THE MILLER’S DAUGHTER

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“Belinda! Stand still, you silly beastie - yeowch!”

Abe Miller stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth. Belinda, the Miller family’s fat white nanny goat, screeched and clacked her teeth at him. She was in no mood for a milking, and she was letting him know. Abe inspected the bite. It was the second time in as many days Belinda had nipped him. Something was bothering her. Abe hoped Little Standish wasn’t in for another thunderstorm, he knew animals were sensitive to these things sometimes. Barns and roofs around the village had been badly damaged by the last storm, and the deluge had turned his pasture into a muddy mess. Abe had been forced to dip into the ever dwindling supply of last harvest’s hay - one wrong step in the mud for one of his cows could mean a broken leg, or worse. Abe knew he couldn’t afford any accidents. Jane was pregnant again. Soon there would be another mouth to feed.    

Abe righted the milk bucket and fished some cornmeal out of his pocket to soothe the cranky she-goat. But just as he managed to settle her down enough to reach for an udder, an abrupt tremor shook the ground, startling both man and goat.

“Belinda!”

Abe cursed and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt as Belinda trotted away indignantly. It was no use. She was simply too ornery today. The ground trembled again, but of course this did not surprise Abe. In fact, he was glad - he could use a rinse after wrestling with Belinda and her sisters all morning. He stepped outside the barn and looked past the homestead down the dirt road into the forest which led to Little Standish proper. He scanned the horizon, squinting in the bright sunshine. It was nearly noon - she was late.

Thoom.

Thoom.

Thoom.

A dark shape crested the treeline on the horizon. A flock of crows, disturbed by the movement, flew cawing from their perches. As the rhythmic thuds grew stronger and closer, Abe watched his daughter’s smiling face come into view above the trees.

Anna Miller had been born in the winter of 1635, the coldest winter anyone in the colony of Little Standish could remember. After half a day’s heavy labor, Jane and Abe welcomed red-faced Anna to the world, fists clenched and hollering like a catamount. The young couple was astonished to see their new baby was nearly twice as long and heavy as their firstborn, Isaac. Old Rebecca, the village midwife, swore on her rosary that in all her life she had never seen a baby as big as Anna. The swaddling clothes they had prepared were not nearly big enough to cover her, so Jane had to make do with her spare tablecloth. Jane soon found that no matter how much she nursed Anna cried for more. That night Abe braved the cold and snow to borrow a pitcher of milk from the Alderman down the road to feed his hungry daughter.

The next morning they awoke to see Anna had grown nearly half a hand-span during the night. Over the next few days she nearly doubled her size, emptying the pantry and keeping them up all hours with her crying. In three weeks Anna had completely outgrown her crib, and Isaac had been forced to share his cot with his super-sized baby sister, much to his consternation. By the time she was a year old, Anna was the same size as her eight year old brother and sleeping in a bed of her own.

At first the Miller’s had feared it to be witchcraft. But the girl didn’t recoil from the Bible, as one possessed would do, and showed no special aversion to hearing the Lord’s Prayer. In fact, so sweet were the baby’s smiles that all thoughts of witchcraft were quickly banished. Anna’s remarkable growth continued, sometimes steadily, mostly in fits and spurts. On her sixth birthday she was tall enough to look her father in the eyes. By ten, he was craning his neck to look in hers. She outgrew their log house, and on her fifteenth birthday Abe and a few other men raised a four-story barn in the corner of Abe’s pasture for her to sleep in. Anna, thirty feet tall at the time, had helped to haul and erect the lumber, easily doing the work of ten men.

Now, at nineteen years of age, the young woman walking down the dirt road towards the Miller homestead stood over two hundred feet tall. She towered over the trees, the tallest of which could barely scrape the tops of her shins. The centuries old New England forest was like a field of knee high grass to her. Her long hair was blowing in the breeze, framing her youthful, carefree face. She was wearing a simple dress made of dark navy blue fabric with a billowing white apron made of sailcloth tied around her waist. The gargantuan outfit, which had been sewn together by five village women (under Jane’s careful direction), contained enough material for hundreds of normal-sized dresses.

As more of Anna slowly came into view, Abe’s eyes inadvertently glanced at his daughter’s bosom. It couldn’t be helped - Anna’s chest was impossible not to notice. Had she been normal-sized, Anna’s breasts would have been considered huge, the size of ripe pumpkins. At nineteen she had the largest bosoms Abe had ever seen on any woman, ever. Bigger than her mother’s, bigger than any of the women in Little Standish. At her present height however, they were monumental, jutting thirty feet from her chest - each breast dwarfing the Miller’s cabin in size. Abe figured each breast must weigh more than his entire herd of dairy cows combined. Although her dress covered them completely, there was no way to hide their colossal bulk. Under the dress, Abe could clearly see the twin globes slosh and wobble and shake with every step. Details of her erect nipples were visible beneath the fabric. Areola with a circumference greater than his outstretched body, capped with barrel-sized nubs which could have easily supported a man astride them.  

Abe watched her approach from under the barn eaves, feeling the earth shiver beneath each thudding step of her tremendous feet. She had made it to the edge of the pasture and was scanning the ground around her feet, peering awkwardly around the massive swell of her bust. Looking for him most likely. Abe cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to his daughter. No response. She was too far away to hear him; a frequent and somewhat frustrating consequence of her immense size. From her vantage point he was smaller than a churchmouse, and his voice little more than a faint squeak. He walked out into the pasture.

“Anna! Ho, Anna!”

At last, she spotted him, grinned, and began walking towards him. Years of experience navigating the tiny world at her feet had made her a careful and deliberate walker, always scanning the ground in front of her before putting a foot down. Despite her efforts, each step still caused a mini-earthquake for Abe. He was used to being around Anna however, and easily maintained his balance. He watched her enormous bare foot sink into the ground, her toes spreading slightly to bear the weight. The momentum of her step traveled up her body, causing tremors in her bountiful chest, the signature downbeat-and-wobble of heavy natural breasts in motion. The dress was clearly too tight for her around the bust. Abe groaned internally at the thought of having to pay for another half-acre of fabric to have the garment altered.

Now that she was only about a hundred yards away Abe had to crane his neck up to keep track of his daughter’s face. In one step she halved the distance between them, and his line of sight was obscured by the zeppelin-like shadow of her twin mountains. A moment later her face reappeared, cresting the horizon of her bosom as she leaned over to peer down at him.   

Looking forward he gulped. Maybe he should've been used to the view by now, after all she was his daughter, but the size difference was just too overwhelming sometimes. Right in front of him rested her house sized right foot. The big toe was nearly as tall as he was. To his right he saw her other foot, building sized as well, with toes like a row of massive boulders. The feet had sunk into the ground under her enormous weight and the displaced earth had welled up around them. He craned his neck to look up. Her legs were obscured from the ankle up by her dress, which rose like a sheer cliff face. The twin mountains of her breasts looked even more impressive from below. Jane had a special undergarment she’d bought from a French trader, a lace brassiere made in Europe. Abe couldn’t imagine the miracles of engineering that would be necessary to construct a brassiere for Anna, but such a garment would have been easily roomy enough to scoop up every man, woman, and child in Little Standish into its vast cups, with room to spare. Over the swell of her breasts Anna looked down on him, sweet features, wild hair, young and alive and as well as big and powerful.   

    “Good morrow Father!”

He felt her powerful voice reverberate in his body. Despite her size, Anna’s voice still carried a girlish lilt, only blown up to massive proportions. She stooped over, causing her massive breasts to wobble pendulously in front of her. Abe watched the ponderous teats swaying above him. He trusted Anna completely, but if he ever found himself trapped under one of those monsters he was fairly certain she wouldn’t even notice him until it was too late. She was simply too big, and even her tiniest inadvertent movements could be deadly for the tiny people around her.    

Abe braced himself as his daughter’s hand descended from the sky. She held her palm face up in front of him about a foot off the ground. He clambered aboard and was gently lifted into the sky as Anna brought him towards her face. Her fingers, as thick and tall as oak trees, curled protectively over him. Abe could feel the heat of her skin even through his boots.

Anna lifted him over her bosom. Her fingers relaxed as her hand stopped and he beheld her gigantic face looking down at him. At this distance, she dominated his field of vision like a billboard.

“Dawdling again? You know better Anna” Abe chided.

He addressed his daughter in a loud, clear voice out of habit, but at close range like this Anna had no trouble hearing regular speech. Her giant lips parted and she spoke.

"I’m sorry father, I know I’m late - truth be told I overslept."

The deep bass of his daughter’s voice shook his body. Abe could feel her hot breath wash over  him and could see two rows of glistening white teeth behind her pillowy lips. Each tooth was almost large as he was. He could see the tip of her giant pink tongue forming each of her words as she spoke down to him. Truth be told, he felt a little ridiculous rebuking her. If she took a mind to it she could trample him underfoot like an ant, or swat him like a fly with the same tender hand she held him with now. He was her father, but there was no question who held the real control in the relationship. If she chose to do something, what could he possibly do to stop her? Truth be told, what could anyone do? It was fortunate for the people of Little Standish that Anna possessed a sweet, even temperament. She possessed a remarkable level of self-control for a young woman the size of a skyscraper.

“You know better than to lie-about my dear. Now run along, you’ve a job to do. You wouldn’t want the dockmaster to be cross now would you?”

Anna shook her head. The breeze whipped up by the motion ruffled Abe’s hair.

“It won’t happen again father, I promise.”

“Good. Now set me down by the cow barn - and be sure to be home by sundown.”

“Yes father!”

Abe braced himself as Anna bent over again to set him down. He watched her body woosh past, her face obscured again by the titanic domes of her breasts. She reached over and set him down by the cow barn, as he had asked. He watched her stand back up to her full height. Speaking to Anna face to face like that always gave him the sense that they were on equal terms. But that illusion was shattered as soon as she returned him to the ground and he beheld the full scope of her size again. She smiled down at him and carefully stepped over the barn. He watched her tremendous foot soar overhead, blotting out the sun for a moment and casting a deep shadow over himself and the entire barn. A gentle rain of dirt and grass pelted the roof as debris dislodged from her bare soles. The cows mooed nervously at the sudden darkness. Her foot impacted the ground on the other side, and the whole barn shook from the resulting tremor. As her other foot rose into the air for the next step Abe cupped his hands and shouted at his daugher:

“Anna go around!”

But it was no use - she was already too far away. The rhythmic rumbling of Anna’s footsteps faded into the distance, as did the massive silhouette of her body.  

Abe shook his head. How many times did he have to remind her not to do that?

    In truth Anna had heard her father’s rebuke, but she had chosen to ignore him. She knew perfectly well he didn’t like her stepping over buildings, but going the long way through the muddy pasture just to get to the road was so annoying. She hated the way the cold mud squelched between her toes. It only took a second to step over the barn, and what harm was it doing anyways? As long as she was careful. Anna felt a little guilty disobeying her father, but it really was a silly rule. Sometimes he could be so stubborn. He was just too little to see things her way.

    Anna made her way carefully down the road towards Little Standish. Over the years she had developed an instinct for navigating the tiny world at her feet. She had a keen sense of hand-eye coordination and spatial awareness. When Anna was younger it hadn’t always been so easy for her to adjust to how comparatively small and dainty everything in the world was in comparison to her.  She took slow, long steps, choosing where to place her feet with great care, making sure the way was clear before putting down her full weight. She kept her dress and apron hitched up to just above the ankles so the great drapery of fabric would not swish around and disturb the air below her as she walked. Although there was nothing she could do to stop the ground from shaking beneath her footsteps, she did her best to tread as lightly as possible.

Scanning ahead, Anna saw a horse and carriage making its way down the road in the opposite direction. He looked about half a mile away - a distance Anna could easily cover in four steps. From her vantage high in the sky the carriage was a brown dot. She could barely make out the movement of the horse’s legs and the spinning carriage wheels as faint blurs. To her, it seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace. Anna stopped two steps away from the carriage and shuffled to the side of the road to let it pass. She made sure her skirt was out of the way. Any movement of the fabric would make the already stressful experience of being near her even worse for the horse. Most of the farm animals around Little Standish were used to seeing Anna out and about, but horses belonging to outsiders had a tendency to bolt when confronted with the sudden earthquakes, buffeting winds, and vast shadows which were an inescapable consequence of her presence. The last thing Anna wanted was an angry merchant knocking on her father’s door demanding he pay for a lost animal.

Anna watched the tiny carriage scurry past her toes. Each of her feet was as wide as the combined length of horse and carriage. She thought she saw the black speck in the driver’s seat wave up at her, but he was too small to tell for sure. She smiled down politely just in case.

“Good morrow!” she called down in a cheery voice. She heard no response - but it didn’t hurt to be friendly.

The carriage was heading south, towards New Pillsbourghy. Anna watched it go for a while, then continued on her way. The village of Little Standish was located on the far end of Webhannet Bay, making it one of the northernmost colonies in Plymouth. As such visits from outsiders were rare; mostly traveling merchants, tinkers, and fur traders stopping on their way to Canada and Maine. Originally built as a shipping town for merchant vessels, it had been slowly abandoned as a center of trade over the years in favor of more hospitable settlements to the south. These days the only tall-masted ships making stops in Little Standish were French trading vessels from Quebec. One was arriving today: the Sainte Maron. Anna was excited to see the ship - for several reasons.

Little Standish was a small New England settlement of about thirty homesteads. Besides the dock, there was a stone church, a public green, and an inn. A low stone wall ran along the perimeter of the town, about waist high on a man. Anna wouldn’t have been able to make out the wall against the ground unless she had gotten on all fours and taken a closer look, but she had made this journey so many times in the past that stepping over the tiny structure was second nature to her. Main street, which ran straight through town, was just wide enough for her to walk fairly comfortably down with room for pedestrians on either side, provided she kept her steps somewhat single-file. It was nearly noon, and the town was busy. The ground around her feet was bustling with tiny villagers. She kept her dress hitched up to avoid whipping up winds. Most of them ignored her, others stopped what they were doing until the tremors of her footsteps subsided (you could always tell an out-of-towner by the way they stood and gawked in awe). A band of small children and dogs trailed her footsteps as she made her lumbering way. Some of the braver boys hurled pebbles at her exposed heels, but their missiles were much too tiny for her to feel.    

The people of Little Standish were used to having Anna around. Despite the minor disturbances caused by her brobdingnagian presence, she was a kind, sweet, helpful girl, popular and well-liked. As she made her way down the street several people called up to her in greeting. Anna did her best to pick them out from the crowds to return the salutation with a sweet smile and nod.  

    Looking towards the sea, Anna spotted the Sainte Maron’s distinctive blue flag waving atop its main mast. The Summer Breeze, an ancient tugboat which ferried people and goods up and down the Webhannet, was docked beside the Maron, looking rather dingy in comparison. Summer Breeze was a sturdy old tug, but the Sainte Maron was a true French three-masted galleon, one hundred and fifty feet from rudder to keel with magnificent cream-colored sails. To Anna however, both ships looked like children’s toys. She could easily have bent down and and plucked the Summer Breeze out of the water like a paper boat.

    The shipyard was crowded with sailors and merchants. As Anna approached they scuttled away from her gigantic feet, giving her a wide berth as she made her way towards the center of the plaza. She carefully found room to plant tremendous feet. Standing tall, she towered over everything. Anna inhaled deeply, enjoying the salty sea air. She looked down and scanned the ground. Her feet were obstructed from view by the vast expanse of her bosom, which cast a rather absurd-looking (she thought) shadow over the ground in front of her. She leaned forward a little and peered over them. A flock of squawking seagulls swooped by her waist. Some of them alighted for a moment on the cliff-like folds of fabric created by the monumental curvature of her hips and bust. She gently shooed them away with a casual motion of her colossal hand.

    Anna carefully stooped down to examine the Sainte Maron up close. Her heavy breasts wobbled freely as she bent down. She felt them jostling for position under the fabric of her dress, wobbling pendulously to and fro as gravity pulled down on their mighty bulk. She used her free hand to steady them.

Sainte Maron’s waist and quarter deck were crawling with tiny sailors. She could tell the Frenchmen apart by their navy blue uniforms. She watched the tiny men prepare the ship for unloading. Some of them were shirtless. Anna studied their tiny, muscular, bodies intently. She felt her nipples stiffening a little beneath the rough fabric of her dress. A handful of sailors had climbed up the foremast and were working to untie the main sail. She heard their faint cheers at the sight of her and waved politely down at them, blushing.      

“Anna! Anna!”

