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: gender neutral tiny, 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.

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.”


So this story was made in something of a rush. It’s gone through about twice as much editing time as it actually took to write at this point, and once I realized it I decided to to cut it short there, before this turned into another multi-thousand WIP that never sees the light of day.

Alas, in favor of actually giving something back to the community, I decided to cut it a little short.

The main idea behind the execution of this story was to just pick up with something without needing to give the relevant characters intricate backstories to bog down the reader. It’s just meant to be a glimpse, a peek behind the curtains if you will, of these three’s particular lives. Not to say that I won’t re-use them at some point.

Content Warning: NSFW, Growth, Shrink, M/ff, Poly relationship, Language, gentle

Estimated Reading Time: 14 minutes

“Sit still.”

The woman in front of him turns around and gives him a strange look.

“Sorry!” Mara says, coming to his rescue. She grabs Enrique’s hand and holds it up, the picture of a couple still in the honeymoon stage. “I’ve been wanting to see this movie for so long. I’ve just been driving him up the wall.”

The woman stares at the two of them, skeptical, but a not-so-quiet curse from the teens she’d been corralling draws her attention away.

“Thanks,” Enrique says, turning his attention back to the wriggling shape in his shirt. He taps his chest with his palm, firmly pressing the tiny woman inside his chest pocket against him.  “And you, stop moving around like that. People are getting suspicious.”

There’s no way for Ava to respond – not without giving away her presence – but her answering wiggles come across a lot more defiant and bratty than before.

Enrique sighs and turns to Mara in her floral print top and summer sweet smile. “Next time, you get to be the mule.”

She shrugs, remarking, “Fine by me. You know how she gets when you shrink her down like that. I thought you’d keep her somewhere where she’d make less trouble, if you catch my drift. Not your shirt pocket.”

He eyes her, unimpressed. “Last time we did that I ripped up my favorite outfit. You know I can’t control it when either of you get me going like that.”

“You poor thing.” Mara says nothing more until after she blithely smiles her whole order to the register and they’re let through the security check. As soon as they’re just out of earshot she turns to him and says, “I’m just saying, being trapped in an elevator with your cock and balls pinning me to a wall while she’s desperately trying to get you off? Sign me the fuck up.”

Enrique stumbles, stands upright, and fakes a cough. No one around pays them any mind, but he still feels exposed like this.

He glares at Mara. “You’re the devil.”

“Guilty,” she admits, composed. “Though I’d check myself first before accusing anyone of sin. Been having lustful thoughts lately, Enrique?” She punctuates this with a cursory nod and not-so-significant glance down at his crotch.

And then she beelines for the empty register at the snack bar, robbing him of a retort.

He groans, planting a palm against his forehead. “She’s going to be the death of me,” he mutters, aloud and to no one in particular.

Ava wiggles against his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s in agreement or because she’s throwing her lot in with Mara.

When Mara returns, it’s with a single bottle of water.

The next clerk checks Mara’s shoulder strap bag before waving them through the next partition, where all the theatres live. Though they’re early he and Mara enter the dim room, their conversation hushing as they listen for anyone else: other patrons or even any straggling cleaners.

“… okay, you’re good, babe,” Enrique whispers into the darkness. 

On cue, a miniature redhead pokes her head out of his pocket, supporting herself against the lip of his pocket.

“You jerk,” Ava says, kicking her heel back against him. He’s felt rain drops hit harder. “My leg was falling asleep. That’s why I was moving.”

“Sure you were,” Mara comments as they walk up the stairs to their seats. “I’ve seen you masturbate under the sheets, Ava, I know what it looks like when you’re getting off.”

Enrique isn’t looking at Ava when Mara says this, but he too knows Ava’s body feels like when she’s riding high from being the size of a quarter. He thought there’d been something familiar about her movements.

“Ava! What the hell! We could have gotten caught!”

Ah, he says that but the thought of her touching herself, pressed tight against his body like that…

His collar slides around his throat as he swells just a little larger.

Mara laughs, ever the pot-stirrer. “Try saying that when you don’t look like you’re about to pop that zipper off with your dick, love.”

“We should have just stayed home if you two were going to be like this.” He tries to surreptitiously adjust himself as they ascend the last step, but Mara’s knowing look back at him tells him how well he succeeds at that. “The only reason we did this tonight is because you didn’t want to pay full price for the three of us. I was fine with a night in, getting the fireplace going-”

Lips – sweet, delicious and hanging with a faint fragrance of cherries – interrupt him mid-sentence.

Ava squeaks, suddenly trapped between their two massive bodies. She writhes in place, pressed between Enrique and Mara, helpless and subject to their whims and gooseflesh broke out along his skin at the sensation. Mara runs a hand through his dark hair, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his jawline, before breaking off and looking up at him.

