up. I bet you could just cover her with your cock and-”

Rena didn’t give her time to finish. She got to her feet and sprinted, springing off muscle and nerve like hot coals, her own body hot and wanting and utterly enraptured by the engorged sight still held back by his boxers.

A veritable cage of fingers snatched her up when she was an inch away from her prize.

“Someone’s excited,” Patty teased. The hand around Rena tightened, dangling her over Oscar’s bulging cock, straining to escape. “Look, honey, she’s so eager.”

“No!” Rena couldn’t help but cry out. She reached for his boxers, helpless in her girlfriend’s grip. “Dammit, Patty, let me go! Let me go!

“As you wish.”

And then Rena was being dropped on top of the twitching, writhing mass, and it was all she could do not to fall off.

“God, you’re a tease,” Oscar groaned. It was unclear who he was referring to.

“I’m just giving her the full tour,” Patty said, laughing lightly. “Frustrated?”

‘Bitch,’ Rena thought without any heat. It was hard to deny that Patty’s attitude wasn’t effective at driving up the tension.

She wormed her way along the bulge towards the button, biting her lip as she rode up the underside of Oscar’s cock. Her thighs ached with exertion, arms turning sore the longer she climbed, unable or unwilling to let the entire evening be dictated by Patty.

Goddess above, Oscar was so big. Rena knew she should have expected it, considering how he and Patty’s pinkie finger dwarfed her, but knowing was different from experiencing and judging by the throbbing mass she was riding all her dreams and fantasies were going to take on a reality she wasn’t sure she was prepared for.

“You can do it,” Patty teased. She eagerly watched Rena, a kind of visceral lust and fascination vivid in every microexpression on her enormous face.

Oscar looked like it was taking every ounce of concentration not to just start jerking off with Rena in hand. That hazy look disappeared as Patty cupped her face and pulled him in for a soul-searing kiss that raised the temperature of the room by several degrees and raised him even more.

Thick pulsing throbs lit up against her inner thigh and that made her grind her hips against him in return, eliciting a moan that of guttural pleasure and hunger. Rena tucked her head against the fabric of his boxers, overcome with emotion.

She did this. She and Patty.

She resumed her grind against his hidden cock, and at last reached the apex of his erection, hidden by a single button. A small wet stain of pre-cum decorated the area, and it took everything she had not to just sink her face against it and inhale like the greedy woman she was.

The button was slick, either with sweat or something else, and it took her a couple seconds to grasp it properly. It was smaller than the shirt button, only as small as her head, but her arms strained to lift it up and slide it through its opening.


And then the world turned upside down once more and flipped Rena onto her back. Oscar’s dick sprung free, massive and heavy and throbbing, and by the goddess he was coming right for her— 

Patty intervened, wrapping her hand around the cock thicker than Rena was tall, saving her from getting smacked by the member.

“You okay, babe?” Patty asked. She squeezed Oscar’s cock, once, twice, and slid her hand up and down his shaft in a slow, languorous movement. “This monster here scare you off?”

“Not on your life,” Rena said.

“Atta girl.”

The hand groping Oscar pumped him hard, eliciting another long, low groan from the man.

“Tease,” he mumbled. Rena couldn’t see over the tower of cock stretching high above her, but the air vibrated with tension from every inch of his skin, in tune with the way he jerked to Patty’s ministrations. “Where’d she—fuck!—end up?”

“Oh just between your legs,” Patty said idly, as if she were talking about the weather.

Oscar bucked as she let go, instead opting to trail the entire length of his dick from base to head with one finger. Rena watched the whole byplay hungrily, the crevasse walls of his open legs widening just a hair. The musk from his crotch suffused the air around her, dizzying her, and if the night ended like this, trapped between Oscar’s legs while Patty jerked him off to completion then Rena would be forever happy.

She walked closer, fascinated with the sight. Oscar hung out and over her, a pillar of cock and sex, far more flesh and skin than she’d ever stimulate on her own, all being slowly driven to madness by the soft sensual strokes of Patty’s hand.

“You like this, love?” Patty asked. A breathy, pleased gasp escaped her. “Want to help?”

Rena nodded dumbly. She swallowed the lodge in her throat and asked, “How?”

The hand jerking the building-sized cock stopped, thumb and forefinger forming a ring around the upper half of the shaft. Then, like a drawbridge of flesh and muscle, Patty started lowering it. It was slow, deliberate, and Rena shuddered, realizing perhaps for the first time in its entirety just how utterly miniscule she was compared to them.

There was plenty of time to move. Plenty of time to step back, let the dick descend into empty space, and appreciate it from a safe distance, but Rena didn’t.