A faint, tinny, voice reached her ears. She looked down at her feet. A tiny man dressed all in black stood just in front of her toes, his voice amplified by the tiny copper cone he held to his lips. It was Isaac Dennet, the dockmaster. Anna reached down and held out her right hand just parallel to the ground. The tiny man clambered up and crawled to the center of her palm. She could barely feel the weight of his tiny, warm, body against her soft skin. Anna curled her fingers around her diminutive cargo and lifted him slowly up to her face. She cupped her left hand beneath her right to steady it and smiled down at the tiny man in her palm.

“Good day Master Dennet, I’m sorry I’m late.”

It was turning out to be a real scorcher of a day. Roland stopped mopping for a moment and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. No matter how hard he scrubbed the rough old planks, the dirt and grime never quite seemed to lift. It didn’t help that the mop itself was dirtier than the deck. Roland sighed and got back to work. He wasn’t too keen on getting cussed out for idling by the second mate again.

Roland was short in stature, but sturdy, having spent his childhood tending to sheep on his father’s farm. He had joined the Sainte Maron as a deckhand less than six months ago. This was his first voyage to America, and he was excited to see the wonders of the savage New World he had heard about as a boy in France.

He was especially curious about Little Standish, their third stop on the mainland. The other men had told him of an “unbelievable woman” who lived there. Roland got the feeling this was some sort of hazing process for new recruits, because when he pressed them for more information they just sniggered and shook their heads. Ever since the Maron had laid anchor in the sleepy little colonial village Roland had been scanning the crowds of townsfolk for any unusual, or unusually beautiful, women - to no avail.

“Roland! Get over here!”

Joschua, the Maron’s red-faced, balding, second mate, hollered at Roland from across the deck. Roland dropped the mop into the bucket and scrambled over. It was no good to keep Joschua waiting; he was a stern man, quick to anger and even quicker to the thin braided-leather lash he carried on his hip. The knuckles of Roland’s left hand were still stinging from earlier that day, when he had tripped the old man by accidentally stepping on his heel. Roland went up the quarterdeck steps two at a time, and stood stiffly at attention in front of Joshua.

“Yessir! Is something the matter?”

“S’bout time we were unloading the cargo,” Joshua spit a wad of slimy black chew onto the deck and regarded him through milky blue eyes. Roland nodded.

“Well don’t just stand there boy, gimme a hand with the damn trapdoor.”

Roland winced as the whip grazed his buttocks. It was just a warning shot, but he knew there was more where that came from. Roland bent over and grabbed the massive iron padlock that kept the cargo bay door shut. Grunting, he managed to pry the rusty bolt mechanism open. He pulled the heavy oak doors open and coughed as a draft blew a cloud of dust flew in his face. The inside of the hold stank of seaweed and salt. Joschua peered over his shoulder.

“Looks like we got some leakage - wasn’t there this morning,” Joschua grumbled. “Open the drains and get mopping boy, don’t want the flour to spoil.”

Slightly confused, Roland returned to the midden-deck and retrieved the bucket and mop. He had expected Joschua to order him to start unloading the sacks of flour and bags of cotton from their crates so the dockmaster could appraise them - that’s how they’d done it the past two times. Surely it would be better to just move the cargo to safety? Why waste time draining the water from the hold first?

Roland knew better than to ask questions. He clambered down the ladder into the cargo hold. The leak wasn’t serious, just a few puddles on the floor. Roland opened the drains and got to work, pushing the water along as best he could with the raggedy old mop. He heard Joschua yelling at the other men topside. There was a clatter of footsteps on the ceiling above him and the sound of laughter as the deckhands made their way onto the main deck and lined up to receive their orders. Roland heard Joshua's muffled voice bark a short set of instructions, and the ceiling rumbled with footsteps once more. He was surprised when nobody came down into the hold, even after several minutes. Why hadn’t they begun to unload? Surely he wasn’t expected to do the entire job himself? There was a commotion from outside. He heard voices calling out excitedly. There was another great stamping of feet as all the men on deck moved starboard for some reason.

“She’s coming!”

The shout from the crow’s nest rang out loud and clear. She? Roland’s curiosity got the better of him. He propped the mop up against the wall and climbed back up the ladder. All the sailors had crowded the starboard side of the ship. Some were leaning on or even sitting on the balcony and side rail. They were all trying to get a look at something off in the distance.

Roland saw Joschua by the main mast, his attention drawn to the same focal point as his men. Roland snuck out of the hold and meekly made his way to the back of the crowd of sailors. He stood on his tiptoes to try and get a better look.

The face of a beautiful young woman, her dark hair buffeted by the wind, was floating above the church steeple a ways off in the distance. She was smiling sweetly, and looking down. Roland watched the face get bigger as it swept through the sky, bobbing over rows of red tiled roofs. For a moment he was unable to process exactly what he was seeing. He could see the woman’s face clearly, she seemed right up close, yet was so far away, how - but that couldn’t be right.

Then suddenly, the perspective clicked in his mind:

She’s gigantic!

Roland’s mouth went dry as he realized he was looking at a giantess. He immediately realized what the other sailors had meant by “unbelievable woman”. She was huge. Huge. From his perspective, Roland could only see her from the neck up. He watched her head bob as she took a step forward, her face steadily increasing in size and rising higher into the air. He could see her neck now, the tops of her shoulders, the collar of a navy blue dress, all coming into view as the titaness made her way towards the town. Her lips curled into another sweet smile as she seemed to spot something familiar on the ground. To Roland, the minor facial movement seemed strangely epic, its significance vastly magnified by the woman’s size - he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He could feel the floorboards of the ship trembling slightly now, shaking from the shockwaves of her footsteps. Up came her shoulders, the top of her chest, and then her bosom.

His jaw fell.

Her breasts, which would have been considered huge even had she been normal size, were the size of hills. Enormous, round, and heavy, they jiggled ponderously with every step she took, their monstrous tonnage swaying slowly from side to side. Her nipples were obviously hard, jutting out like pyramids from beneath the white fabric of her massive apron. Roland naively wondered how many dairy cows it would take to match just one of her humongous udders - a dozen at least. Ponderous waves of motion rippled across her breasts as she took another step. Her breasts bounced freely against each other, straining beneath the fabric of her dress, which was clearly too small. The rest of her figure was coming into view. She had hitched up her dress a bit, holding it tightly against her shins with her left hand. He caught a glimpse of her ankles and feet through a gap in the houses. Her ankles were Roman columns, as thick as sequoias, and each dainty foot looked to be longer and wider than the Maron itself. A man crossed the street in front of her, and Roland could clearly see that her big toe stood taller than the top of his head.

Now that she had made it to town, Roland could finally get a clear handle on just how big she was. He had a straight on view of her as she made her way down the main street. The unusually wide cobblestone road afforded her just enough space to walk carefully down the middle, putting one foot in front of the other, while still leaving enough room on either side for carriages and pedestrians. The homes and storefronts lining the road were two stories tall, mid-shin on the young giantess. The tallest structure in town, the church steeple, could have barely scraped her knee. She towered over everything around her, dominating the landscape, a landmark unto herself.

Roland watched in awe as the goddess made her ponderous approach towards the docks. His voice, which had completely evacuated his body for the past minute and a half, finally found him - albeit weaker than usual.

“M - m - merde!”

One of the sailors closest to him heard the stuttering exclamation and turned his head. His face blossomed into an amused grin upon seeing the fresh recruit’s stupefied expression.

“That’s Anna!”

Anna. Some of the terror he had initially felt upon spotting the woman-mountain began to fade. He managed to tear his gaze away from her for a moment. The Sainte Maron’s crew members were clapping and cheering as they watched the giantess approach. She must be friendly. Emboldened, he made his way to a better vantage point by the guardrail. She was the most wondrous thing he had ever seen, and he was desperate to get a closer look.

Roland noticed how carefully Anna placed her steps. She moved slowly, keeping her massive soles low to the ground, constantly scanning the path ahead. Despite this, the mighty impact of each step still kicked up clouds of dust and resonated with an audible thud. Roland could see her bare feet left prints even on the cobblestones, her colossal weight flattened the dust and dirt to such an extent that the outline of her petite footprint was clearly visible as a lighter shade. A mob of children was trailing at her heels. Some of them looked to be playing hopscotch, jumping between her toe prints. He saw one little boy throw a stone, which bounced harmlessly off her tremendous round heel. Roland doubted she would have felt the blow even had the stone been the size of a cannonball. She was just so big!

Like the beating of a gargantuan drum, the thunder of Anna’s footsteps grew stronger and stronger. Now Roland had to crane his neck upwards to even see her face. In a moment even that became impossible as the bottom of her jaw was eclipsed by the twin moons of her wobbling bosom. In five steps she had crossed the entirety of Little Standish. Now she stood, like a living monument, at the center of the dockyard.

Roland watched Anna stoop and lift something off the ground - a tiny man. Or rather, it was not the man who was tiny, but she who was big! The young woman’s dimensions were so mind blowing that Roland found his perception unconsciously switching between the two perspectives, trying and failing to make some sense of her impossible size. Her mere presence was baffling - and immensely captivating. Roland was finding it hard to tear his eyes away, even for a moment. It was partly instinctual: she was so humongous his brain couldn't help but intently track her every little motion out of simple survival instinct; after all, she was the biggest thing around by far. But there was more to it. Monstrous as she was, the young woman was nonetheless a beauty, a trait only magnified by her size. Standing in the square, daintily holding up her dress and smiling shyly, she even seemed delicate. Ironic, Roland thought, given she could have squished any man-jack among them underfoot like an ant.

He heard her address the man in her palm. Her voice was feminine thunder. She spoke softly, but Roland still easily picked up every word. There was no such thing as a private conversation for a woman two-hundred and fifty feet tall. He was somewhat amused to hear her apologize to the miniscule figure - what was he going to do, hit her? Roland chuckled to himself at the image of a speck-sized Joshua, red faced and squeaking like a mouse, feebly lashing at the giantess’s carriage-sized toes with his whip. A gnat would be more bothersome.

Anna put the man down, and carefully maneuvered herself onto the beach by stepping over the dock. He watched her gigantic bare feet hit the sand on the other side, first the right, then its massive twin, creating a pair of deep footprints surrounded by waist high dunes. As they impacted the sand, her toes spread naturally to bear her monumental weight. Far above in the sky, her magnificent breasts wobbled ponderously, their balance upset by her long step onto the beach. Roland couldn’t imagine the damage she would cause if she were to lose her balance and fall. Her breasts alone would have flattened several blocks of houses.

She was close to them now. She turned to face the ship. Roland was confronted with two rows of mammoth toes. Her bare feet would have been quite dainty, had they not been the size of farmhouses. Even her little pinky toe was nearly as tall as he was. Rooted to her feet were the huge white pillars of her ankles. Her shin muscles twitched as she steadied herself on the sand. The movement, which to her was just a momentary automatic adjustment, was stunning to Roland. It was like watching a mountain move. She had the hem of her dress wrapped around her knees with one hand, with the other resting on her hip. Roland craned his neck upwards, struggling to take her all in. All he could see was the vast expanse of her white apron, and further up, the humongous horizon of her massive bosom.

And then suddenly, like an avalanche, she stooped towards the earth. Her breasts, which had just managed to settle against her chest from their previous jostling, went into freefall once more. Roland gasped, as for a moment it appeared her massive bosom would come crashing down and crush the ship like a paper toy. They swung forward, struggling against the tight fabric of her apron and dress - which was conspicuously too tight for her abundance - then stopped suddenly dozens of feet above the deck, wobbling slowly to and fro, covering the [i]Sainte Maron[/i] in shadow. Her enormous face zoomed towards them as well, till it filled Roland’s field of view. It was breathtaking to see her up close. She had a soft, pretty face, lush lips and lashes - but [i]huge[/i]. Her nose and mouth stuck out like features on a cliff face. He imagined himself scaling the smooth wall of her cheek like a mountaineer.  

She blinked down at them, surveying the deck, her eyes sparkling with the curiosity of a child peering into a terrarium. Roland stood frozen, unable to tear his gaze away. He watched her enormous eyes flick back and forth as she scrutinized the[i] Sainte Maron[/i] and its crew. For a moment she seemed to focus directly on him. He tensed instinctively under the weight of her gaze. He could feel her presence, her body radiating warmth, the breeze of her gentle breaths stirring his hair. Her beauty was magnified a thousandfold by virtue of her sheer size. It was awe inspiring, the way she effortlessly commanded the attention of everything around her, just by [i]being[/i]. 

Roland realized the sailors around him were shouting and cheering. His stunned mind had tuned out every sight and sound but her. Judging by the men’s reactions, she was well liked. He couldn’t believe they had managed to keep this a secret during their four month journey. A woman as tall as a mountain. He shook his head, dazed. It was a lot to take in.

The titaness shifted her arm and reached down. Her outstretched hand plunged towards the ship. Roland flinched as it soared above his head, whipping up a breeze. Her fingers, long and thick as timber logs, tipped with pink carriage-wheel nails, disappeared down the cargo hatch. Her hand, maneuvering clumsily in the tiny space, bumped the side of the cargo hold, causing the entire deck the shudder underfoot. Roland watched in awe as the giantess’s colossal extremity reappeared. To his astonishment, she was clutching a wooden cargo crate filled with nearly a tonne of flour meal between her index finger and thumb, moving it up and out of the ship’s hold as easily as a child retrieving a toy block. She repeated the motion a dozen times, plucking the crates out of the hold and setting them down in front of the warehouse doors. Her gigantic hands were remarkably steady. When the last crate was unpacked, Anna rose to her full height and surveyed her work. A job which would have taken the crew a whole day’s worth of hoisting and hauling, finished in a few minutes.

Roland leaned over the railing. He wanted to get a better angle on her face. Towering over them at full height, the near vertical slope of Anna’s titanic body made this difficult. Without warning, two rough hands grabbed him by the waist, another clenched around his ankles, and with a cheer he was hoist up and over the railing. Roland was so caught off guard he didn’t even have time to blink before seawater surrounded him, shooting up into his nose and open mouth. He shut his eyes tight against the stinging salt. Painful pressure began to build in his ears as the water swallowed him. Blind, panicking, and disoriented, Roland flailed his arms and legs, trying to orient himself towards the surface, to no avail. He had only ever been swimming in shallow creeks back home. He was a farm boy, not a fisherman’s son.  

There was an explosion of bubbles around him and an audible [i]thooom [/i]of rushing water. Roland felt something gigantic shift underneath him. He squinted his eyes open, but could only make out vague hulking black shapes crashing through the water. Suddenly, he was flattened against a wall and shooting upwards through the water. The force plastered his body against the slightly soft surface, squeezing the last scraps of air from his lungs. He breached the surface of the water, sucking greedily for air, dizzy from the speed. He was being accelerated upwards at a nauseating rate. Roland continued to struggle, clutching for a support with his other hand but finding no purchase on the smooth surface. He squinted; the rushing wind tore at his eyes and he saw nothing but blue. 

The flight ended as quickly as it began. The pressure lifted, and Roland managed to take a full breath for the first time. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back.

Roland’s jaw dropped. He was not prepared for how close she was. He froze, unable to do anything but gaze up at her. Anna’s face filled his field of vision. Her enormous brown eyes were scanning him up and down with a worried expression. Her mouth, its thick lips each wider than his body, was twisted into a frown. He turned his head and saw the cathedral arches of her dainty fingers curling above him. He was being held in the palm of a flesh and blood goddess.

“Are you okay little one?”

Her voice, gentle and subdued as it was, still shook his body at such close range. Her hot breath washed over him, blowing strands of soaked hair away from his forehead. He was too shaken to respond. Her other hand lowered down from out of nowhere, and he felt immense pressure on his ribs as she pinched him between finger and thumb and plucked his body from her palm. Anna gently deposited Roland back on the deck. She was much slower this time and the ride was more bearable. He gasped as she brought him near the heaving mounds of her bosom. Up close he could clearly see the vast hillocks of breast flesh fighting against the tight fabric. The crowd of sailors cleared a space for her to deposit him, which she did, gently. He watched her enormous hand recede into the sky, and heard the rumble of fabric as she stood back to her full height. The two men who had thrown him overboard were laughing loudly, as were most of the crew.

“That’s Anna for ya laddie - how’d you like that!”

Roland closed his eyes, and blacked out.