“Losing control there,” she says, hand against his chest, cupping Ava’s pocket. Before he can answer, Mara plucks her up and out of his pocket like a flower from a field. The tiny woman struggles on instinct, but soon turns pliant and putty. “Gotta be careful there, Ri. Wouldn’t want to lose little Ava.”

Enrique groans, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shakes his head to clear the thoughts running rampant and trudges his way down the aisle, dropping into his assigned seat with a thump that shakes the floor.

He looks out at the empty theatre. “You know, it’s pretty empty here. Almost like someone planned this.”

“Imagine that,” Mara says. 

There’s a wicked look in her eye as she passes Ava from hand to hand, rolling her tiny body over and over and running her fingers over every inch. Or half-inch, as the case was. 

Ava protests feebly, but that’s lost amidst Mara’s hums of pleasure.

They sat down next to him, Mara looking comparatively shorter than five minutes ago and Ava, so small as to fit spread eagle on the tip of one of his fingers.

He eyes his shrunken girlfriend in his fiancee’s hands. “Sounds like a certain someone whose turn it was to arrange date night this week.”

“Who could that have been?” Mara pinches Ava between her thumb and forefinger, rolling her back and forth along her thumb pad like a miniaturized stress toy. She dangles the little redhead from one foot in front of her face. “Who do you think it was, Ava?”

“Fuck,” Ava gasps, swaying. Even in the poorly lit room he sees the full-body flush of exertion and arousal, clear as day. “Fuck, Mara. Do that again.”

Mara contemplates this request before she complies, trapping Ava between her fingers once more.

He’d allowed himself some slack when picking out his clothing, but even so the slow steady rise of his shirt hem from his slacks and the cramped space in his shoes were evident how much of a failure that was.

And there was Mara still playing with Ava in hand, planting warm wet kisses against the shrunken woman’s form with something akin to hungry pleasure.

“Give her here,” he growls out. His voice escapes louder than intended, but that’s only because it’s taking everything he has not to grow further.

Mara drops Ava into his outstretched hand, and he’s right. With a grunt, he pulls at his collar, unbuttoning the top two buttons so he doesn’t choke in his own clothing. He rips his shoes off with gusto with his free hand and spends an inordinate amount of time eyeing the woman whose turn it was to be small tonight.

“What to do, what to do,” he thinks aloud. Ava stands up in his palm to look at him and, on a whim, he lets out a soft exhale, blowing her down as easily as a dandelion seed. “I have to keep you somewhere safe…”

He trails off as Mara slides down to her knees in front of him. Her dark tresses drape across his thigh as she trails kisses along the inseam.

“I can think of somewhere for her,” she murmurs, reaching his crotch.

He cups Mara’s face briefly. He’s large enough now that his palm covers half side of her head, the seat armrests struggling to contain his hips as he steadily grows to fill the space it affords him and more. In his other hand, Ava crawls over to the side of his palm, gaping down at the floor falling further away from her.

The wooden frame of the chair creaks ominously as he shifts forward, letting Mara pull down at his pantline, freeing him from its confines. Relief strikes him then as his cock is liberated from its hold, before pure unassailable desire floods through him as it smacks Mara in the cheek.

“You’re…massive.” Mara leans back and looks him up and down, craning her neck. “I can’t even get out of here unless I crawl under your legs, you’re literally blocking my way out.”

Enrique chuckles. “And what about you, Ava? Am I too big?”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He tilts his hand and watches her tumble, free-falling for the barest second, before coming to a sudden landing on his shaft. She bounces, rolling down at a steep incline, before she corrects herself and stops, midway down his shaft, pressed against him like she were a mountain climber and he her mountain.

Mara scoots in, hesitant. Despite her earlier teasing she too is a little awed and intimidated by him at this size, where his ass is taking up the entire loveseat theatre chairs. Squinting against the dim light, she leans in closer to his cock, her own breaths coming in short and heavy.

“She’s grinding against you,” Mara says, mouth dropping open into a smile. “Oh my god. Look at her, she’s barely holding on, but I can hear her. Heya hun.” She presses Ava against him, and he jerks at the electrical shock of pleasure from just being touched. “Are you enjoying yourself? Are you really getting off in a movie theatre?”

Mara’s grip doesn’t fit across Enrique’s entire base anymore, but that still doesn’t stop her from beginning to stroke him. Up and down, soft but firm. He imagines he can feel Ava, trapped in her grip, stuck and helpless against his dick while Mara jerks him off.

“You’re such a tiny little slut,” Mara continues. For all that he’s grown over twice his size now, she’s fascinated with Ava, shrunken and helpless for the evening. “You enjoy rubbing against his cock like this, hun? Can you even feel her, Ri?”