At first it was light, just a brush with something spongy and stretchy and heavy. Then the weight increased, from easily shrugged off to the full pressure of a dick many times larger than her. She pushed, lifted the cock off a minimal amount, and then had her arms forced apart and spread out, smothered by the absoluteness of Oscar’s cock.

Even with her arms and legs outspread, her body was covered entirely by him, held there by the gentle pressure of Patty’s hand. The coarse material of the couch bit at Rena’s back like fibrous teeth, but even that distraction was nothing.

She felt the pulsating thrum and rush of blood rushing through his cock with her entire body, a rock concerto of lust and with her own heart as the drumbeat. Something slick slithered down from above, drenching her short ruby red hair and sticking it to the side of her face.

Oscar writhed above her, a movement that would’ve registered on the Richter scale for the relative difference between them. Pre-cum covered her face and slid down the rest of her body, and if she wasn’t theirs before she was now.

“Doesn’t she feel good?” Patty said, voice muffled by the wall of dick around Rena. “Can you feel her? Can you feel her while you grind her and—”

“Shit!” Oscar cut in, voice urgent. “Patty, I- I’m gonna—”

A wet sloppy sound interrupted him, followed by a subsonic noise that almost wasn’t human.

“Cum,” Patty urged, “Do it, honey. Cum for us.”

The pressure flourished, rising slow and sure as dawn breaking over the edge of the world. Any space available to her diminished in portion, and soon the air turned thin and empty. The weight above wasn’t painful, but it was absolute, and the more she pushed and fought against the cock holding her down the more her energy left.


A husky laugh. “Careful not to drown her, love.”

Jizz dribbled down into the compact space available to Rena, and there was nowhere to run to, nowhere to crawl. A single massive hand scooped her up and through the brief visibility she had of the room, Rena made out Oscar, panting wildly and helpless in Patty’s hands as she squeezed Rena against the still throbbing cock like she were nothing but a toy. Cum covered her whole body, drenching her, and it was so much.

“Ah… ah… ah…”

Who was that, Oscar or Rena? At a certain point, covered in as much of him as she was, did it matter?

Oscar’s dick lifted up and away from her, rising through the air like a crane-lifted beam. Her skin tingled like a live wire as she watched, vulnerable and raw like no other time in her life.

Come back, she wanted to say. Wanted, but couldn’t, because she just felt numb and blissed.

Rena closed her eyes and fell into the sway of their breaths once more.

Yes, she was doomed from the moment she met them.

“I love you,” she whispered, too quiet for her lovers to hear, but meaningful all the same.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

KinkyScribble: Lift Me Up, Raise Me Gently

I’m jumping on the #KinkyScribble train here. Before I talk about this story and how it came to be, here’s some quick numbers

Writing: 2 hours and 15 minutes
Editing Time: 30 minutes

I think going forward this I’m going to stick to that 1/4 ratio of writing/editing time for a #KinkyScribble. I certainly could have spent a considerable amount of time touching this up, but I know myself and I know I would have wanted to expand this story up, which…is probably not what the story deserved.

It’s a story that deserves to be raw and unfiltered and which I think is better for the lack of polish. It certainly sprang from my head fast enough, so I can only assume it wanted to exist as is. I was just the vehicle by which this idea was written. So, forgive the rushed editing, haha.

Over on Twitter, the fantastic Elle Largesse (and if you aren’t already following her, stop and go do that now) posed the question of “What’s a size do [I] rarely explore?” and “What’s a thing [I] love to do at other sizes, that would be strange or significantly different at that size?”

My answer to that first one was “city-size” but really I actually have a bit of trouble with anything large than a small house. The sense of scale is so difficult to convey properly. So, for this scenario, I went for a happy medium between my usual size and a city.

My answer to the second was “visiting the spouse at work”

I hope you enjoy the story. Mind the tags please!

Content Warning: giant man, nsfw, sexy, cum, M/f, brief M/m, gentle, language, established relationship, mentions of toxic work environment

Estimated Reading Time: 17 mins

Clara smiled prettily at Todd, ignoring the way he gave her a once over in the middle of his conversation with his secretary, and sat down at her desk. She logged in to her computer and let herself enjoy the thirty seconds of peace before the five minutes of hell she needed to endure began.

She counted it out in her head.

Three… two… one…

“Clara, can I see you in my office?”

And there it was. Five minutes. That’s all she needed to wait out without breaking his teeth.

She affixed a perfect plastic smile to her face and said, “Sure thing, Todd.”

“It’s Mr. Hannigan now, dear.”

Opportunistic fucker, Clara thought instead.