The wind was beginning to pick up, blowing hair into Anna’s eyes. She collected the wayward strands whipping against her face and pulled her long hair into a loose bun. She checked her apron pocket for the roll of cotton cloth (an enormous tarpaulin for anyone of normal size) her father had bought her to use as a ribbon, but she hadn’t thought to bring it along. Because of her size, Anna only bothered cutting her hair when it started reaching her lower back. The only blade in town large enough and sharp enough to cut through her dense locks was the lumberman’s saw, an enormous crosscut blade that took four strong men to weild. For Anna, it served as a serviceable, if slightly blunt, straight-razor. However, the saw tore the ends of her hair and left them looking ragged, which she loathed, so she always put off the chore as long as possible.

She was heading south along an old logging trail. The forest around her was older, and mostly coniferous. The old growth pines were much taller than the oaks and elms around Little Standish. As she walked, Anna reached down to brush her fingers across the treetops. She liked the way the soft pine branches felt whipping through her fingers. Flocks of birds erupted from the canopy, fleeing her unstoppable hands. Anna looked down and watched in amusement. She loved the way the sunlight glittered and sparkled off their feathers.

Anna knew her father probably expected her to come back to the farm, but it was hot and she didn’t much feel like working. The afternoon heat had pushed a front of humid air inland from the sea. Anna squinted in the bright sun and wiped sweat off her brow. The air was positively soggy and it was making her feel grimy. What’s more, her hands were filthy from the morning's work. Anna didn’t much like handling incoming cargo. Cargo holds inevitably collected a few inches of bilgewater during the long journey between continents. Marinating in the foul water made the crates slimy to the touch, and more often than not their bottoms were wet and covered in slick algae. If she wasn’t careful with how she handled them the dripping crates would stain her dress, leaving foul smelling grey splotches that were difficult to rinse out. She decided to go for a dip in Sawgrass Lake to clean up.

As Anna walked, her mind drifted to the little sailor she had rescued from the water. Throwing new recruits overboard for her to fish out of the water was a popular prank on trade ships coming into Little Standish, so she was always ready for it. Still, she felt sorry for the little guy. Anna knew how overwhelming her presence was to the little ones, especially those seeing her for the first time. Getting scooped up like that must have been quite the shocker for him. She had a well practiced and gentle touch, but still it usually took a while for tinies to become accustomed to being picked up and handled. She remembered the expression of terror on his little face as she inspected him on her palm, dripping wet, so cute and helpless. Although he was barely as long as her fingernail, she could still tell he was handsome. Tan, strong, and shirtless, with a mop of curly hair. She couldn’t help but steal a glance at the crotch of his wet trousers where his thick cock was clearly visible, outlined by the wet fabric. Although no man in the world could ever hope to fill her womanhood, Anna still felt flutters of erotic fancy like any woman. She remembered how his tight abs had looked, slick with seawater, and unconsciously licked her lips. She knew the Sainte Maron would be in port for at least two more days - she would make sure to keep an eye out for him.

Anna approached the lake, scanning the surface of the water for boats and canoes. She frequently bathed in Sawgrass Lake, and over the years it had become more or less established as her own private swimming hole. There was no reason for Little Standishers to hike all the way down to Sawgrass, but sometimes she had to shoo away a lone fisherman or two before she could get in the water.

To Anna, the lake was about the size of a large round bathtub. There was a patch of ground on the east side that had been completely stripped of trees and flattened down. She stepped over the woodline and settled her feet on the smooth soil. There was enough space here for her to sit down, with a little room on either side. She had cleared and flattened this area of the woods years ago to make bathing in the lake easier. It had taken her about an hour to fully deforest the area and smooth the dirt with her hands. An area of forest which would have taken lumberjacks a month to clear, pulled up as easily as weeds from a flowerbed.

It was nice to take a break. Anna rarely had the opportunity to sit comfortably without worrying about little people, buildings, or livestock. She hiked up her dress and extended her bare legs into the lake. She sighed, stretched, and wiggled her toes in the cool water. Seated like this she could just barely scrape the muddy bottom with her big toe.

After a few minutes of rest Anna stood and began to prepare for a proper bath. She pulled off her dress, tugging it with some difficulty over the tremendous swell of her bosom. She had noticed her dress getting uncomfortably tight recently, especially in the chest area. Anna hoped she wasn’t due another growth spurt. She didn’t think her father could afford commissioning a new outfit for her. She folded the garment and set it aside. She stood, colossal and totally naked, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her bare skin. At her size, undergarments would be impractical - and expensive.

Anna’s naked body was a wonder to behold. She had supple thighs, wide hips, and a big round ass. The dark hairs of her untrimmed womanhood peeked out from between her legs. Her midsection, soft and smooth, was dominated by her humongous breasts. Free from the constraints of her dress they hung heavy and full, resting just above her navel. She had wide pink areolas, capped off by small nipples. Comparatively small, that is. Exposed to the breeze, both ruddy nubs had swollen to the size of wine barrels. She was the picture of womanhood, ripe, curvy, and beautiful. Had Anna been normal sized, she would have been the envy of every man in the village. However at over two hundred feet tall, she was more like a fertility goddess, a voluptuous colossus radiating sexuality and power. It would be a folly to covet something so absurd, so unattainable. No man could ever hope to bed her. Every ounce of strength he could muster still wouldn’t be enough to pleasure her, and he would run the risk of being unintentionally crushed by some absent-minded twitch or shudder of her monumental body. She was just too big.

She stepped into the lake, taking care to find secure purchase for her foot along the slope. She knew to be careful. The lakebottom was slick with greasy black mud which had caused her to slip on more than one occasion, causing a splash which drenched the shoreline and nearby forest. Her gigantic legs churned up the water, sending huge waves crashing against the shore. The waterline crept up her body as she got deeper, enveloping her massive thighs and the mountainous round cheeks of her jiggling ass. Her breasts wobbled mightily as she steadied her balance, swaying heavily from side to side. Step by step, she waded to the deepest point, the water reaching just above her waist with waves lapping gently at her belly button. She squatted, lowering the rest of her massive body into the water. Anna grit her teeth as the water reached the  milky bottoms of her huge globes, engulfing them, the cold water stiffening her sensitive nipples. She leaned her head back and submerged her hair, raking her fingers through the thick dark trusses. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling. Her fingers hit a lump on her crown and she cringed for a moment, expecting to dislodge a nesting coon or fisher cat (which had a habit of burrowing into her hair while she slept), but it was only a knot. Anna shuddered. The scurrying little varmints made her squeamish.

Anna scanned the trees on the shoreline and selected a shaggy old pine tree of suitable length. She reached over with her left hand, grabbed the tree by the base of its trunk with her thumb and forefinger, and plucked it out of the ground like a daisy. She doused it in the water and began using it as a loofah, scrubbing her armpits, back, and between her tits. Even naked, her round breasts sat firm and high, close together on her chest, creating a cavernous line of jiggly cleavage that swallowed the sixty foot pine tree with ease. Next, she lifted each massive teat in turn to scrub the skin beneath them. Each of her tits weighed many tons, and was much, much, more than a handful, which made holding them up while simultaneously scrubbing a bit of a juggling act. Her soft titflesh enveloped her hands like dough, spilling between her fingers,  two bursting bags of flour as big as hot air balloons, the vast expanses of soft white flesh glistening in the sun and dripping wet. When she let them drop they settled with a plop against her belly, wobbling heavily against each other before coming to rest. She rinsed herself off, discarded the tree, and idly scratched an itch beneath the projecting hillock of her left tit - some damn pine needles always got left behind.

She happened to glance at the shore, and stifled an indignant gasp. A tiny figure stood at the edge of the shore, facing her direction, clearly watching her bathe. She could tell by its proportions that it was a little man. Anna’s face flushed red. How long had he been standing there? She squinted to make sure it wasn’t someone she knew. She could just make out the tiny man’s outfit: a sleeveless leather frock patterned with beads. An Indian. The Winnipauk people lived in the old growth forests west of Little Standish. Relations between the settlers and the Indians had been rocky from the moment the original colonists made landfall in Webhannet Bay. Disputes over cropland and hunting grounds led to violent conflict. In the end, gunpowder and steel won the day, and the Winnipauk had been forced to retreat further inland. Since then the Indians had rarely bothered the town, save for the occasional nighttime burglary, but even these had stopped once Anna was born.

Anna felt embarrassed, and more than a little irritated. She was about to reach out and grab the dirty little peeping Tom, but held back at the last second. The little pest deserved more. Without warning she hoisted herself out of the water and onto the shore, as one might exit a pool, flanking the tiny man with her feet. With her monumental feet cutting off escape on either side, the tiny man was forced to sprint away ahead of her. Water rained down from her body, forming a puddle between her feet. She could see him struggling to run through the quagmire of mud her dripping body was no doubt creating for him on the ground below. Anna looked down over the swell of her bosom and watched the Indian’s desperate escape attempt with an amused smile. He really thought he could escape. It was always kind of cute when tinies didn’t realize how much stronger and faster she was than them. She took a step forward and turned around so that she was facing him. The poor thing nearly ran into her toes. She giggled and raised her right foot over him, canopying the tiny man. She wanted him to feel like a little ant. She hovered her foot over him, and gave her toes a wiggle for menacing effect. A second later she spotted him coming out from underneath her foot. It was adorable how long it took him to run out from beneath its shadow. If she had really been trying to squish him the little man wouldn’t have stood a chance. She let him get a little ways away from her, then brought her foot forward and gently knocked him down on his ass with her big toe. She was getting tired of this game. Anna leaned over and lifted the tiny up between finger and thumb. She could feel him wriggling between her fingers, trying to get free. The puny impacts of his punches and kicks felt like raindrops against her skin. She carefully overpowered him with a little squeeze of her fingertips and his struggling stopped at once in response to the pressure. She didn’t want him to slip from between her fingers and perish from the fall.

Anna deposited the Indian in the palm of her hand and inspected him up close. He looked winded from the rough handling, but she was relieved to see he was otherwise in fine shape. For a moment she had worried her play had gotten too rough for the little guy. She looked closer. He looked to be about her own age, and wore his hair in a long black ponytail. It was hard to make out the details of his face, but he looked handsome. He was yelling something at her in a language she didn’t understand. She prodded him with the index finger of her other hand. He fell on his back and shut up. His little frock, which was embroidered in bright red beads, was covered in mud and torn in several places. She could see the shadow of a blue bruise on his leg, presumably from where her big toe had hit him. Good. The little vermin deserved it.

A wicked thought struck her. She sat down, bringing her knees against her chest and cupping the little man in her palm. With utmost care she peeled the leather frock off his body. He struggled against her fingers but to no avail. It barely took her any effort to tear it off him like wet tissue paper. In a moment he was naked. Her eyes shone with curiosity as she scanned his tiny brown body. She could see his toned stomach, and his little pecker hanging between his legs. Anna blushed at the sight. It was the first time she had seen a man’s naked cock up close. It was a handsome little thing. She felt a warm stirring between her legs and her nipples stiffened. She bit her lip; his nudity was arousing her. The little man was on all fours now, looking up at her with a terrified expression. On a whim, she plucked him up and deposited him astride an engorged nipple. He immediately clamped down on it, holding on to the barrel sized nub for dear life. In its erect state the ruddy nipple was nearly twice as long as his body, and much too thick for him to wrap his arms around. She giggled. He looked so helpless clinging to the pink tip of her gigantic left teat like that. She traced the outline of her areole with a finger and watched him shy away from her meandering hand and grip her tighter. His pinching made her moan. She lifted her breast from beneath, jiggling it gently back and forth. The enormous mountain of flesh wobbled mightily, and her little plaything was sent bobbing along with it like a cowboy astride a bucking bronco.

When she felt his grip begin to weaken she retrieved him from the end of her tit and deposited him on her upper chest. He lay sprawled like a snow angel upon the huge soft hillock of her upper breast. She poked the breast flesh directly adjacent to him, creating a depression in the supple flesh that he tumbled down into. When she released her finger her soft skin popped back up and he was sent rolling in the other direction. Anna wasn’t worried about him falling off: her breast was much too big and wide compared to him for that to easily happen. She teased him with her finger some more, chasing him as he stumbled around the top of her tit. It was absurd how tiny he looked on her bosom. He had looked small compared to her nipple, but in comparison to her breast he was less than a speck. They were veritable mountains to him. Anna often took her size for granted, but moments like this really reminded her just how colossal she was. Without thinking she adjusted her posture to get a little more comfortable. The movement of her shoulders made her breasts shimmy slightly, causing a boobie quake for her captive. He fell head over heels. She watched him scramble to his feet and hold his arms out for balance. She decided to take it up a notch. Grinning impishly, Anna raised her hands above her head and gently shimmied her shoulders. Her gigantic bosom began to sway and wobble back and forth. The tiny man managed to keep his balance for less than a second as the ground beneath him became a wobbling ocean of breast flesh. She giggled and gave her giant boobs a little bounce, sending him reeling. Her humongous titties were really shaking now. She could feel their heavy tug on her chest as the momentum of her movements sent them swaying rhythmically from side to side.

The little man was trying to scramble up her collarbone now. Anna watched his little legs struggle to gain purchase on her wet skin. She blew on him gently to get him off. Suddenly he lost his grip, fell, and tumbled into the abyss of her cleavage which rose to swallow him up. He screamed out in a high voice. Anna gasped. Her enormous breasts clapped together on the upbeat of their pendulous rhythm, slamming into one another, burying him between tons of tit flesh. She stopped moving at once and held her breath. She could feel him plastered against the side of her right tit, motionless. Gently she pried her breasts apart and fished him out. His little body was limp and still. She held him in her palm again and prodded him with a finger. It was no use. Her titanic tits had crushed the life out of him. What had been a silly game for her had ended up taking his life. She should have known better than to play so rough with him.

Anna felt tears come to her eyes as she realized what she had done. She had not intended to kill the tiny man, just scare him a little and let him go. Now he was dead, dead because she had selfishly used him for her own pleasure. She felt ashamed. Anna got to her feet. She didn’t know what to do with the body, and it was starting to gross her out. After some consideration she tossed it far away from her into the woods. She shuddered. How could she have been so stupid, so clumsy? She rinsed her hands in the lake, wiping tears on her shoulder. She had never killed a tiny before. It made her feel sick to her stomach. She dressed quickly, and stood for a moment surveying the lake, wringing her hands.

I hope nobody finds out about this...      

...

Roland lifted his mug and took his first sip of New World beer. Bitter, just as he had been warned, but pleasantly cold. Not bad. He took another drink and wiped foam off his mustache.

The tavern was packed. The Blue Ox was often busy this time of the evening, however the arrival of two ships today meant more hustle and bustle than usual. All the bar stools were taken, and the three handsome oak tables in the middle of the tavern were surrounded by sailors and townsfolk alike, laughing, singing, and drinking, as barmaids wended their way through the crowd balancing pitchers of beer and cider. The fire-pit gave off a haze of grey smoke, which cast a grimy shadow across the room. Pots of stew simmered on the fire, and a group of children were roasting chestnuts on the coals. A stern looking gentleman in a green doublet was plucking out a tune on an ancient looking fiddle, trying in vain to clear a corner of the room for dancing.

Roland was seated at the end of the bar, furthest from the door. Most of his crewmates - punchdrunk already - were chatting up local girls or hollering requests at the old man with the fiddle. On most nights he would have joined them, but tonight he was in no mood for merriment. Tired as all hell from his unexpected dip in the ocean and the subsequent ungraceful rescue, all Roland wanted at the moment was some peace and quiet. He was still thinking about Anna. He had been terrified at first, watching her walk through the town, towering over buildings, with regular folk scuttling by her tremendous feet like mice. A monstrous woman-mountain. But she was no monster. He recalled the visible caution with which she placed her feet with each step, scanning the ground before her, taking care not to trample anything - or anyone - underfoot. The way her gentle brown eyes had studied the ship and its crew. And then there was her bosom, a mountain in and of itself. He took another drink.

A middle aged man plopped down on the stool next to him. His cap was perched at a jaunty angle, covering a balding pate. His nose and cheeks were flushed red with drink. From his worn hands and sun-browned face Roland guessed he was a farmer. The man motioned at the barkeep, unintentionally elbowing Roland’s shoulder in the process. He managed to grab hold of his beer just in time to prevent a spill.

“Oi! Sorry ‘bout that!”

The man flashed a sheepish grin. Roland smiled politely and waved off his apology. He could tell the man was a local by his English. The American dialect was quite different from the formal English the nuns had taught in school.

“Here, let me buy you a round,” the man held up two fingers to the barkeep, “you’re one of the sailor lads aren’t you?”