“Not at all,” he huffs. He adjusts his seating, hearing the crunching of wood and fabric as he slides forward a little more to not bump his head on the ceiling. This plants Mara against his crotch, and he shudders at her gasp and reflexive grip of his inner thigh. “Keep going.”

He hears Mara swallow, but soon her ministrations upon him resume, and he bites his lip to not let out the rumble of pleasure building in his chest. She’s pinned now, no room to even eke out a getaway like before. His thighs come down on both sides of her head now, and her previously done up hair is a mess as she continues to jerk him in both hands, Ava’s little mewls of pleasure punctuating the seconds.

“I could- I could just grow. Fill this whole room. Forget the movie,” He says and wonder why he does. He’s never grown larger than this before.

Mara’s motions don’t skip a beat but he feels her grip on him tighten. “You’d…be enormous. Can you even get that big?”

He closes his eyes, biting back the groan as Mara’s hands now fail to cover his girth with both hands. “I don’t know. I’ve never gotten that big before. Used to – fuck, keep going – shrinking others.”

“…do you want to?”

“I don’t know.”

Mara stops. The cheeky, incorrigible woman stops. He can’t stop the thundering noise of displeasure, of need that escapes him, but she doesn’t back down. She looks up at him, defiant and glorious, as beautiful as the dawn, and she holds his cock in both hands as she says. “I want you to.”

The words have an immediate, almost narcotic, effect.

“Bigger,” she says, commencing her strokes. The fire building in his gut is rapidly encompassing everything he knows. “I want you bigger. Big enough to fill this room. Big enough to make me look as small as Ava.

“Where- where is she?” he gasps. He’d gotten too carried away, and lost track of her.

“Right here.” Mara holds up the tiny – miniature to him – woman. Ava’s a sodden, flushed mess, and even from his vantage point he can see the legacy twitches of an orgasm. Mara picks up the young woman lovingly, and kisses her back to coherence. “Well, love? What do you say? Want to see him get bigger? Grow? Want to see how big that-”

Ava rouses from her exhaustion to say something. Enrique’s too large to hear her, but he’s not so large as to miss the look of absolute delight cross Mara’s face.

“What? What did she say?” If she said yes, Enrique didn’t think he’d have the willpower to refuse them.

Mara drops Ava onto his crotch. She disappears into his pubic hair and his eyes lose track of her. With a grunt of effort, Mara pries herself up, climbing onto his thigh. She walks along until she came to the incline that is his abdomen. The movie theatre darkens, the first sign of previews.

In the darkness of the room he can almost believe it’s just the three of them at home now. Ava, tired but still enthusiastic, Mara in charge for the evening, and him so achingly willing and ready to care for the both of them, whatever may come. Even if it were him.

Mara voice reaches him, carrying tidings of his fortune.

“Ava agrees.”

As the crescendo and drums of the first preview comes on, Enrique closes his eyes.

“Next time,” he mutters, “I get to pick date night.”

Mara laughs, husky, already wrapping herself around his growing member. “Oh babe, It’s Ava’s turn next time, and now that she knows how big you can make someone? Just think.”

He does. The possibilities both thrill and arouse him.

“Now, are you going to grow for me, Ri?” Mara plants a single lava-hot kiss that spreads heat through the rest of him. “I want you fucking enormous. Fuck these chairs. Fuck this room. Fuck this movie. I want you to grow.”

Little Mary’s Strings

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

Link to SizeRiot

Link to CruelJan20 Stories

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

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

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

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

Estimated Reading Time: 10 minutes

The sky’s red here.


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

It’s absolutely stunning. 

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

ur ex live there?

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

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

he sux, right?

No, she doesn’t.

tht's hot

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

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


go say hi

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

it'll be sexy

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

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

who cares

She doesn’t. Does she?

step on that car

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

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

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

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


even better
Ur so much bigger than hi.m

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

She doesn’t even feel the driver underfoot.

No. Oh god no.

not god

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

grind your foot, it’ll feel good

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

lmao look at that guy

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

pick him up

He’s dying. He needs help.

stick him ur pussy

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

do it
do it
do it
Fucking do it u bitch

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

this is awesome lol

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

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

u likke it 

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

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

find ur ex

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

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

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

kick that truck

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

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

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

She’s a person, right?

jump on that house

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

rofl their so tiny

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

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

She fails.

makke her beg

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

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


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

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

plz stop fighting
U like this, right?
then stop

She hates this.

fuck u
pick tha guy up

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

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

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

put him between ur boobs

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

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

omg sexy
U r sooooo big uwu

She’s disgusting.

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

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

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

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

go find robin

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

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

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

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

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


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

Did they even survive the drop, she wonders.

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

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

pick up the bus

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

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

lick it

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

now stick it in ur pussy


Is there even a point to this…

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

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


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

u stupid slut!

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


grab her


eat her


step on her, goddess