If she hadn’t seen the proof of it herself, she’d never have believed Todd had gone over her head with the unfinished project she’d been working on presenting to the 42nd floor. The fucker had someone clone her entire system, including all the private files she’d been compiling for weeks, and he’d called in a favor to have a private meeting with the 42nd floor a full week before herself.

He hadn’t even scrubbed the most basic identifying details out of the various powerpoint presentations before claiming it as his own. It’s just that no one would believe it’d been her idea this whole time. Nor would they care. All they’d see is a brunette’s pair of tits instead of the business pantsuit and triple PhD’s.

Marco was right, she needed a new job.

Which is where today came in.

The door to Todd’s new office – what should have been her office – was heavy glass with a stainless steel handle. It and the entire wall offered the inhabitants a perfect clear-cut view of the floor, while obscuring the inside from the opposite direction through some one-way fog effect. It took every bit of restraint Clara had not to smash the door.

Todd sat in his chair. It was a lush, high-backed leather monstrosity. Clara hated it on sight.

“Please sit,” he said, gesturing to the fancy looking but uncomfortable guest chairs in front of his desk. The asshole specifically picked them out for their price and discomfort. Clara knew this because she overheard him bragging about it at the watercooler two days ago. Called it part of his assertive management style. “I have a concern about your progress.”

She stared at him. She catalogued every aspect of his face. The frat boy smugness that never sloughed off once he got his first taste of the real world, the arrogant confidence that came from thinking he got one over her and she was none the wiser.

“What about my progress, Todd?” she said. She made sure to enunciate everything perfectly. She’d put on her favorite shade of lipstick today – a ruby as vivid as her own rage – and judging by how Todd shifted in his seat, he’d noticed.

“Call me Mr. Hannigan, Clara,” Todd said. “I’m your superior now. I don’t want to be unprofessional.”

Clara tilted her head and smiled, not saying anything.

“Anyway, me and the guys up on forty-two-”

She counted the time out in her mental clock. About three minutes, she wagered.

“-we got to talking over drinks and-”

In the windows behind Todd, she saw the first sign. A tall, dark shape rising in the horizon. Dark shaggy hair as wild as a lion’s mane draping down its back. Debris tumbled down its shoulders like a living avalanche.

“-we’re thinking the timetable we’re on isn’t going to work.”

Clara tore her eyes away from the shape manifesting on the horizon. With the sun at her back, it was easy to dismiss the heat rising through her body as the result of poor chair positioning. Another Todd idea.

“What do you mean the timetable doesn’t work?” she said, one eye on Todd and another drinking in the sight of Marco stretching and reaching high for the heavens. He definitely overshot it with the serum, but it wasn’t like Clara was complaining.

“I mean, the guys like the idea, but they want the proof of concept out faster. I mean, we’re talking about something that’ll revolutionize our entire industry. We can’t let it fester in the pipeline for too long. Corporate espionage is a thing.”

Oh, she knew that. Sitting in front of her was the human garbage that proved it.

One minute, maybe less. The floor trembled a little more with every one of Marco’s strides.

“Hey, Todd?”

Todd drew himself up, trying to look intimidating and just looking constipated.

“Really, Clara, you can’t keep calling me Todd anymore. I know you have a little crush on me from when I used to work under you-”

Ugh, someone gag her. Quick.

“-but this informality isn’t appropriate. I am in a happily committed relationship with Janet-”

Janet broke up with him just last week. Something about how he thought oral was “too demeaning” for men and didn’t ever let her get a word in. Clara had no problem believing it. Todd had the attitude of someone who thought sex started with his balls and ended with his pecker.

“-and I can’t let anything impede my career here. A supervisor and employee relationship-”

A shadow blotted out the window. The massive form of her husband’s pelvic V enshrouded the entire floor to ceiling glass. 

“Hi honey!” said a voice like thunder.

Clara jolted in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to be so loud.

Todd, for his part, yelped and fell out of his chair.

She stood from her chair and walked over to the small open aperture in the floor to ceiling window to open it fully, pushing the panel out enough to let a gust of wind in. Her breath caught just from getting this close to him, to the enormous heat emanating from Marco’s core. Despite the plan, she couldn’t help but stare at just how fucking huge he was.

Definitely overshot on the dose. 

She wasn’t complaining.

“What the- what the fuck!?” Todd said, pulling himself up. He raised a trembling hand outside. “What the fuck is that?”

Marco chuckled and he seemed to grow a little more from the attention. Clara was mesmerized, watching him and every part of him grow in proportion. His ascent brought his engorged cock, larger than a goddamn pickup truck just about level with their floor. It stood erect, hard and enchanting, and Clara exhaled, realizing she’d been looking forward to this part most, seeing him loom larger than life over the place that had been sucking so much from her life for the past ten years.