Roland nodded. The man smiled. “Name’s Efram.” He handed Roland a beer.

“Roland. And thank you,” Roland replied, taking the drink.

Efram lifted his cup. “Cheers!”

Roland replied in kind and they both took long drafts of beer. Efram slammed his cup down on the bar and wiped his mouth and nose on his sleeve.
“So are you Spanish? French? Portugeuse?” he asked.

“French. I come on the Sainte Maron - today.” Roland replied. He hadn’t spoken English in a long time and words felt clumsy in his mouth.

“I see. First time in the Americas?”

“Yes, my first time. It is a very wild country here. The trees are so tall, I have never seen forests like this,” Roland motioned with his hand, “in France all the forest has been cut down.”

“Ah yes, well, give it a few years and I’m sure we’ll catch up right quick. Never seen so much lumber being shipped out as this year.”

The two men sat and chatted, steadily draining their mugs. Efram was indeed a farmer - “the three sisters: squash, beans, n’ maize” - and a talkative one to boot. These New Englanders were a curious people. In France strangers were rarely this forthcoming. Roland listened politely, doing his best to understand the English. When the farmer paused to wipe the corner of his mouth, he took the opportunity to ask a question of his own:

“That woman, Anna, how is this possible? I mean, my God, never have I seen such a thing.”

“You mean the Miller’s daughter? Yes, I suppose it must be quite a shock if you’re not from around here. Near three hundred foot tall she is - they had her measured by sounding line last year.”

Roland blanched. “Three hundred feet? My god.”

Efram nodded sagely. “By all means she’s a great help to the town. Stronger than a dozen men. Hell, three-dozen! Helped me raise my barn last year. She got on her knees and put it together like a wooden dollhouse. Took about an hour. And she was smaller then!”

“You mean she’s growing?” Roland asked in awe.

“Yep. In fits and spurts. Usually slow, but every so often she shoots up like a cornstalk. Grew fifty feet last year in the span of six months - it was why they got the sounding line. Always been like that. I seem to remember the figure being a hundred and fifty feet when she was fifteen,” he furrowed his brow in thought, “girl must be well on nineteen now. ”

“How does she live? I mean there is no house big enough, nowhere in the world.” The man gave him a bemused look. Roland blushed. He was full of questions. There was so much he wanted to know about her. About Anna.

“Out in the hills. She’s a hardy lass, seasons don’t seem to bother her much.” The man considered Roland for a moment then grinned. “If you’re so keen on knowing, why not go find out yourself? She lives close to town.”

Roland nodded, his heart pounding. Efram dipped his hand in his beer and drew a simple map on the table with his wet thumb. “Up the road from here, towards the woods. Only one road, you’ll find it. In ‘bout a half-hour there’ll be the first milestone. Keep goin’ and sooner or later you’ll get to a lake. Sawgrass Lake. She sleeps near there.” The man winked. “You’ll see her.”

Roland thanked him. They returned to their drinks. As the hours wore on, the fire died down, and with it the hubbub of the tavern. Eventually Roland and the other sailors, some of whom had to be carried, retired upstairs to the rented quarters. As he lay on the straw mattress staring at the ceiling, Roland resolved to make the hike to Sawgrass Lake first thing in the morning.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Ouch! Merde!”

Roland stuck his bloody thumb into his mouth. He was clawing his way through a copse of shoulder high berry bushes. Their sharp thorns were tearing his arms and legs to shreds. This damn forest was as thick as a jungle. He had walked for quite some time past the milestone when he spotted what looked to be a portage path into the woods. But rather than leading him to the lake it had twisted and turned through the forest and ultimately tapered off into an overgrown dead end.

Roland cursed himself for having gone off the main road. How stupid he had been! Wandering off alone, in an unfamiliar area, without telling anyone where he was going. Even a child would know better than that. He wiped his thumb off on the edge of his shirt and kept going. At least he had the whole day to find his way back to town - he shuddered to imagine what this antediluvian forest was like at night.

Mercifully the blackberry thicket came to an end a dozen feet ahead. The forest around him was mostly old growth pine, shaggy red-barked trees that stretched overhead like cathedral pillars; but in places where the canopy thinned opportunistic buckeyes, blackberries, and nettles grew in teeming abundance. It was early morning and the ground was soggy with dew. He used a damp clod of leaves to wipe clean the scratches criss-crossing his shins. It seemed American blackberries were more dangerous than barbed chicken wire.

There was what looked like a clearing in the woods a little ways ahead. Roland made his way towards it. Perhaps the trees had been chopped down by a nearby homestead. He could stop and ask for directions. Roland reached the edge of the clearing and was disappointed to see it was much less than a single acre in size; just a large field, and certainly no lumberjack’s clear-cut.

It looked like the clearing had been leveled recently by a storm, full of toppled trees and crushed brambles, broken and flattened against the dirt. The trees were dry and splintery. They looked to Roland to have been dead for a while. Bare portions of the ground here and there were worn smooth and tamped down, which made walking easy. For such a large clearing it was oddly narrow. Almost like a corridor. He neared the end and studied a row of depressions in the ground.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

How had he not realized it before? The trampled trees, the flattened earth, the unusual shape. He was standing in a footprint of an enormous left foot. Her left foot. The dented soil next to him was the shallow impression of her big toe - twice as wide as his outstretched arms - followed by its sisters in descending size order. Even the slight depression made in the earth by her pinky toe was roomy enough for him to curl up in. Roland looked back in the direction he had come from. It had taken him a while to navigate through the fallen trees and cross the clearing. Almost a minute. The realization shook him. A minute to walk from one end of her footprint to the other. The sheer scale of this woman was mind boggling.

He passed her toe prints and hurried through the forest. Logically, one footprint must lead to another. Sure enough, he reached another flattened clearing just a short ways ahead. The orientation of her toes was flipped in this one. Her right foot. At last he was on her trail. He followed the giant footprints, practically jogging, weaving around uprooted stumps and mounds of dirt. How tremendously heavy she must be, to walk barefoot through a forest trampling trees like blades of grass underfoot. The forest was beginning to thin out now. He began to catch glimpses between tree trunks of an open field lying some distance ahead. Roland walked to the edge of the last clearing and pushed through the final patch of brambles and into the sunlight.

For a brief moment Roland could not process what he was seeing. An enormous wall, light pink in color, confronted him less than ten feet away. It extended as wide as a barn, and was very tall, taller than any of the surrounding trees. His gaze was drawn upwards, over the monolith’s smooth contours, up to its peak far above him. When his eyes settled on the five round formations crowning the top of the structure, an icy pang of realization stabbed him in the gut.

It was her foot.

Roland took a step back.The bare sole of a colossal foot, fifteen feet wide and forty feet high, loomed over him. The top of his head stood barely a quarter of the way up her massive heel. A row of gigantic toes sat atop its peak, looming over him, the largest of which was easily the size of a carriage. It was her right foot. He looked to his right and saw its twin resting on the ground in the distance. Beyond them he could see the contours of her vast white legs stretching like hills into the distance. The rest of her body was obscured by the hem of her dress. She was lying down, presumably asleep, her legs slightly splayed out and the landscape of her body draped over the land like a mountain range.

He approached the foot. It rose high above, dwarfing him, cliff like. A delicate pattern of whorls criss-crossed her skin. Her heels were slightly dirty, no doubt from walking everywhere barefoot. He reached out and gingerly grazed her skin with his fingers. It was warm, smooth, and gave slightly to his touch. Cautiously he touched it with his whole hand. Without warning, the humongous foot twitched, and the toes wriggled. Roland was sent flying on his ass nearly a meter away. He winced, rubbing his back, and gazed up at her toes. They were motionless again. He must have made her foot itch. Roland was surprised that his touch had even registered for her. Then he realized in all likelihood it probably hadn’t. To think such a gentle touch of his would cause her any sensation was hubris. That had been an involuntary movement of her foot, an unconscious stirring in her sleep which nevertheless carried a payload of force sufficient to knock him flat on his back.

Roland began to worry that he had not properly considered the consequences of his actions. The power this woman wielded could not be overstated. She had knocked him down with an unaware twitch of her foot while she was asleep, a foot that leveled forests to the ground. Just a minute ago he had been scrambling like a desperate insect through field-sized footprints caused by that same huge foot. He was barely half an inch tall to her, not even the length of her big toenail. She could squish him in her sleep like a pesky flea and wake up hours later without ever knowing he was there.

Yet he could not bring himself to leave. Not after coming so close. Anna’s presence intoxicated him. His heart raced at the memory of her approaching the docks, the way she had dwarfed the Maron and peered down at them from above. The ship was a toy to her. She could have sunk them all with a single nudge from her pretty foot, but she hadn't. Her unimaginable power was electrifying, but so too were her beauty and grace. He remembered too the radiance of her smile, how safe he had felt upon seeing the warmth in her eyes and the care she took navigating the tiny world at her feet. Her nature was tender, gentle, and protective. She was not a monster.

Roland retreated back into the woodline. As long as she was asleep he felt there would be no harm observing from afar. Any sudden movements and he could be out of the way and running back to Little Standish at once. He made his way past her foot and began to travel the considerable distance of her right leg. He stuck to the trees, navigating around the perimeter of the clearing where Anna lay. The curves of her leg were hills. The hem of her dress was hiked up somewhat and he could see her exposed shins, enormous and rosy in the mellow sunlight. There was a hint of soft white thigh leading to the hillocks of her upper leg, and then the dress began, rolling blue waves of heavy-spun linen,a veritable ocean of fabric. He passed her hand, palm down, rising from the earth like some ancient native burial mound, and the might white arm leading up from it towards her shoulder. Each elegant finger looked to be several times longer than he was, and thick as a tree trunk. The mountains of this feminine landscape - her mighty breasts - dominated the view in front of him, looming ever larger with each step. Even lying on her back and compressed by the straining fabric of her dress, Anna’s bosom was so tremendously large that it blocked her face from view. The sun was to her back and still low in the sky, causing each tit cast a valley of deep shadow across the upper portion of her belly. Roland stopped walking for a moment and stood in awe, admiring the view. Looking back, he could see a little bit of her foot poking out to the side. Her toes looked small and dainty way off in the distance, incredible considering that in truth each one was bigger than he was.

Suddenly he felt the earth shudder beneath his feet. Her breasts began to wobble as an earthquake seemed to ripple through her body. The slender hand he had been admiring flattened and sunk into the ground as mighty fingers pushed off the earth like pistons. Her right elbow impacted the ground not thirty feet away from him. Looking up he saw her forearm and hand rushing down straight on top of him. It was over. Roland’s legs turned to jello. He flattened himself against the ground, bracing for impact. He heard the crashing of tree branches as her arm and hand barreled through the canopy towards him.

THOOM!

Her hand had landed a ways over from him, throwing up a shower of leaves and dirt. Roland gasped. He was miraculously still alive. The ground continued to rumble as Anna prepared to rise from her sleep. He looked back up at her. He could see the top of her head beginning to poke out over her bosom as she pushed herself into a sitting position. A second later her heavenly face crested the horizon of her breasts like a rising sun. Her eyes were half closed, her cheeks flush in the morning light. Her bosom wobbled as tons of displaced titflesh settled and came to rest. He watched as Anna opened her bleary eyes, sniffed, and let out a thunderous yawn, covering her mouth with her free hand. Then with the same hand she collected some strands of stray hair that had fallen across her face in her sleep and tucked them behind her ear. She sat, blinking contentedly in the sun. The entire sequence of her rising had played out over only a few seconds. To Roland it had been as jarring as an avalanche. But it was nothing compared to what was about to come next.

The ground rumbled as Anna shuffled her vast bottom forward. Roland, who had only just picked himself up, felt the earth shake beneath him once more. Her dress rushed like a waterfall down her knees as she shifted her legs, bent at the knee. Two percussive shakes rocked the earth as she planted her feet on the ground in preparation to take her weight. She was standing up.

It was like watching a mountain uproot itself.

With a roar of displaced air, Anna shot up to her full height. Acorns began falling from the branches above Roland's head. He raised his arms to protect his face. Her heavy breasts were set into motion once more, sloshing ponderously back and forth as she found her balance. Her upper body disappeared from view and was replaced by her monumental calves. Roland could see the muscles in her legs twitching, adjusting to bear her colossal weight. He heard her utter a thunderous sigh. The huge round heel of her foot sank into the earth what looked to be nearly a meter. She turned, and now her toes were facing him, looming over him. Dwarfed by her toes up close like this really drove home how small he was to her. Her foot rose from the ground and swung into the sky. Clods of dirt and leaves showered down from her sole. It blotted out the sun, casting Roland in shadow. He saw her toes spreading as they braced for impact.

He was an ant waking a sleeping giant. And now he was about to get stepped on.

Roland screamed and ran, trying desperately to outrun the shadow. It was no use. Her foot was simply too big. The crashing of falling trees reverberated through the forest. There was a sound like a cannon going off, and a rushing shockwave of air that made him stumble. He threw his arms up to shield his face from flying branches. Her foot had landed less than ten feet in front of him. He was confronted once more by her heel. The massive trunk of her Achilles tendon stretched above him, beyond it her voluminous calves and the blurry pale shapes of her gargantuan thighs far beyond them. Roland scrambled to his feet. He heard the rumble of the other foot preparing for her next step. He began to run again, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Please! Help! No!”

His world was turned upside down once again by the earthquake of her next step. He continued to scream, desperate, tears running down his face. Another tremor shook the earth. Then another. He tripped over a rock and fell face down into the wet leaves.

“What are you doing down there?”

Her voice sounded like a clap of distant thunder. He rolled over and looked up. He couldn’t see her face, only the endless expanse of her blue dress through the treetops. His heart was pounding. She had spotted him. He might not die after all.

“Please! I need help! Please help me!”

He heard the grumble of rustling fabric. Through the canopy he caught glimpses of facial features hanging high above him. Lips, nose, an enormous brown eye. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him. The full attention of a being her size was overwhelming to bear.

“I can’t hear you. I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

Her invitation was clearly rhetorical. She wasn’t asking him, she was telling him. After all, he was completely powerless to stop her. She was in charge here, and there was nothing he could do about that.

The canopy split open and a humongous open hand reached down towards him. He didn’t bother struggling. Her finger and thumb gently enveloped him around the waist and plucked him from the ground. She cradled her other hand beneath him and carefully deposited him into her palm. It was soft and warm, like a sprawling mattress. Her huge fingers curled over him as she lifted him towards her face. Roland felt slightly dizzy as the massive hand shot upwards into the air. It was rather like being seasick, but he didn’t think he could ever get used to this feeling.

A second later it was over. He found himself staring her in the face. Or more accurately, staring at her face. Up close it was difficult to interpret her features as a whole. They were an incoherent jumble of reference points. Her plush lips were partially open. Roland caught a glimpse of gigantic teeth hidden behind them. He craned his neck upwards, flinching under the weight of her gaze. He thought he spotted a glimpse of realization in her eyes as she surveyed him.

“You’re the little man from the ship!”

Her billboard sized cheeks flushed red. A giantess’s blush was an odd thing to witness up close. It was almost as if he could feel the heat of her skin. She didn’t sound angry at all. Roland felt a little bit safer. She recognized him. If she was planning to squish him she would have surely done so already. He stood to his full height and did his best to look her in the eyes.

“I am Roland,” he gulped, “yesterday you pick me up from the water, you save me.” His voice came out a squeak. Now it was Roland’s turn to blush. How reedy and thin his voice sounded in comparison to her deep, powerful, tones. He couldn’t help it. Witnessing her beauty and stature up close like this took his breath away.

She smiled. It felt like sunlight. “You’re very welcome. It wasn’t a problem at all. My name is Anna.” She grimaced, “It’s a horrible trick they played on you, I think they do it to the new men on board. Those little sailors can be quite brutish,” she bit her lip, “not that I think they all are of course! They have always treated me very nicely, at least. I’m sorry, I’m talking awfully loud aren’t I?”

She had noticed him flinching at the sound of her voice. He did not remember it being this painfully loud during their first meeting. It seemed she had forgotten to modulate her volume for him. She was looking down at him with concern. He waved his hand up at her to show he was fine. She was a very sweet girl. Talkative too, it seemed.

Her brow furrowed. She continued speaking, albeit in a much softer voice. “How did you find me anyway? Hardly anyone ever comes all the way out here.”

Roland scrambled to come up with an alibi. He did not want her to know he had been watching her in her sleep. “I - I want to thank you. I wanted to thank you. A man gave me directions.” He tried to put on a confident face. “We French value proper etiquette. It is simple good manners.”