“Hey handsome,” Clara said breathily.

“My eyes are up here,” Marco chided from way on high. He didn’t sound too bothered.

“I said what I said.”

The dick twitched and swung just close enough to brush against the window with its tip. The glass creaked, screeched in its sidings, before the enormous penis swung back. It left a thick trail of pre-cum hanging between it and the glass, like some enormous spit trail from a super-sized kiss.

It’s more cum than she’s had inside her in her entire life.

“You get to the good part yet?” Marco called down. Or whispered. It was hard to tell with how gigantic he was.

“Not yet,” she said, sticking her head out and looking up at him. She could barely make out his features against the bright shining sun. He looked like a colossus, a thing of old given form and woken from his deepest slumber. “I was just getting there.”

A hum filled the air like a low-string symphony. Marco moaned high above, gripping the top railing of the building for the vaguest amount of support he could get without toppling the thing over.

“You – fuck, I’m massive – better hurry up then,” he said, grunting between words. His entire upper body was working in unison, gulping down air to cool himself down. “You never mentioned – god this feels so good – how horny I’d get.” As if in response, his hips bucked and thrusted forward just a little. Not enough to breach the glass, but close enough Clara wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.

It was such a miniscule movement to him, that he probably couldn’t tell, but it was the thing of dreams for Clara.

And a thing of nightmares to Todd, who let out the closest thing to an animal squeal she’d ever heard from a human and crawled as far back as possible from the cock, tossing his chair and knocking a lamp off his desk in the process.

“Get it away, get it away,” Todd gibbered, hair askew and eyes too wide with panic.

“Oh shut up,” Clara said, addressing him for the first time since Marco showed up. “It’s just a dick. You have one too, last I recall.”

Todd looked from the Then making careful thrusting motions and the enormous human blocking his entire office view to Clara. “What did you do?” he accused, trying for some kind of authoritarian voice.

I didn’t do anything,” Clara said. She smiled prettily at him, just like when she came into the office earlier. Then she glanced outside and couldn’t stop herself from licking her lips. Marco’s entire head would be enough to pin her down and the more she thought about it the more she wanted it. She wanted to be utterly covered by her husband’s cock, as effortlessly by him as he put on clothes in the morning. “I just moved up the timetable, Todd.”

She watched him repeat the words to himself, for once in control of himself since the sight of the giant man outside ruined his peaceful morning. 

“Move up the timeta-” his eyes widened even further, somehow, “- you bitch! You psychotic whore! What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid c-”

Marco, who’d been serving as the best kind of fetish fuel for Clara, growled. The noise was inhuman, traveling down the building like a waterfall of disgust and seemed to sock Todd in the gut, who paled to the point of sickness and trembled.

“Finish that sentence,” Marco said. The building didn’t tremble, nor did it shake; it just went eerily still. Even with the klaxons and alarms sounding in the distance, Clara couldn’t hear enough except the world-shuddering rumble of her husband’s restrained fury. “Finish that sentence, Todd, I fucking dare you.” 

Massive fingers, each the size of a couch, tapped against the window glass. Loud booms echoed in the office, prompting Todd to let out jittery cries with each one. In the corner of her eye, Clara saw the last of her coworkers disappear down the stairwell. They were the last two on the floor.

“W-why?” Todd said, when Marco stopped at last. He directed the question at Clara. “Why?”

Clara looked down at him, in his rumpled suit, tear-tracked face, and pathetic fragile ego who thought she wouldn’t fight back against his betrayal. That she’d just take it, like some demented doll.

She’d prepared a list of things to tell him. An honest to god speech. She’d thought she would relish this moment when it came. Rub his nose in it the way he’d shoved her face in his promotion.

Him, shown up and broken down into an idiotic mess just by the mere appearance of something of her own design, her proud and admittedly very horny for her giant husband, stroking himself outside to stave off his uncontrollable arousal to hump the building into submission.

“I don’t owe you anything,” she said at last. “Least of all an explanation.”

Outside, Marco’s jubilant laughter buoyed her already soaring spirits. God, she was so done with this place. With Todd. With this whole fucking company.


Clara ignored him and made her way over to the window again. She stuck her head out the window and called, “Hey honey? Change of plans, I’m done with this place.”

Marco groaned, and she could hear it in his voice how close he was getting. He was trying so hard, just for her, and perhaps paradoxically, that made her feel powerful. 

“A-are you sure?” he said, hunching down. His long hair draped his magnificent face like a waterfall – tan, a hint of stubble, and dark eyes as wildly horny as she felt. “I-I can still hold on, Clara. If you want to mess with him…”

“No.” Clara shook her head, unsure if he could even see such minor details at his size. “No, he’s not worth it. I can think of much better things to do with my time.”

Marco’s breath came in pants and grunts now, and his cock looked so hard it was fit to burst any second. His free hand kept going up and down his shaft at a ridiculously slow pace, gripping hard and gentle to prolong this as much as possible. He grunted, closed his eyes, and re-opened them.

“So what now?” he asked.

He was already at the edge, she could tell, but she admired Marco’s self-control. She’d vastly underestimated the effect the serum would have on him. Either that, or he found the situation just as mind-numbingly hot as she did, in which case, she and he were going to spend a good long while exploring this new aspect of their relationship before she started at her newest job.

An idea struck her.

“Pick me up!” she said, hanging the top half of her body out the window, arms outspread. 

They never talked about this part, never even had the chance to practice handling protocols but it didn’t matter, because Marco, gentler than anyone could say a man of his stature would guess, easily plucked from her spot. There was a brief thrill of weightlessness, lost amidst the utter care and affection she could feel in Marco’s grip. She felt more secure in hand grip than any elevator she’d ever ridden.

Two fingers pinching her gently switched into a cupped palm around her, and still she felt protected, safe in his power. The hand holding her was careful to raise her so as not to whip her through the air, but soon she came face to face with her gargantuan husband. He pinned her in place with his stare, hungry and loving, even as he continued his soft, slow jerks on his cock, edging closer to a release.

“What now?” he whispered, and it was a little like being proposed to all over again. A bright blue sky, a summer sun harsh enough to scald skin, and a vast future, waiting to unfold.

She told him what she wanted. Marco’s eyes lit up and the curl of his smile would lift her spirits for years to come.

He deposited her down on the base of his cock, taking care to catch her in case she lost her grip. She struggled to mount the absolute behemoth he’d been working up this entire time, and as she straddled the shaft, her thighs rubbing against a particularly throbbing vein, Clara couldn’t stop the giddy laugh that escaped her.

Todd stood in the window where Marco had grabbed her from. He stood in the opening, mouth agape, looking lost and ever so punchable.

Clara pressed herself against Marco, putting as much of herself against the enormous dick as she could and still coming up short. Marco was already large before the serum, but now he was absolutely stunning.

“Go!” she yelled, laughing with glee as Marco resumed stroking. He started just above the base, barely an inch from where her head laid against him, and went up and down in patient yet eager movements.

She began grinding against the dick, feeling his heat against her core, the slickness that dribbled down his shaft engulf her.

Todd choked.

“God, honey,” Marco boomed, a giant in the sky and all hers. “God, you feel so good.”

She couldn’t even hope to wrap her entire arms around him, but she tried anyway. She felt the pressure building beneath her, a coil and tension that would flood a small pond, and she delighted in it, in causing all this.

She heard banging. Looking up, along the shaft of her gigantic husband, she caught sight of Todd slamming his fist, shoulders, body against his glass door. He was locked in his office.


“Fuck,” Marco roared for the entire city to hear, hunching over. His eyes were half-lidded, lost in pleasure, but still he held for her. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Cum,” she whispered into his flesh. Feeling the crescendo that would mark the end of her old life. “Come on, honey, cum!”

His release came like a tsunami. Marco aimed his head right at the little opening he’d plucked her out of and came stronger than she’d ever seen him cum before. Jizz exploded out of him hard enough to rattle the windows of the entire building, and even knock a couple loose, but Clara didn’t care about that. She felt every monumental twitch and throb with her entire body like nothing ever before and it was nothing short of wonderful, an adult-rated thrill ride just for her.

Marco’s cum splattered against the entire side of Todd’s office, most of it jettisoning straight into the open window. It shot across the room, covering everything possible, but more importantly slammed right into Todd, who fell back against his door in shock or awe. Pgoing to both.

It was an event for the history books, the largest amount of cum deposited in a single shot, yet all Clara could think of as Marco carefully lifted her from his still hard member – walking through the city like it was fine china and in the direction of their ranch house out in the country – was how much she couldn’t wait to break that record.

“What’re you thinking,” Marco rumbled, adroitly sidestepping some fire trucks on the way to her former office building.

Clara smiled up at him. She was hot, a little jittery from nerves, arousal, and the confrontation, but right then, that moment, she wouldn’t trade anything for what she already had. “Nothing.”

“You’re always thinking something.”

“Well, now I’m not.”

Marco huffed. “Well, I’m thinking something.”