He was relieved to see her crack a smile again. “Well that is very considerate of you. And you are very welcome. I didn’t know your ship was from France. Nobody ever tells me these things. I’ve always wanted to travel. I’ve seen so little of the world. Is it very beautiful there?”

“Yes, very beautiful.” Roland replied. “Here everything is the color green, in France we have more color, from all the wildflowers.” He paused. “I am sorry, my English is not good. It has been a long time.”

“Your English is very good. I think the accent is fetching. Where did you learn it?”

So he told her about going to school at the abbey. Learning his letters from the Bible. The farmstead back home. What it was like to grow up in the French countryside. Anna listened intently. She seemed genuinely interested in his stories. He found himself growing more confident speaking to her. At least his voice wasn’t shaking anymore. Her gentle demeanor was comforting. It almost felt like talking to a regular person. He told a funny tale from his eighth year about the stern Mother Superior and her overweight cat. She laughed, and the wind from her breath was enough to blow his hair back. It smelled vaguely of mint, and made clear that she was everything but a regular person.

Something else that was being made clear to Roland was a slightly flirtatious tone in their conversation. He was no stranger to courtship, and was confident in his ability to tell when a woman was interested. It was those huge brown eyes that gave her away. With them being so large, it was easy to detect when they flitted to his chest or admired his muscular arms. He wondered if she had ever had a man before. Perhaps not, after all she was only a young lass. It seemed to him she could simply take whatever she wanted, but he could tell that wasn’t in her nature. She seemed shy, not libidinous. Shy - and curious.

He was seated comfortably in the center of her palm now. She too was seated, having carefully lowered herself back to the ground while cupping him with both hands. The nauseating feeling returned, though her movements were much slower than before. She was telling him a little about Little Standish and its surroundings. Around him extended her enormous palm. It was not flat, but rather a living landscape all its own: a spiderweb of delicate lines, a fleshy mound of muscle anchoring her thumb, and the four round humps sprouting her columnar fingers. She was resting her hand on her tucked knees, while propping her back against a hillside that he later learned served as a sort of pillow for her. His view of her face was partially obstructed by the stately slopes of her gigantic bosom, which rose above him and to the sides, serving as a sort of horizon from behind which her sunny face occasionally made an appearance.

Seen up close in its entirety like this, her vast bosom boggled the mind. Each tit was at least fifty feet tall and wide. It was impossible to keep his eyes off them, since in this position they obstructed his entire field of view. It was also impossible not to notice that Anna was bursting out of her dress. The top of her dress covered only the bottom two-thirds of her bosom, creating two gigantic hillocks of soft breast meat that spilled out the top and sides of her bodice. Twenty men could have stood comfortably atop each of these freckled white mounds. Her dress, by any criteria a monumental contraption with all its acres of fabric, was clearly over matched by the sheer volume and weight of each titanic tit. Whenever she leaned back or drew breath to laugh, Roland could hear a high-pitched groaning that he quickly realized was the sound of fabric straining. When she moved like this the bare tops of her tits jiggled wildly, creating a wobbly line of dark cleavage that could have swallowed him whole. He was awestruck and aroused all at once.

If she weren’t three hundred feet tall she’d make a fine wife. A fertile wife. Roland had never seen a woman with a body so bountifully ripe for childbearing. She was the picture of womanhood: huge heavy breasts, ample hips, powerful supple legs, and a plump round ass. Any newborn nursed from those magnificent udders would surely grow up hale and hearty. Roland imagined pushing her back onto a mattress, feeling those massive breasts wobble beneath his fingers, scooping each heavy tit out of her bodice and bringing them one at a time to his mouth to suck. It would probably take two hands to properly handle one tit. He imagined pushing her naked mountains together, each fatty gumdrop wobbling back and forth obscenely, driving his hard cock between them as she moaned in pleasure and mashed her fingers into her own overflowing flesh - his cock disappearing, swallowed completely - two pairs of hands furiously pushing her humongous udders together until he exploded in ecstasy between them. He regarded the canyon of cleavage yawning open before him. It was a foolish fantasy. Forget his cock, the Sainte Maron herself could disappear between Anna’s breasts!

“Could you? I’ve always wanted to learn.”

She was asking him a question. He knocked himself out of his fantasy. “Sorry, I did not understand. What was it?”

“French. I would love to learn a few words of French,” she giggled, “though I doubt I’ll be any good at remembering them!”

“Arbre. That’s tree,” Roland pointed at the forest below. “Arbre.”

“Arber?” Anna laughed again. “Oh my, I’m not used to this!”

Roland smiled back. “Arbre. The sound comes from your throat. Maybe easier is Bonjour - ‘hello’.”

“Bonjour,” Anna said. “Bonjour, bonjour, bonjour.” She pursed her lips. “Yes, I quite like that one. It sounds like a candy. What about ‘person’, how does that go?”

“Personne. It is similar. Homme, is man, femme is woman.”

“What’s ‘hand’?”

“Main,” he patted her palm, “Je suis assis sur un main - I am sitting on a hand.”

She giggled. He loved the sound of her laugh. It sounded like splashing ocean water. He decided to try something daring.

“Some parts of the body I do not know the English word for, for example what is this?” He pointed to his stomach.

“That’s your stomach, or belly. There’s two words for it.”

“Stomach. I see. And what about this?” He gestured at her chest.

When she realized what he was asking she blushed red and glanced away. The tops of her breasts flushed rosy pink too. But Roland could see her smile as well. “Oh! Well, this is my bosom. And I suppose each one is called a breast. Each one of the bosoms I mean.”

“Bosom. I like that word. Tu as des beaux seins.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means, you have a beautiful ‘bosom’!”

“Oh really?” She gave him a coy smile from over the tops of her bosoms. “Can you see them from down there? Here.”

He felt the now familiar feeling of pressure as she moved her hand up and closer to her chest. He was now looking directly over the twin peaks of her chest. Her right breast was squashed against her left by the crook of the arm that was holding him up. The ravine of her cleavage bulged and wiggled as she moved. He could not imagine how many tons of force those colossal mountains of flesh must be exerting on one another in their never ending wrestling match for any and all available space in her bodice. In truth it made him think twice about his advances on her. Slipping in between those monsters might be the last thing he ever did. He looked up. He could see her peering down at him over the bottom of her chin. She had a seductive little smile on her face. She seemed confident in a giddy sort of way. He decided to trust her.

“Yes! This is a better view. J’approve - I like it, “ he laughed. “When you move me like that it makes me a little dizzy in the head!”

“Sorry! I want you to be comfortable. I know being held like this isn’t the most smoothest way to travel.” She paused and looked at him curiously. “I think I know a more comfortable place you might enjoy.” She puffed her chest out a little bit, causing her vast breasts to heave and swell upwards towards him. He heard the whine of straining fabric again, even louder now that he was so close to her.

He gulped. Part of him wanted to fling himself off her hand and into her waiting bosom. The other part was terrified at the thought of what might happen to him if he fell. An errant twitch, an overzealous movement, and he would be paste. There was so much space though. He could play it safe, keep his distance from the steeper slopes. It wouldn’t be hard to stay in one place. Traveling from one side of her breast to the other was a considerable distance, and he felt if he lost his footing she would have ample time to catch him before he fell too far. He could not resist. He wanted so badly to touch her.

“I-I think so too!” Roland gulped.

She smiled, and gently lowered him to the upper slope of her left breast. He walked to the edge of her palm, hung down the side, and dropped the short distance to the surface of her breast. He could feel the heat of her skin through his boots. His feet sunk almost an inch deep into the pliant flesh. Her hand retreated into the sky, unblocking his view. He surveyed the vista around him. He was standing atop an enormous expanse of white flesh. Anna’s breast stretched in every direction, dropping off on the curvature of the horizon. It was like standing on top of a mountain, or on the bow of a very large ship. To his right was her massive right breast - a mountain in its own right - and a thick lock of wavy brown hair cascading down her far shoulder, wide as a river. He could see the curved surface sway subtly as Anna shifted her weight. The gargantuan breast he was standing on was moving too. Each of Anna’s breaths caused the ground to rise and fall beneath him, like the rolling waves of a calm ocean. He inhaled. The warm pine-scent of her body filled his nostrils. She surrounded him. Everywhere he looked all he could see was her. He looked upwards and saw only the bottom of her chin. She was so big. It was like she was his entire world now.

He was standing on the breast of a living goddess. It was thrilling. Overwhelming. Intoxicating.

She had shifted herself back a smidgen. From this position her breasts presented a fairly steep upward slope to him. On the horizon he could make out the blue hem of her dress, digging into her flesh. He began his ascent. He could feel her eyes on him. She was tracking him, holding her body very still. He could hear her breathing getting huskier as he progressed. Her skin was flushed hot with arousal. It was warming his entire body. She gave a little sigh of pleasure, which shook his entire body and made the surface of her tits tremble. Eventually the slope was almost steep enough to force him onto all fours. He noticed her light freckles, some the size of dinner plates, which were sprinkled around her breasts, congregating in the spots on the upper slopes that had been tanned by the summer sun. Her skin was getting whiter now. Softer. He was nearing the edge of her dress. At this distance the creaking fabric was ever present. He could see beneath the fabric of her bodice that her skin got whiter, protected from the sun. Deeper still within her bodice lay her nipple. Enormous, no doubt, and ruddy pink. Roland wondered if it would be sensitive to his touch. Would he even be able to fit his arms around it? He began trying to lift the hem of her dress.

Something swooped down from the sky and he was flying through the air again. He found himself back on her palm, dazed out of his single minded intensity to find her nipple. She had fished him out of her breasts with finger and thumb. He looked up at her, terrified that he had gone to far or done something wrong.

There were tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry Roland. I - I liked that but it, well we just met and - it’s just I feel better going more slowly. You are a handsome man and I, I liked doing that with you, just - let’s be slow, okay? Let’s make sure nothing goes too fast.”

Roland was confused. A moment ago things had been going so well. What had changed?

“Anna, I’m sorry, merde, I did not mean to make you cry!”

She sniffed. “I’m not crying. It’s alright. Just like I said, let’s go slow.” She looked down at him. “I’m taking you back to town okay? I have some work to do today. Maybe I will see you tomorrow.” Her gargantuan right palm descended from the sky and blotted out the sun. He could hear the whoosh of air as she rose to her full height. He heard her clear her throat. A distant rumble began as she started to walk.

She was holding him on her palm with one hand covering the other, like one would carry a cricket. He sat in darkness all the way back to Little Standish.

Roland ducked out of the inn, pulling his cap and collar up around his face. It was still raining. The dirt road was washed-out, with wide eddies of water carving out miniature riverbeds down the middle and sides. Beneath the porch the runoff rainwater had formed a little lake. None of the buildings here had gutters. He supposed steel must be hard to come by in the New World. A little ways down the road he spotted an old man leading a piebald mare by the halter, both figures hunched over and struggling through the mud.

It had been a grey, soggy afternoon in the village. Roland had spent the day loading barrels of whale oil onto the Sainte Maron. A piss colored liquid that reeked to high heaven, the thick, foul-smelling oil had stained his fingers with grease and ruined one of his shirts. Paying for a bath at the inn had cost him nearly a quarter of his week’s pay, but it had to be done. He leaned up against the doorpost and fished his pipe out from under his coat. At least the tobacco here was excellent - and cheaper than dirt.

As he smoked, Roland watched droplets of water tumble from the roof into the wooden rain barrel. Much to his dissapointemnt, Anna had not appeared to help with the day’s inventory. He wondered how she usually occupied her time-off. After all, cargo ships only came in every so often. Roland had picked up tidbits here and there, the handful of times he’d managed to steer conversation around the bar table to the topic of Anna. He learned she was a rouseabout of sorts - a giantess-of-all-trades - helping out wherever her enormous size and strength could prove useful. Some days she worked in the forest with the lumberjacks, plucking trees up by their roots the way a girl might pick daisies. During spring she ploughed fields, her hand doing the work of five mules at once as she raked her fingers through the soil. She could single-handedly put out fires, dousing the flames with voluminous handfuls of water or stamping them out beneath her mighty feet. And no trader dared cheat the citizens of a town with a resident giantess.

The sun was beginning to set behind the church steeple. Roland snuffed his pipe and, with no ashbox in sight, knocked the cinders out against his boot. These Americans really have no sense of cleanliness. He hopped off the porch and began making his way towards the tavern.

Before he could take two steps a pair of arms materialized out of the darkness and slid around his neck.

He cried out, but a rugged hand shot up to his mouth to silence him. The unseen assailant forced him into a headlock and wrestled him down to the mud. Roland lashed out in desperation, and managed to drive an elbow into his captor’s kidney. The man gasped in pain. For a moment the pressure around his neck loosened, and Roland grabbed the opportunity. He reached into his coat and whipped out his pocket knife. Grasping it by the hilt he twisted his arm back as far as it could go and plunged the blade into his attacker’s chest.

“AIIIIEEEE!”

The arms withdrew. Roland scrambled to his feet, brandishing the knife before him like an épée.

The mugger was sprawled on the ground, covered in mud. A jagged slash ran down the side of his buckskin jacket. It was bleeding profusely. He was clean shaven, sporting a black ponytail, and had a bronzed, ruddy pallor that was unlike anything Roland had ever seen. The commotion had attracted onlookers. Villagers were poking their heads from bedroom windows, and a small group of men had stepped out of the tavern to see what the fuss was about.

More shadowy figures began emerging from the darkness between buildings and alleyways, casting lanky black shadows on the walls. Some carried spears.

A woman’s shrill scream broke the silence.

“Indians!”

Roland leapt out of the way and took cover around the porch corner. The street exploded around him. A crowd of men barged through the tavern doors, and more villagers were emerging from homesteads on either side of the street, brandishing guns and billy clubs. Angry shouts and the clash of steel on steel rang out as the two mobs collided. Someone discharged a musket nearby, and the sharp crack of exploding gunpowder made Roland’s ears wince. He turned to run, but there was nowhere to go. Indians were emerging from the treeline all around them. Further up the road a group of a dozen or so warriors had formed a spearwall, making escape in that direction impossible.

The air was becoming thick with acrid gunsmoke. Roland drew his coat collar up over his mouth and tried to make himself as small as possible. His heart was racing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be the end of his time in the New World.

Bong! Bong! Bong!

Someone was ringing the church bells. The fighting cooled off for a second as heads turned towards the top of the white steeple. Roland slithered down the alleyway with his back against the wall, praying no one would notice. There was a woodpile behind the inn; five cords of firewood covered with a low roof. He ducked between the chest-high stacks and crouched there, clenching his knife till his knuckles turned white.

Irregular gaps between the logs afforded him a narrow view of the crowded street. It was unclear which side had the upper hand. Roland watched in horror as an Indian thrust his spear clean through someone’s belly, then had his head cleaved in twain a second later by a savage blow from behind.

The logpile creaked, as if shifted by a distant impact.

Thoom.

Thoom.

Thoom.

Anna’s head crested the rooftops on the far side of Little Standish, her face pinched with fury. Roland’s eyes widened. Wind was blowing back her dark hair, which trailed behind her like rolling storm clouds. As she drew closer his view of her shoulders, arms, and gigantic wobbling bosom was swiftly replaced with the vast expanse of fabric constituting the bottom of her dress, which swirled about her legs. Her huge bare feet, big as barns, pounded the earth with terrifying power. The spearwall scattered like cockroaches before her giant toes - but it was too late.

THOOM!

Anna’s massive foot struck the ground with the force of a meteorite, shaking the earth. The dozen or so Indian warriors who had been standing guard at the head of the road simply vanished beneath her sole. Her toes sunk into the dirt, spreading apart slightly as the full weight of her colossal body bore down upon them, then peeled off the ground as she swung her foot into another step. Clods of mud rained down from the bottom of her sole, along with what looked like a human corpse, mangled beyond recognition.

Roland averted his eyes, fighting back vomit.

A dozen men, instantly crushed into dust. There was nothing they could have done. Fighting back against her gigantic foot was out of the question, and if they had managed to run fast enough to escape its shadow she would have simply adjusted the trajectory of her step by an inch or two to capture them once more. What really disturbed him was the casual manner of it all. She hadn't even broken her stride. Their lives had ended with the same casual indifference a carefree lass might apportion to ants crossing her path. One native’s tiny body had stuck to the bottom of her sole, unnoticed, like a piece of stray lint. It wasn’t the first time Roland had witnessed a display of Anna's inordinate power, but it was certainly the most visceral.