Clara craned to look up at him properly. He was focused on the horizon, on the ground below, taking care and stepping in the empty spots that he could, but she could still feel the intensity of his attention, like a weighted blanket. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he said, twisting and finally breaking free from the hot mess that was downtown. She knew there would be problems to sort out later, damages to be paid to the city, but all she cared about was him. And their life from then on forward. “I’m thinking about how I’m going to have you all to myself for the next, I dunno, how about a month?”

“That… that sounds nice, yeah.” Clara closed her eyes and draped herself across his open palm. “Fuck Todd. Fuck the job. Fuck that company.”

Marco guffawed. “I’m pretty sure I just did.”

She groaned. “God, over three hundred feet tall and you’re still a giant dork!”

“Love you, Clara.”

“Yeah.” She couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. The expanse of the world was all that awaited them now. “I love you too, dork.”

It Begins With a Smile

This was my entry for the quarterly SizeRiot contests – specifically GiantJuly19 – organized by AborigenGTS. I was pretty surprised with how good it did, personally. It managed to entice the readers of that contest enough to name it one of the most attractive/arousing of the entire lot.

Link to SizeRiot

Link to GiantJuly19 Stories

This version of the story has about an extra 270 words, and a lot more editing, and hopefully it conveys each characters’ circumstances a bit more.

If you’re interested in the original story that complied with the word limit, and how incredibly haphazard my editing for that one was, please click the above link to find it. There are some fantastic stories in that collection, and it makes me glad to see giant men explored.

I remember thinking I wanted to put a little spin on the topic for that month, which was the idea of a “First Date”. It didn’t take long to brainstorm the idea, which is good because I think I wrote it all in around 5-6 hours of non-stop, frantic writing.

One thing I recall I especially enjoyed with this story was describing how absolutely smitten both the main characters are from the start, because you know what, first impressions are important. Like the title says, a lot of times it really does just begin with a smile. And despite the overwhelming physical disparity between the two, I wanted to place the two on something of a level playing field somehow: Talos with his relative isolation, and Lynd with his fascination.

Content Warning: giant man, tiny/shrunken man, gentle, M/m, brief F/m interaction, NSFW, mentions of past violence

Estimated Reading Time: 11 minutes

Despite the circumstances of his predicament, Lynd could admit the grounds were gorgeous. They stretched beyond his sight; the borders obscured by distance and fading into blurs as his eyes watered from trying to take it all in. The expanse of the royals’ lands was breathtaking.

In another life Lynd would’ve loved to capture the view on a canvas. Without all the jostling and haphazard bumping of his transportation.

Said transport, a low-class servant judging from her drab gray dress, cupped him closer to her body as she traversed over a vast canyon which to her probably counted as a stream. Lynd winced as his ears popped from the change in elevation.

Finally, after being thrown around in the cage that was her palm, the servant stopped. Precious seconds of peace.

There was an expectant air, followed by a hum. That hum culminated in an offended huff after a few moments of no response.

“Sir, your guest has arrived.”

Lynd frowned and tried to force the servant’s hand open so he could see his host. Her grip, dainty as her fingers seemed, was unbreakable.

A soft baritone voice chuckled. “You can let him down, Marisol.”

Lynd’s breath burst from his lungs as the servant pressed him closer to her dress and pivoted, as if to shield him from the speaker.

“I won’t harm our little guest, my dear.” The words were gentle, but the tone was warning. “But I won’t repeat myself a second time. Put him down.

What followed was more akin to thunder than any human sound Lynd ever heard. It ran through Marisol’s body like the promise of a hurricane on the horizon. After a second of hesitation she released Lynd from against her mud-stained dress. Then the hands that were his cage lifted him up and unfurled, gentler than a spring flower on the precipice of bloom.

Lynd squinted against the onset of light and noise, grateful for the reprieve. When his vision cleared, he saw something even more astonishing than the mountain ranges and valleys that served as the garden they now stood in.

A giant three- no, four times larger than Marisol. Whereas the servant woman was casually enormous compared to Lynd, this man was vast. Anything short of superlatives would do him a disservice. 

With hair like captured midnight, and the sharply cut cheeks of his bloodline, the giant rose from his lying position and propped himself up on both hands.

“Well met, Prince Lynd,” the giant purred.

Lynd swore. That immense size… there was no one else it could be.

Talos’ stare was beatific as he locked stares with Lynd. The royal court’s infamous bastard prince was a standard human in appearance: he had the same general shape – a head, a body, and all the associated limbs – but whether by sheer size or simple aesthetics Talos’ form, propped up on arms thicker than the largest of tree trunks back home, demanded attention.

Talos’ lips pulled back in coquettish amusement. “Judging by your reaction, I suppose this arrangement was sprung on you as well?”