A cacophony of screams and cheers rose up from the battling mob as Anna approached. Some of the Indians were already breaking in terror, fleeing the oncoming shadow. Many more stood frozen, staring up at the angry giantess with expressions of abject terror. Her footsteps came to a shuddering halt at the head of the crowd. The fighting had ceased, as every pair of eyeballs was locked on Anna’s towering figure high above them. All Roland could see of her from his vantage point were two rows of humongous toes and a sliver of ankle. Her big toe, capped with a broad nail as wide as a dining table, stood several heads taller than any of the men. The giant toes on her left foot wiggled menacingly - although whether this was a deliberate threat or just a reflexive twitch on Anna’s part was unclear.

Her booming voice drowned out the mob’s cries.

“I told you not to come back!” she thundered.

The ear-splitting rebuke shattered the momentary truce between native and villager. Rallied by Anna’s fortuitous arrival, the men of Little Standish redoubled their efforts. Indian warriors toppled like threshed wheat beneath the onslaught of bayonets and billy-clubs. Anna’s huge hand swept down from the sky, tree-trunk fingers spread wide. She began scooping up panicked Indians from the crowd, grabbing them by the handful like jelly-beans and hoisting them into the air. Individual stragglers on the periphery of the crowd were unceremoniously pincered between finger and thumb. Roland saw them desperately trying to beat back her pillar-like fingers, but their weapons glanced off her skin without even leaving a mark. One man managed to thrust his spearpoint through her fingertip as Anna plucked him from the ground. The giantess responded by pinching his body. Hard. The man crumpled between her fingers, crushed like a bothersome gnat. The injury he inflicted upon her hand - barely comparable to a pinprick - had cost him his life.

The tumultuous herd of brawling men was beginning to thin noticeably. Each time Anna bent over to scoop up another handful of fleeing Indians her enormous bosoms swung downwards, creating a breathtaking ravine of white cleavage. As she leaned forward, the round flank of one colossal tit happened to graze the rooftop of an adjacent house, causing a flurry of loose shingles to rain upon the crowd. Had she shifted just a smidge more to the side the weight of that immense breast would have toppled the building entirely. Her tits were so large that even bent at the waist as she was they hung quite close to the ground, wobbling ominously overhead the crowd. A few feet lower and the unimaginable mass of her gigantic bosom would have steamrolled them all. A single teat was probably more than big enough to crush the lot.

Anna was tossing her tiny captives into the front of her apron, which she held aloft with her free hand. In just a few moments there were dozens of natives struggling to free themselves from the fabric prison. The scene at her feet was chaos. Indians shoving past each other to get away, stumbling and slipping in the soft mud. The villagers had retreated to the side of the road, clearing the way for Anna to do her work. One red warrior - more foolish than brave - leapt onto her foot and raised his axe to strike. The eager onlookers cheered as Anna sent him flying with a flick of her toe. Roland, caught up in the heroics, stood and joined the applause.

Thwack!

A blow to the side of his head sent him crashing to the ground.

The Indian he had fought with before stood over him, leering. In his hands was a brutal wooden bludgeon. Roland scrambled back, fumbling for his knife, but the man grabbed his collar and dragged him out from the woodpile.

Thwack!

The bludgeon cracked across his back. Roland gasped in pain. The native grinned and raised his club into the air once more, preparing to bring it crashing down on Roland’s skull.

Whoosh!

A pair of huge white fingers clamped around the Indian’s waist and hoisted him into the air. Roland was knocked away like a ragdoll as the backside of Anna’s hand brushed against his body. It felt like being kicked by a horse. He rolled over several times before coming to a stop. Roland gazed up in awe. Anna towered over him, all three hundred feet of her, taking up the entire sky. He watched as she nonchalantly dropped her wriggling quarry into the fold of her apron with the others. For a moment Roland expected her to address him directly, examine him for injury, maybe even help him to his feet. But instead Anna turned on her heel and began walking towards the docks, each heavy footstep quaking the earth.

Of course she hadn’t recognized him. He was just another ant to her, crawling on the ground by her toes - like all the rest of them. The color of his coat was the only thing separating him from the Indians in her eyes. He shuddered, realizing how fortunate he was to be in the good graces of this giant woman, this goddess. She was a force of nature.
The attackers were vanquished, either retreated into the woods or caught in Anna’s apron. She stepped over a row of buildings, placing her huge feet with care, and waded into the ocean. The giantess had to go out quite a ways before the water even reached her shins. The crowd of Little Standishites cheered as Anna inverted her apron and dumped the marauders into the churning waves around her ankles. Roland could hear their faint screams as they plummeted towards the sea. Anna lifted her foot and used it to stir the water in circles. Those who hadn't perished on impact were no doubt drowned by the swirling currents created by her toes.

Anna brushed off her hands and stood there for a moment, her figure a hulking silhouette occluding the night sky. Roland wondered what was on her mind at that moment. He massaged his aching ribs and watched as Anna made her ponderous way back to shore.

Perhaps it was better not to know.

Fifteen years. Had it really been that long? Roland lowered the spyglass. 

Fifteen years had passed, a decade and a half sailing the world. He had changed, and so had Little Standish.

Since he had last set foot on the shores of Little Standish, Roland had climbed the ranks and established himself as a capable captain. He had journeyed across every corner of the globe, plying his trade from the bustling ports of southern Europe to the exotic markets of the East Indies, carrying cargo holds overflowing with luxurious silks, aromatic spices, and glittering porcelain. Among the French merchant class, his name had become synonymous with reliability and good fortune.

As the captain of the Bijou, Roland had grown accustomed to the rhythms of life at sea. The ship was a sturdy three-masted barque, with a hull of seasoned oak and billowing sails of fine auburn hemp. Its decks were scrubbed to a sheen, iron studs and polished brass fittings gleaming in the sunlight. Roland's crew, numbering two score and five, was a motley assortment of experienced sailors and eager young men.

As he gazed out over the horizon at the oncoming sliver of land, memories of the little village stirred in Roland’s mind. He remembered the rolling green forests, the cottages with their thatched roofs, the tang of dark soil and dry pine needles. But most of all, he remembered Anna. Roland closed his eyes for a moment and let the briny breeze wash over him. The scent of salt and seaweed intertwined with the distant memories. Anna. He had thought of her often over the years.

His reverie was interrupted by the call of Arnaud, his first mate, "Land ho! Dead ahead, Captain!"

Roland snapped back to reality. He barked orders to adjust course and prepare for landfall. His sailors scurried about, trimming the sails and adjusting the rigging. 

As they approached the harbor, Roland noticed the changes that had come to Little Standish in his absence. New buildings had been erected, including what looked like a granary. A crowded port had grown around the sheltered bay. The once-sleepy village had transformed into something of a bustling trade hub.

Roland signaled his men to drop anchor. It took five men to turn the windlass, which groaned and shook the deck as the heavy iron chain unwound from its spool. The Bijou slowed to a stop, her hull sliding gently against the dock. Longshoremen tossed ropes on board, and Roland’s crew busied themselves lashing the ship into place. He watched them work from his position on the quarterdeck, a bemused smile playing across his lips. The last time he had visited these shores he’d been among those scurrying around the deck securing the ship for landfall. Even worse, if memory served, he’d been given the unenviable chore of deckswab. How times had changed.  

He was the first off the ship. After a month at sea, solid ground beneath the boots felt good. A balding clerk approached, stuttering something about inventory. Roland directed the man towards Arnaud. The Bijou was carrying textiles, tea, and barrels of black molasses, but truth be told trade was the furthest thing from Roland’s mind at the moment.  

He had bigger matters to attend to. 

…

They departed the village hostel at dawn, a dozen of his own men, four Indians, and two swaybacked mules strapped and laden with supplies. Roland had wanted to bring horses, but Kariwase, the Indian who was to serve as their liaison, had dismissed the suggestion. There were no trails where they were going, and the earth in the deep forest was too soft for hooves.

“Useless,” he chided, regarding Roland with brows drawn. “A horse will break his leg. You can walk.”

And so, Roland walked. The air beneath the black canopy of pines was heavy, redolent with the prickly odor of dry needles. He marched in the vanguard at first, up front alongside the younger men. However as the brisk morning gave way to blistering midday heat he found himself lagging towards the back of the procession with Kariwase and the mules.

The sun beat down mercilessly, and the air thrummed with the buzzing of insects. Roland's shirt was soaked with sweat, and his boots caked in black mud. The oppressive heat was making him dizzy, and he knew that he would have to stop soon to rest.

Kariwase glanced back at him. “Not used to this, are you?” he asked.

Roland shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

“It becomes easier,” Kariwase said. “You must keep going.”

Roland nodded. “I’ll try.”

They trudged onwards through the heat. Roland’s damp shirt clung to his body like a second skin. His abdomen cramped, a sharp twinge beneath his ribcage on the left side that felt like being impaled by bayonet. Roland was a sturdy man, no stranger to physical toil. A life at sea had hardened his body. But endurance on land was another matter entirely. He retreated into his mind, trying to ignore the complaints of his exhausted body. Anna’s face floated into his vision, her gentle eyes looking down at him, beseeching him to keep going. One foot in front of the other.

Eventually the forest began to open up. The tight-knight canopy of pine needles gave way to patches of open sky. As they emerged from the depths, Roland noticed a change in the air. It was cooler now, the heavy humidity lifting slightly. A welcome breeze blew over them, carrying the unmistakable scent of woodsmoke.

Kariwase raised his hand, signaling for the procession to halt. Ahead, a collection of huts and longhouses came into view, their roofs adorned with feathers and animal hides.

“We have arrived,” Kariwase announced, without fanfare. “This is the village of my people.” 

Roland, red-faced and huffing, couldn’t help but marvel that the trek had seemingly tired the Indian not one bit. 

Cautiously, they entered the village. Men and women emerged from their dwellings as they passed. Children peeked out from behind their mother’s robes, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. Roland felt their stares, the mixed expressions of interest and caution. Relations between the natives and the settlers of Little Standish had improved markedly over the years, but it was still unusual to see white men so far inland.

An older native approached them from beneath the canopy of a hide tent. His hair was long, white, and tied in a regal queue atop his head. A woven blanket embroidered with intricate swirling patterns of colored beads was draped across his shoulder. He began to speak to Kariwase in a language Roland did not understand, his voice hoarse with age, but authoritative.

Kariwase listened intently before responding, then turned to Roland. "This is the chieftain of our tribe, Awendela. He welcomes you, and asks your purpose. We rarely see outsiders here."

Roland nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Tell him we come peacefully. We have gifts -- ornaments, sweets, gunpowder -- it’s not much, but it was all we could carry.” 

“And,” he added quietly, “I’d like to see Anna."

The chieftain's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he listened to Kariwase translate. He responded in turn, speaking slowly, his sinewy brown hands twisting the leather tassels hanging from his sleeve. Finally, he nodded and gestured toward the center of the village, towards a large stone fire pit, and uttered a single English word.

“Welcome.”

"We are invited to sit and share a meal," Kariwase relayed. "Talks will continue there. There is bedding for your men in the roundhouse. Tell them to unpack."

Roland obliged. The crew, relieved to finally rest, began unstrapping the saddlebags. They settled down around the fire pit, and Roland watched as villagers brought forth clay bowls filled with stew and baskets of maize bread. Awendela sat on a fur blanket at the head of the fire, engaged in quiet conversation with Kariwase. 

Roland devoured his stew. He had been so distracted that he hadn’t realized how famished the journey had made him.

Kariwase gestured for him to approach. Roland hastily wiped his mouth and set down his bowl. He nodded respectfully towards Awendela, taking a seat on the ground in front of the chieftain. Awendela considered Roland with an inscrutable expression. He exchanged a few sentences with Kariwase, the timbre of their voices lowered as though discussing a matter of significance. Roland wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He had braved tempests, shipwrecks, even pirate attacks, yet somehow this old Indian had him feeling as fretful as a scolded child.

Kariwase turned to Roland, his eyes steady. "You are in luck. Chief Awendela says you will see Anna. A group from the village is prepared to journey there tomorrow. It is not a small thing. Visitations are sacred."

Relief surged through Roland, and for the first time since setting foot in the village, he allowed himself a full breath. "Tell him thank you. Thank him for this opportunity. I understand, we will conduct ourselves with the utmost respect."

Kariwase nodded. “There is another thing. Chief Awendela sees you carry a flask. He would like a taste of your liquor.”

Startled, Roland retrieved his metal canteen and passed it over. The old Indian unscrewed the cap and took a sip. He grinned, revealing wide white teeth, and smacked his lips.

“Wonderful!”

Roland laughed. It was the last thing he had expected to hear. Awendela chuckled and offered the bottle to Kariwase, who declined. 

“Tell him to keep it,” Roland said. “It is my gift to him. That is fine French brandy.” 

Kariwase obliged. With a subtle motion, the Chief signaled to the villagers that the formal part of their gathering had come to an end. Food was cleared away and the villagers began to disperse. Roland’s men retreated to the roundhouse cabin, collapsing onto fur bedrolls.

As Kariwase stood up to leave, he put a hand on Roland's shoulder, his grip firm but not imposing. "You should prepare yourself. The journey is not long, but the way there is... different."

“Different how?”

Kariwase’s brow furrowed. “You will see. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow brings a day of many revelations.”

The interior of the roundhouse was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light of a small stone hearth. The structure was simple but meticulously crafted, its wooden frame supporting walls woven from reeds. Pallets of furs and woven mats were arranged on the floor. His men were already snoring.

Roland plopped onto a bedroll, peeling off his boots and setting them aside with a weary sigh. His fingers ran through his salt-streaked hair, pushing it back from his forehead. For the first time since landing on Little Standish, he felt the full weight of fatigue press down on him, a physical echo of the emotional whirlpool that had gripped him since his arrival. He sank into the furs, staring up at the ceiling where the flickering light threw dancing shadows across the timbers. His thoughts swirled -- anticipation, fear, regret, and a lingering nostalgia for a past that felt both like a lifetime ago and just yesterday. 

As he closed his eyes, he tried to imagine the scene that would unfold the next day. What would she look like now? How had the years treated her? Would she even want to see him? After all, he had left, sailed away, while she had stayed behind. He remembered her face, the softness of her eyes, the warmth of her smooth skin as she held him in the palm of her hand.

It was this image, tinged with yearning, that accompanied him as he slipped into the depths of a restless sleep.

The air was cool and misty as the first rays of dawn filtered through the thatched canopy of the roundhouse. Roland was awake before his eyes even opened, his internal clock, fine-tuned by years at sea, alerting him that it was time to rise.

The roundhouse was silent. Roland lay there for a moment, trying to settle his racing mind. Today was not just another day -- it carried the weight of years, of long-standing questions and deeply buried feelings. Roland pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling the stiffness in his legs as he stretched.

The Indians were already assembled. A group of sturdy braves, about two dozen, bearing wooden sleds with leather pull-ropes. Strapped to these sleds were enormous clay vessels, empty and sealed with corks of woven reeds. They were immense, wider in diameter than his outstretched arms. It required two men to pull each one, and even then, they walked slowly, their muscles taut with effort.

He approached Kariwase, who was overseeing the arrangements. "What are these for?" he gestured towards the vessels.

Kariwase pursed his lips. "You will see," he said, his voice flat.

Intrigued, Roland could do nothing but nod. He rejoined his men, giving them a final once-over. "Remember, we're guests here. Keep your wits about you and follow my lead."

His men stood at attention, apprehension in their eyes. Roland could not fault them, he felt it too: a twisting mixture of exhilaration and tension knotting his stomach.

The procession embarked into the forest. The Indians led the way. Roland and his men followed suit, boots crunching softly on the dry needles.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, Roland felt the atmosphere thicken, the trees stretching taller and the shadows deepening, until the wilderness seemed to swallow them whole. This was an untamed land. Pines loomed overhead, their branches casting a latticework of shadows on the forest floor. Ferns and underbrush rustled beneath their feet. The air was still and silent, save for the occasional chirping of birds.

The Indians moved through the jungle with a grace born of lifelong familiarity. Their moccasins seemed to find all the right footholds, smoothly negotiating the maze of gnarled roots and jutting stones. The clay vessels they carried swayed gently but never toppled. Roland couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle: these containers were so large they could easily hold a man, yet the men maneuvered their burdens through the forest with ease. Glancing back, he saw his own men struggling to keep pace; their faces flushed, their eyes narrowed in concentration. 

Some time after midday the procession emerged from the forest into an expansive clearing. Roland squinted in the sun. At first glance, it appeared as though a mighty storm had swept through the area. Where one might expect to find a soft meadow, tufted with grass, they were met with a desolate wasteland stretching for acres ahead of them. The earth was pounded flat, brush and foliage beaten down into a crushed carpet of green and brown. Saplings were twisted and uprooted, contorted into unnatural shapes, their jagged roots clawing up from the soil as if gasping for air. 

The vegetation appeared as if it had been blown back, a gradient of destruction radiating outwards towards the boundary of the clearing. Grass and ferns were bent away, their stems distorted as though fleeing from some unseen point of impact at the center. Even the towering trees surrounding the clearing seemed to recoil, their branches shorn off on the side facing the open space. The soil here was compacted, so hard and unyielding that Roland doubted even a pickaxe could penetrate it. In places, it seemed like the ground had been laminated; the imprints of crushed grasses, shattered twigs, and fragmented leaves sealed permanently into the earth, like flower petals preserved between the pages of a book.

The very air in the clearing felt different, laden with a stillness that made the skin on Roland's arms prickle. It was as if the surrounding forest was retreating, running from some unknown cataclysm. Even the birds seemed to avoid this space, as if fearing some unseen danger.

Roland’s eyes widened. He knew what this was. He had seen something like it before, all those years ago. But not on this scale. It could not be possible.

The size of Anna’s footprint was staggering, overwhelming. From heel to toe, the print covered an unimaginable distance -- at least a dozen acres, maybe more. Roland stood frozen, swallowed by the enormity of what this meant. Anna had grown, grown beyond anything he could have imagined. 

Roland surveyed the impossible landscape surrounding him with new eyes, tracing the contours of the footprint to what appeared to be the deepest part of the indentation. The ground there was excavated as though an asteroid had struck with enough force to burrow into the earth. The soil was not just compacted: it was practically fused.  This, he realized, was where Anna's heel must have made contact, where the majority of her unimaginable weight had pressed down into the earth as she walked. 

Kariwase clapped his hands and urged them onward. Roland and his men resumed walking, stunned. The Indians looked unmoved. If they felt anything at all, their expressions showed no hint of it.

They continued, marching like ants along the length of Anna’s footprint. Soon Roland lost sight of the forest behind him. The indentation caused by Anna’s bare sole stretched as far as his eye could see. He tried counting how many paces they had taken from her heel, but soon lost track. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the forest appeared again in the distance. As they neared the front of the footprint, the place where Anna’s massive toes had made landfall, Roland’s breath caught in his throat. The sight was nothing short of monumental. 

If the heel had been a crater, these were canyons. The print of her big toe was a depression so wide that to Roland it resembled a natural amphitheater, where hundreds, if not thousands, could gather. The print was deep too, so deep that if a two-story home had been placed within it, the upper windows would still be well below ground level. It was as if a round, oblong quarry had been dug out of the earth, but with a precision and force that no human effort could ever achieve. Next to the big toe, the prints of the other four toes stretched out, each one smaller than the next, but still incomprehensibly large. In the distance Roland could make out the impression of Anna's pinky, the "smallest" of her giant toes. And yet even that made a mark in the earth so sizable that a cottage could fit comfortably inside.

The very thought that this landscape had been carved by Anna’s little toes -- a fraction of her foot, a minuscule part of her body -- left Roland with an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability. They were just toes, yet they had reshaped the world in their image, carving their form in the earth as if it was wet sand. 

The group reached the edge of the clearing and clambered up the slope out of her footprint back into the treeline. The ground before them was sharply inclined, a butte leading up a large hill.

“Climb to the top, then we rest for the night.” Kariwase announced. 

Roland looked at the Indians with admiration. They had been hauling those clay tankards for well over four hours now, without complaint. Roland knew that, had his own men been tasked with such a load, he would have been given more than an earful of griping.

Breathing heavily, the men began their ascent. The hill was blanketed in thickets of tall grass and sporadic clusters of scrubby trees, which gave way to bushes and brambles further up the slope. When they reached the summit, Roland’s men tossed their packs aside and collapsed onto the soft grass. The Indians followed suit, braking their sleds and settling down to rest.

Wanting a better view of what lay ahead, Roland clambered up a rock formation some distance ahead and stood, hands on hips, surveying the landscape. 

The sight that met his eyes was nothing short of surreal. Forest stretched as far as his eyes could see, a carpet of green scarred by successive impressions on the earth -- each a titanic footprint like the one they had just traversed. The footprints seemed to churn the very fabric of the land, forming a trail that carved through mountains, split forests, and redefined the contours of valleys. Anna’s footsteps were geological events. Where her feet had fallen, towering trees had been reduced to splinters, and rocky outcroppings ground to dust. 

As Roland's eyes traced the meandering trail of Anna's footprints, one particular impression caught his attention. A river -- a torrent of water that had etched its path through the landscape over millennia -- had been intersected by one of her gargantuan steps. The natural flow of water had been disrupted, rerouted by the sheer scale of the indentation left behind by her foot. The river's waters had pooled within the footprint, filling it like a bowl, and what had been a flowing waterway was now transformed into an expansive, foot-shaped lake. He could make out how her toes had created individual coves, miniature-lakes within a lake, separated by slender peninsulas that were actually the ridges formed by the spaces between her toes. Her big toe alone had generated a cove that looked deep and wide enough to host a flotilla of ships. 

It was humbling, almost humiliating, to witness the extent to which Anna had sculpted the landscape just with the unconscious act of walking. Her simple footfalls were seismic events, altering rivers, forming accidental lakes, leaving behind an indelible mark of her overwhelming power. Her dainty foot had not merely impressed the earth, it had reshaped it entirely in a display of inadvertent casual power. 

To think that something as trivial as the underside of a young woman’s slender foot could wield the power to level forests as she walked was deeply unsettling. As Roland’s gaze traveled along the path of destruction Anna had left in her wake, he felt dwarfed in a way he had never felt before.

And there in the distance, cloaked in mist and draped over the mountains, was a sight which made his heart skip a beat.

Anna.

But it wasn’t her. The godlike being he saw looming on the horizon was not the same young woman he once knew. She had become something else entirely. 

Anna's colossal form sprawled languidly over leagues of hills, forests, and valleys as though they were simply undulations in a great green carpet. Her gargantuan body aligned with the curve of the Earth as if she were a natural extension of its surface. She was laying on her stomach, facing away from him, nestled against a range of mountains as if they were pillows. Her naked body stretched beyond the scope of what Roland’s eyes could fully encompass, so enormous that she seemed to merge with the earth and sky in a disorienting collision of perspective. 

Roland's mind struggled to reconcile the scene before him. It was as if he were looking at the world from the opposite end of a telescope. His eyes were first drawn to her feet, the closest part of her body to him, gargantuan edifices in their own right. The soles faced the heavens like two colossal cliffsides, their texture of delicate whorls writ large on a canvas of flesh. The smooth skin on the bottoms of  each foot was subtly darkened by dirt and dust, the consequence of a lifetime walking barefoot. Her round heels rose into the sky higher than any cliff face, and her toes -- each one an individual monolith -- dug into the earth, bulldozing acres of forest as she idly jostled her foot in her sleep, forming heaping mounds of broken trees and soil around each toe.

His eyes traveled up her legs, endless white columns that seemed to stretch for miles, porcelain skin glistening in the sunlight. The round muscles of her calves bulged and undulated with a geography of their own. Her thighs -- huge, wide, and soft -- lay ponderously against the earth, towering above it like two plateaus. Each heavy thigh had rolled over acres of forests, erasing them from existence beneath their unimaginable weight. 

Where those monumental legs met, Roland's eyes beheld a spectacle that seemed to compete with the sky itself. Anna’s plump rear, two gigantic white globes that seemed as though they could fully encompass smaller mountains in their curves. Her ass seemed to possess its own gravitational pull, drawing his eyes and holding them captive. Each round buttock, big as the moon itself, dwarfed any geological formation Roland had ever seen or read about, rising higher into the sky than the peaks she lay across. Her ass blotted out the sun, and the shadow cast across the land by the enormity of its round form was a twilight zone, a region where day was perpetually dimmed. The creases under each heavy cheek were deep ravines, dark places where light struggled to reach. Hiking just one of her buttocks would be a day long excursion pushing him to his physical limit. Her ass was not merely large; it was an awe-inspiring marvel of creation rendered in flesh, towering over the world like a dual-peaked Olympus.

Anna had the biggest, roundest ass Roland had ever seen on a woman. Each huge firm cheek would require multiple handfuls to properly hold -- had Anna been normal sized, of course. At her current scale Anna’s massive rump was a continent unto itself, its twin curves horizon-defining, redrawing the very outline of the planet and obscuring the rest of her body from view.

Roland exhaled, the sound scarcely a whisper.

“There she is.”

Kariwase had appeared, silently, beside him. He stood with hands clasped behind his back.

“I don’t understand. How is this possible? How is she… How is she like this?” Roland stuttered. He rubbed his temples, as if it would dispel the mirage which lay before them.

“There is much in the world we do not understand.” Kariwase replied. “The land has charmed her to grow all her life.”

The Indian faced him and cocked his head to the side. “Finally, you see her. Are you satisfied?”

“I don’t know. This isn’t what I imagined.” Roland admitted. He scoffed, taking in the absurdity of the moment. “Not at all what I imagined.”

Kariwase nodded. “We are setting up camp. You must get a good night’s rest.” He put a hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Tomorrow we finish the journey.” 

…

Roland returned to the campsite, where the men had already pitched tents and begun to stoke a fire. The embers glowed like miniature stars in the twilight, casting shadows that danced along the treeline. The cozy scene seemed almost whimsical in comparison to the unreality that awaited them just over the hill.

Though sleep seemed an impossible task, Roland knew he had to try. Another difficult hike awaited him on the morrow. He unrolled a mat inside his tent and lay down. 

As he drifted off, Anna loomed in his mind’s eye. Giant or not, she was an incredible specimen of a woman. Roland could not help but be smitten by her physical beauty; after all, he was a red-blooded man himself. It was only natural. Roland rolled over on his side, trying to get comfortable. Lost in the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, his mind wandered into the realm of capricious fantasy. 

He envisioned them wed, sharing a cottage on the outskirts of the village. A snug bedroom loft above a homey kitchen and glowing hearth. He imagined Anna getting settled for bed, the silky fabric of her white cotton chemise clinging to each ample curve of her womanly body. She was at the nightstand, brushing her flowing tresses in front of their silver mirror, the gentle features of her face looking angelic in the mellow firelight.

He came up behind her and stooped to kiss her neck. She giggled as he nipped at her ear, then she turned to return the kiss, long, warm, and hard. He ran his hands across her body, feeling her softness. He cupped the bottoms of her enormous breasts and lifted them, their warmth radiating through the fabric of her nightgown, as dense and heavy as sacks of flour. He let them slip from his hands and watched them tumble back down, jiggling as they slapped against her tummy with an audible plop, so wide and round that in her seated position they practically filled her lap.

They pulled each other into bed, kissing and laughing. He retrieved the bottle of lavender oil from the nightstand and propped her up on some pillows. His queen. She watched him with tender eyes as he massaged her bare legs with oil, kneading her plush thighs, her calves, the soles of her feet, melting away any tension he found. He lifted a leg over his shoulder and planted kisses along its length, relishing the feeling of her soft skin against his lips, nibbling the inside of her thighs. As he came to the end he suddenly grabbed her ankle and bit her toes, eliciting a peal of laughter and a playful kick.

The temptation had grown too strong to resist. He climbed on top of her, pinning her soft body against the mattress. Anna gave a little cry of surprise and raised her arms, enormous tits sloshing beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown as they settled into this new position. Her juicy nipples poked through the lace.With an almost pious reverence he pulled her huge breasts out of her top, one massive teat at a time, fingers sinking into what felt like acres of pliant white flesh. Anna’s tits were so enormous that instead of sitting separately, like most women, they jostled for space on her chest, slapping against each other, and creating a shifting line of cleavage that took up almost her entire torso. Hanging loose and free, her tits settled into a bulbous teardrop shape against her stomach. He stroked them, marveling at their size, their volume, the spattering of light freckles across the cleavage, the way the milky white bottoms and undersides -- ever so slightly damp with her sweet sweat -- radiated heat. 

Her areola were smooth and light pink, big as tea plates. Roland pinched her big nipples, making her gasp. He cupped her breasts from below, their sweet softness overflowing his hands and spilling between his fingers, and jiggled. She smiled, shimmying her shoulders back and forth, causing her giant juggs to wobble even harder for him. He mashed them together with both hands, finding some difficulty in wrangling their soft bulk as they rolled about, and buried his face in her warm cleavage. His vision darkened as her bosom eclipsed the light. Each tit was bigger than his entire head -- by a significant margin. She overwhelmed him entirely. Her cleavage was intoxicating, so soft and warm, filling his senses with the scent of her lavender perfume. He smothered himself between them as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him even deeper into the endless depths of her bosom.

Roland surfaced from the ocean of titflesh only when he could not bear to hold his breath for another second. He pulled her massive right tit towards his mouth, handling it with some difficulty. It was tremendously heavy and took both hands to lift. Anna moaned as his mouth found her engorged nipple. Her hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed him directly into her breast, beseeching him to suck harder. Her boob bulged out on all sides, surrounding his face as he pressed deeper and deeper into its soft mass. He let go, and the huge tit slid back onto her belly. He reached over and pulled her left tit towards him, hoisting it like a sack of flour. She cried out in pleasure as he tended to her other nipple, sucking, licking, pulling, making it grow thick and hard with pleasure.

His manhood was inflamed with desire. He practically tore the nightgown off her, spreading her legs wide. Roland rubbed her pussy, already sopping wet and willing, getting her ready to take his cock. Anna sighed in pleasure, resting her hands on top of her wobbling flesh mountains, grasping onto her nipples, mashing her fingers into her own overflowing flesh. Laying on her back her breasts still bulged over a foot into the air, even as they were flattened under their own weight. He penetrated her slowly, gasping as he felt her velvety womanhood embrace his cock. She moaned as he plowed deeper and deeper inside her, letting her feel every throbbing inch.

Anna’s beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, was lost in the flowing mess of her long hair. He watched her ponderous grumdrop teats slosh back and forth as he pumped harder and harder. She let go of a breast, and its fatty mass surged upwards, hitting her on the chin before flopping down onto the mattress where it lay heavily, wobbling with every thrust. She wrapped her big strong thighs around him, pushing him even deeper inside her. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, bracing himself against her body, and began to pump harder. Her boobs sloshed about freely, waves of flesh traveling from bellybutton to chin. On the upbeat of his motion they flopped over her neck, obscuring the bottom half of her face. The sight made him even harder. He leaned forward and buried his head in her bosom once more, feeling her giant titties slap against his face to the rhythm of their lovemaking.

He pulled out, and flipped her over onto her stomach. Anna positioned herself on all fours and arched her back, eagerly offering her enormous round ass to him. Without hesitation he mounted her from behind, hands sinking into her ample hips. Her ass pressed up against him, overflowing across his torso as he pounded her pussy. Her huge full cheeks, perfectly round, clapped audibly, jiggling and shaking like mad. He slapped her massive ass like a drum, the meaty impact echoing through the cottage and leaving red marks on the endless expanse of curving womanhood. Overcome with desire he grabbed her ass hard, two big handfuls, feeling her soft flesh bulging between his fingers and overflowing his palms. Even with fingers outstretched, each hand barely covered a quarter of the surface of her cheeks. 

Roland could see the sides of both giant tits hanging from her chest like udders, swinging pendulously as he fucked her. He reached down and grabbed at them, feeling their doughy impact against his hands. Anna backed up against him and arched her back even more, dropping onto her elbows, long hair cascading down her back, her giant tits pooling onto the bed, and he plunged even deeper, the force of his thrusts rippling across her plump rear like waves crashing onto the shore. 

In a flood of ecstasy he climaxed inside her, filling her with his passion, his love. His burning seed was a manifestation of reverence for the goddess of lust who lay before him. Her body was built for pleasure, and she was all his to enjoy. To worship.

A sound from outside the tent startled Roland from his reverie. He flipped over on his back, pulling his hand from his trousers, ready to feign sleep. But it was only an owl. 

Roland lay silently, pulse racing, as the warmth of his fantasy gently faded away.