Lynd floundered, trying to find the right words amidst the rising sea of inspiration that threatened to overcome him. 

By the empty sky, no one had ever told him Talos was gorgeous in addition to heart-stoppingly massive.

“Prince Lynd?”

After a few more seconds of his tongue stuck in his throat, Lynd recovered and said, “It wasn’t sprung on me so much as I was thrown into it. By catapult.”

Talos blinked, and then threw his head back, laughing. His voice was thunderous and deafening, and it felt less like a man’s laugh than a force of nature’s. The closest sound Lynd could compare it to was his stepfather’s favored war drums.

He was just glad he’d thought to grab some wax from his stores and stuff it into his ears before his stepfather, the king, ordered him to leave posthaste.

“Come, come, join me!” Talos patted his bare chest, burned bronze with the blessings of a life unconstrained by walls or darkness. “There’s plenty of me to spare!”

The woman holding Lynd twitched at the statement. “Sir, I must insist-”

“Marisol, you’re still here?” Talos interrupted, his smile as white and blinding as the sun. “Do you wish to keep me company during an official function again?”

For all her attempts at composure, Lynd was in a prime position to see her reaction. He turned and saw Marisol glance down the length of Talos’ body and stare at the loincloth covering the mass of something immense. Luminous pink crawled up from her neckline as she stiffened at the suggestion.

“Forgive me, Milord,” Marisol muttered, bowing her head. In a low breath, she added, “Brute.”

Talos moved

A split-second heartbeat of terror for Marisol tore through Lynd and he flinched awaiting the giant’s response and-

Marisol squeaked and Lynd’s world was thrown askew as she clutched at him. Scrambling, Lynd reoriented himself and stared up at the giant’s outstretched hand which was… cupping Marisol’s face?

“I heard that,” Talos chided, smiling softly. He let go of her face, reverting to his lounging position. “Now, why don’t you run along now before someone important thinks you care for this brute.”

Marisol placed Lynd on the edge of Talos’ abdomen, clearly reluctant. She fussed over him for a second before Talos cleared his throat, eliciting a girlish eep from the servant. He dismissed her with a gruff grunt and a swiping gesture that, back in Lynd’s homeland, would have toppled a good section of a forest.

“She’s protective of your kind, our Mari,” Talos said as he and Lynd stared after the woman, disappearing over the bridged ravine. It was impossible not to notice how alive the surface he stood on was. “And around me especially. Sadly, I can’t say it’s not without good reason.”

Lynd tried to pin down why his heart was lurching in his chest. It currently resided somewhere in the valley of petrifying terror and dazzling enchantment.

He forced himself to swallow and reply, even as he started walking along the rippling surface of Talos’ midriff. “Her concern is why this is happening. Who’d have thought our kingdoms would ever entertain peace? Though, having the Butcher of the Plains be the emissary…”

“Ludicrous, no?” Talos relinquished his sitting position and laid back down, arm under his head. Lynd threw himself against him so as to not fall off. It was like the earth was alive and, even worse, feeling playful. “Almost as insane as sending the youngest of the Blessed Seven to meet said Butcher for the opening talks. No retinue in sight.”

He raised a good point. Lynd’s stepfather had set him up.

Talos raised an outstretched hand to the sky. Lynd traced the lines of the man’s arm in his mind’s eye. There was so much to capture. Too much. He’d need a lifetime to ingrain all of the man’s body respectfully, without insulting the masterpiece. Talos was the perfect blend of softness of the human condition combined with the angular rigidity of a warrior.

There he went, sinking into his thoughts. Despite the clear and present danger of the most infamous monster of recent years, Lynd kept getting distracted. At this rate his heart would prove more dangerous to himself than Talos.

“My family won’t be happy to learn you were appointed as emissary,” Lynd warned. “They won’t abide the insult.”

“And mine will be all the happier for it,” Talos sighed. He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes, and propped a hand behind his head to look down at Lynd, who was navigating the treacherous and warm terrain that was his host’s chest. “Last I knew, you had no formal training beyond some tutoring in Magicks.”

He let the unspoken question hang, even as Lynd climbed up the trough between Talos’ pectorals. Every step was coiling, tense, but he gained confidence with every inch of progress.

When he finally reached the Talos’ collarbone, Lynd looked up. Talos was focusing on him with an intense expression that would have singed a human. As it was, it stunned Lynd into gaping at the man’s beautiful features, eyes like almonds and the color of dark chocolate, before he regained his senses.

The mention of Magick brought memories of fractured friendships and lost dreams. He’d always been a poor student. “My talents lie elsewhere than the arcane.”

“Don’t suppose it would be diplomacy?” Without even checking to see if it was okay, Talos brought his immense hand up to Lynd, and brushed him with a graze of his fingers. Lynd, in turn, tumbled down the vast angled cliff he’d just climbed, coming to a stop in the amphitheater formed by Talos’ raised legs and his abdomen. Talos continued, unfazed by Lynd’s fall. “Did your king purposefully send his most inexperienced and least valuable prince to wreak havoc on these peace talks?”

“Just important enough to die, but not useful enough to live,” Lynd repeated the phrase he overheard around the kitchens whenever he left his room for some snacks. “Such is the fate of the sparest of heirs. Unwanted by the crown, unknown to the people.”

Talos stilled, conflict fleeting across his face before he resumed his normal insouciance. “They expect me to kill you.”

“They expect someone to kill me, not necessarily you.” Lynd wasn’t sure why but he had to make sure Talos understood the distinction. He wasn’t what Lynd had expected. He was calmer, for one. Magnificent, for another. “I imagine they’d be surprised your maid didn’t crush me on sight.”

“Marisol is a gentle woman,” Talos offered. “She’s mouthy, and oversteps her bounds half the time, but she is one of the few able to come near me without running in terror. She would never hurt another soul.”

It seemed he was done laying down, because soon Lynd was rolling and struggling to right himself as Talos lifted, rising into a proper sitting position, bent legs spread. Lynd had lived through earthquakes more peaceful than Talos rising, but the experience was infinitely more exhilarating. What kind of change could a being like Talos enact if they so wished? Not with magic, not with steel, but pure physical power.

“It would seem then we’re at an impasse,” Lynd said at last, stopping his vantage search to admire the hard lines and creases in Talos’ skin. The loincloth rested loosely between Talos’ thighs, but there was no mistaking the mind-numbing heat that emanated from beneath the covering. “My people and your people both wish to sabotage these peace talks, and yet here we are, both absolutely miserable at it.”

Talos’ chest rumbled with assent. “Truly, we are terrible negotiators. What say you to a truce?”

“A truce within a truce?”

“An actual truce. My father thinks himself the grand politicker, and me the brutish warrior. Naturally, I take umbrage with his opinion of me.” Carefully, deliberately, Talos spread his legs further apart. Both ends of the loincloth now draped over his mammoth member. “And clearly there is more to me than you expected.”

Lynd’s eyes fixed on Talos’ risen cock, barely hidden by the cloth anymore. He couldn’t resist the urge to be cheeky. “A lot more.”

Talos laughed. “Oh, I like you! Most people are afraid when they see me at my proudest. But you! You only see a summit to climb!”

It was dangerous, how much his praise stoked feelings Lynd long thought lost to him. Pride. Giddiness. Lust.

“But still, what say you? Wouldn’t a sunset without war be kind for once?” Talos’ expression turned melancholic as he looked out at the sun on the horizon. “I tire of bloodshed, my dear prince. So very much. These talks… they could change things. For real.”

“I-” Lynd hesitated. It was ludicrous. He understood what Talos was hinting at, how could he not, but as enticing as an indulgent bacchanalia sounded, he had something to say. One burning wish, taking up space in his chest. “Before I agree to this, I’d like to make a request.”

That piqued Talos’ interest. He was massive and encompassing on all sides, his sheer scent and presence effusing Lynd’s own logical and restrained compulsions.

“Before I leave, before I go back and report our…. success, I’d like to do one thing.”

Talos face was massive. Lynd would need days just to capture the outlines of his features. “Do tell, little prince.”

“I want to paint you.”

Confusion and then shock graced the man’s features. For the first time, true vulnerability lingered in the air. “That is a most unusual request.”

The tension remained. Lynd shrugged helplessly. “I’m an unusual person.”

“You’re a very small person,” Talos teased. He was dodging the question. “What are you? About the width of my finger? So much courage in such a small body.”

One of Talos’ fingers brushed down, and knocked Lynd on his back, but instead of offense, he couldn’t help the bubbling of laughter rising in his chest. He bravely batted the giant’s probing digit away and stared up at his newest compatriot in uncharacteristic challenge. “Well? What say you, Talos?”

“Any attempt worth the effort would take weeks, months even.” Talos warned, but he didn’t sound discouraged. Only exultant.

“Then it’s a good thing our people have so many troubles to address, I expect we will need to meet many times in the coming months.” Lynd stood, emboldened by Talos’ presence and his own intoxicating aura. “We have to be thorough, after all.”

“Thorough,” Talos repeated slowly, before the curl of a grin appeared once more. “Of course. Thorough.”