What a delusional fairy tale. He felt sheepish. The notion of him pleasuring Anna was absurd. He could no more satisfy her than a dust mite could service a woman. Her breasts were mountains, her womanhood an abyss that would swallow him whole. She was as out of reach to him as the sun and stars, and he was a fool to want her.

Roland's mind wandered. What if Anna, at her current immense size, were to venture back to Little Standish? 

Her slightest movements were earthquakes. The entire village would fit beneath the sole of her foot. Houses, livestock, and people would all be in constant danger of being inadvertently trampled. No wonder she had exiled herself to the wilderness.

He imagined Anna looming over the village, her sweet face inscrutable as she peered down at the microscopic settlement at her feet, watching crowds of tiny people fleeing from her toes like ants. 

How the townspeople would gasp and scream as they watched her approach, the shadow of her form blotting out the sun, darkening the town into a premature twilight. His mind conjured visions of her colossal foot descending towards the town, each round toe bigger than any of their buildings. The villagers would see it first as a shadow, stretching across the ground like a fast-approaching storm cloud. Then the foot itself would appear, filling the sky, her toes eclipsing the sun, her sole a textured landscape of hills and valleys formed from skin and calluses. Mothers would clutch their babes, tears streaming down their faces, as fathers either fell to their knees in prayer or took up arms, as if they could rally the slightest amount of resistance against the whims of the approaching colossus. 

The church steeple, which used to reach nearly to Anna’s waist, wouldn’t even clear the top of her smallest toe now. The mere act of placing her foot down would be devastating, flattening houses and smashing cobblestones into rubble. Even were she to tiptoe -- a notion as ludicrous as it was impossible -- the mere air displaced by her movement would rush through the streets like a hurricane, leveling what structures remained and sweeping villagers away as if they were autumn leaves.

He envisioned Anna's hand descending toward Little Standish, palm open, fingers splayed. From the villager's viewpoint her palm would become the sky, a canvas of skin so expansive it defies comprehension. 

As her hand met the ground, it would engulf the entire village, encapsulating it in her titanic grasp. The sensation of the earth leaving their feet would be the villagers' first indication of motion. Panic would be instantaneous. Men, women, and children would scatter in every direction, running frantically over the soft, warm terrain of her palm. Some would lose their footing and tumble into the abyss between her fingers, plummeting through the air before spattering around her feet. Slowly, her hand would rise, lifting the entire community skyward as her arm curled back towards her body. Buildings, uprooted from their foundations, would teeter and collapse, livestock would scatter, bleating and lowing in terror, people would clutch their loved ones, huddling together as they rose higher and higher.

Then they would be level with Anna's face, her eyes glittering celestial bodies, each iris a swirling universe of color. For the villagers, the sensation would be vertiginous, the sudden shift in perspective nauseating. Anna would inspect them, her gaze sweeping over the panicking mass of humanity cradled in her hand. Roland imagined the profound helplessness they would all feel, handled like trinkets, their lives completely beholden to the innocent curiosity of a goddess.

How many would die in such a meeting, not out of any ill will on her part, but merely as an incidental consequence of her very existence? Roland knew Anna’s gentle heart would perceive every lost life, every cry of despair -- even if she did not feel or hear them. 

Anna had become too large for the world she loved, a world that could no longer house her, could no longer even comprehend her. She was an exile not just from the place of her birth, but from the entire world of mortals. Her self-imposed banishment was a mercy to them all.

Roland shuddered. Why was he here? Why was he seeking her? This entire journey was madness. His thoughts swirled, a vortex of awe and apprehension, until finally exhaustion took him, dragging him into sleep.   

The sun had barely risen when Roland awoke, his eyes snapping open as if jerked by an invisible cord. Sleep had offered him no escape. Even in dreams, his mind had been haunted by Anna.

His men and the band of Indians were already stirring. Arnaud coordinated the sailors, instructing them to roll up the mats and tents and secure the provisions. Kariwase stood off to the side, observing silently. The Indians had already packed up their pallets, and were lashing the clay vessels to them with leather straps. Roland got to his feet, hastily folding up his mat and tent.

"Ready to proceed, Captain?" Kariwase asked. 

"Yes," Roland replied, tightening the straps on his knapsack. "Let's not delay any longer. Time feels... Different now. More urgent."

They set off, meandering through the trees in a single file line. Occasionally, they crossed shallow creeks where water meandered through deep grooves in the earth which radiated like cracks in glass, likely set on new courses by the tectonic shifts caused by Anna’s steps. Birds fluttered above, their songs sounding almost plaintive, mournful melodies composed for a world that had fundamentally changed.

Kariwase led the way, his eyes scanning the path ahead. The Indian guide would occasionally pause to touch the trunk of a tree or a particularly large fern, as if seeking reassurance.

Roland watched his men closely. These were hardened sailors, men accustomed to the fury of the open sea. Yet now they moved with a sense of wariness, their eyes darting nervously. At one point, Roland tripped over a root, quickly catching himself but not before letting out a soft curse. A few men chuckled, but the laughter died quickly, smothered by the palpable weight of what awaited them at their destination.

They topped a rise, and Roland felt his breath hitch in his throat. At last, they had arrived. Less than a mile ahead of them, one of Anna’s feet stretched lazily across the landscape, sole turned upward, her toes resembling cliffs. Behind it her ankle rose like a monumental ridge, curving gracefully into the sweeping arc of her leg, which seemed to extend into the distance forever. The rest of her body was hidden, obscured from their view by the looming mass of her bare foot.

“We are here.” Kariwase announced. 

The Indian guide turned to his men and began issuing commands in their native tongue. They nodded and broke formation, setting aside the mysterious vessels and spreading out into a semicircle. They moved with practiced purpose, unwrapping parcels made of animal skins which contained large clay jars.

“Grease and gunpowder,” Kariwase explained. “A signal. If she is awake, she will notice.”

Kariwase took one of the jars and knelt, placing it carefully on a flat stone. His fingers worked deftly, unraveling a piece of twine that had been soaked in the same oily substance. He inserted the twine into the jar, fashioning a makeshift wick. Around him, the other Indians were doing the same, spacing the jars at intervals that formed a swirling pattern on the ground, like a geometric constellation. 

Once the flares were all in place, Kariwase walked back to the center of the semicircle. He struck a piece of flint against his dagger, producing a spark that caught the first wick. Almost immediately, it ignited, a sizzling flame devouring the twine as it sped toward the jar. One by one, other men lit their wicks as well.

The jars erupted.

Columns of flame and smoke shot skyward as the air punctuated by a series of thunderous cracks. The spectacle turned the early morning into a storm of fiery brilliance. Roland, squatting at a safe distance, squinted his eyes as his face was lit by a flash blinding light. Then stillness fell across the clearing. Transfixed, Roland watched the wisps of black smoke slowly dissipate in the wind. For a moment, time seemed to hold its breath.

Kariwase broke the silence, his voice a whisper. “Now we wait.”

The men felt it before they heard it. A low rumble emanated from the ground, faint at first, like the growl of distant thunder. Birds shot out of the forest canopy, chattering in terror. The sailors took an instinctive step back, hands dropping to their weapons in a reflexive grasp, as if their muskets would be any match for the titan rising before them.

The massive toes began to twitch. Flexing slowly, they dislodged earth, rocks, and entire trees, sending them tumbling down in an avalanche of soil. The ball of Anna’s foot pivoted, the smooth arch pressing against the ground. The earth yielded like warm wax, deforming under her bare sole as the forest was flattened without mustering a second of resistance. The trembling intensified, now accompanied by a cacophony of subterranean groans as Anna's ankle started to lift. Her colossal calf muscle tensed, the arcs and contours of her leg resembling a mountain range in the process of formation. Now the ball of her foot began its ascent, pulling away from the earth with a lazy sort of majesty. 

As she began to stand, her other foot -- equally titanic -- pressed down, and another section of land was subsumed. It was an act as effortless as it was devastating. The seismic trembling spread outwards from the impact of her foot like ripples on a pond. The ground quaked with such ferocity that trees were uprooted around her, hillsides slid away, and ravines split the earth. Slowly, almost tenderly, Anna began straightening her legs. Her enormous ass rippled as she shifted her weight forward, exerting unimaginable force as her glutes tensed to balance her body. Her breasts, preposterously huge and full, swung heavily as she bent at the waist, slowly settling against her stomach as her torso turned upright. Her massive knees, each one higher than the tallest peaks, locked into place with a resonant boom that reverberated across the horizon. 

The upward movement of her body whipped the air into a gale-force wind, which ripped across the land and swept up anything not anchored to the ground in a whirlwind of dry needles and dirt. Trees swayed dangerously, leaves were ripped from their branches and sent swirling through the air like a storm of locusts. The gusts blew over the men, pulling their clothes and tugging hats from heads. Roland had to plant his feet firmly and lean into the wind to keep from being knocked off balance. He clenched his jaw, fighting the instinct to turn and run.

The men were cast into darkness as Anna's figure finally rose into its full, upright position, eclipsing the sun. Her shadow now stretched for an unfathomable distance, painting the entire landscape in front of her in hues of dusky twilight. 

Roland stood, mouth agape, his gaze lifting higher and higher until his neck could stretch no more. Anna dominated the landscape, an eldritch presence that made nature seem feeble in comparison.

It was difficult to process her all at once. As if painted by the hands of gods, Anna stood there, her curves filling the sky. The edges of her silhouette flickered in the sunlight, a trick of distance and atmosphere, as if reality itself was struggling to contain her. Roland’s mouth went dry as he beheld her bare breasts. Hanging freely on her chest, each planetary tit had settled into a round teardrop shape against her stomach. They took up her entire torso, with considerable portions of their curvature bulging past it on either side. Her nipples were erect in the crisp air, each one longer than a foremast, and a hundred times as thick.

Roland's gaze was naturally drawn to her face, her soft beauty magnified to a terrifying scale. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, shimmering in the dappled sunlight like spun gold. 

Kariwase shouted something to his men above the chaos. They scrambled to set up another ring of mortar jars. One by one, the jars erupted into plumes of flame, sending columns of black smoke into the sky.

Up above, Anna's colossal form momentarily paused, her eyes scanning the landscape below. Her eyes locked onto the origin of the signal. Time seemed to halt as the weight of her gaze bore down on them. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She had seen them. She recognized their existence, minuscule as they were.

A sense of dread settled into the pit of Roland's stomach. They had captured her attention, but to what end? He was gripped by a grim realization that they were vulnerable not just to Anna's actions, but to her mere existence. A single misstep, an absentminded movement, and their lives would be snuffed out in an instant. He thought of how he himself had stepped on anthills without a second thought -- not out of malice but sheer obliviousness. What would differentiate them from ants in Anna’s eyes?

But it was too late for misgivings.

Anna began to move. From their vantage point, Roland could only describe it as a mountain deciding to relocate. Her feet lifted from the earth one after another with ponderous, inexorable grace, only to descend again with a force that defied imagination. Each mighty step flattened trees like blades of grass, and sent shockwaves rolling across the landscape. Roland felt the ground shake beneath his boots, the tremors growing increasingly violent with each mighty step, throwing him and his crew off balance. Around them birds took panicked flight, and animals that they hadn’t even realized were there bolted in terror.

As Anna approached, her scale seemed to shift, becoming more distorted with each step. Soon her shins and feet filled their entire field of view, the curve of her legs becoming their horizon as the rest of her body disappeared from sight. Roland strained his neck as he tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but his eyes could climb no higher than her enormous calves. They were too close to see anything but the immeasurable expanse of her shins and the cataclysm wrought by her gigantic feet. The gale-force winds generated by her motion swept through the forest like a storm front, leaves and debris carried away in swirling vortices. Roland had to shield his eyes from the detritus hurled by the wind -- but he dared not close them.

Anna's next step seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, her foot blotting out the sun. For an excruciating moment the possibility of being squashed like ants beneath her sole was palpable. Then, slowly, almost tenderly, her foot descended to meet the earth, less than a hundred yards away. The force reverberated through the ground, making Roland and his men stagger. Ears ringing, they gazed upwards. 

What they saw defied comprehension.

In front of them was Anna’s foot, a wall of flesh that filled their entire field of vision. It was her big toe that dominated everything else, resting directly in front of them, towering into the sky like a monolith. Its scale was incomprehensible, akin to a mighty fortress, but made of living flesh. The texture of her skin, an expanse of epidermal hills and valleys, had a geography all its own. Faint lines and ridges, barely noticeable details on an ordinary person, were writ large as intricate canyons and ravines. The  sliver of her nail visible to them was a crescent moon of keratin, its surface catching the light in a way that gave it a soft, otherworldly luminescence. 

Roland shuddered. There was something profoundly humbling about standing in the shadow of Anna’s foot. It was surreal to realize that what he was staring at -- a young woman’s toe -- was attached to a whole body, an entire person who could think and feel just as he could.

The horizon of flesh that concealed her upper body began to shift, its massive form lowering gradually. It was as if the sky itself was being pulled down. Then suddenly, looming over the twin curvatures of her colossal breasts, Anna’s face appeared. It emerged gradually, like the sun rising over the horizon of the Earth; first her chin came into view, then her lips, her nose, until finally her eyes broke over the edge. Her expression was one of focused curiosity, her eyes scanning the ground at her feet, seeking out the tiny supplicants who had summoned her. 

Roland watched as her lips parted, her tongue contorting inside the darkness of her mouth like some ancient leviathan. 

“I SEE YOU,” she boomed.

Anna’s voice filled the world. Her words rolled across the landscape like thunder, echoing off the distant mountains and resonating through their bones. The very ground beneath them vibrated, pulsating in rhythm with her words. Each syllable hit Roland and his men like a physical force  that caused them to stagger, clutching their ears in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the onslaught of sound. Roland felt as if his internal organs were quivering, his eardrums near the point of rupture. Anna’s voice spoke not just to them, but through them, in a frequency that resonated the very core of his being.

For an absurd moment, Roland felt as though Anna was addressing him directly, as if she recognized him. Excitement swelled in his chest. But the notion dissipated almost as quickly as it had come. Of course she couldn't recognize him, or anyone else among them. They were specks at her feet, indistinguishable from dirt. She was speaking to them the only way she could: all at once.

As Roland and his crew stood frozen, transfixed by the inconceivable apparition before them, Kariwase and the Indians were a flurry of activity. The men were setting the clay tankards on the ground, packed tightly together in rows, removing the reed corks and tossing them aside. Once the bizarre formation had been constructed, the Indians joined hands and formed a ring around it, chanting a rhythm in their melodic tongue.

“ARE YOU READY?”

The question was rhetorical. There was no conceivable way they could communicate with her, verbally or otherwise. It wasn’t a query: it was a declaration.

Kariwase raised his arms, palms facing skyward, a gesture of surrender and invitation. The Indians’ voices lifted in a crescendo, their voices blending seamlessly in a harmonic drone.

The ground trembled as Anna shifted her weight and leaned forward. Suddenly the world went dark. Roland looked up. One of Anna’s colossal tits had eclipsed the entire sky, stretching in every direction for what seemed like kilometers, blotting out the sun and casting them in shadow. It swung pendulously back and forth, filling the air with an audible sloshing sound, waves of motion rippling across its surface as Anna adjusted her posture. So unbelievably huge, round, and heavy that it was as if the moon was falling down from heaven. Awestruck, Roland watched as her massive hand maneuvered the huge swollen breast, fingers sinking into endless tons of soft flesh. Her massive nipple hung over them, a giant pink nub over a hundred feet long, descending closer and closer to the ground.

She was lowering her breast towards them.

For a terrifying second, Roland thought they would all be crushed beneath the white flesh of her endless tit. The giant breast swung so close that Roland could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Anna’s enormous hand, looking tiny in comparison to her colossal boob, reached towards her nipple and squeezed, rolling the monstrous ruddy pyramid between her finger and thumb. Tiny white dewdrops appeared on its tip, then multiplied, forming rivulets that became rivers, trickling down towards the end of her erect nub. 

Milk.

The droplets coalesced into streams, and then the streams united into a singular, awe-inspiring cascade -- a river of milk that plunged from the heavens, a storm of biblical proportions. The air filled with a gentle roar as the torrential downfall approached. As the milk impacted, the liquid fanned out in a spray of white mist. The empty vessels filled almost instantaneously, the excess pooling and splashing around them, turning the ground into a sodden quagmire. The earth beneath their feet became spongy as the overflow saturated the soil. Every man was drenched in white from head to toe.

Roland could just barely hear Kariwase’s voice through the thunderous downpour. 

“She has blessed us!”

The Indians broke their circle, rushing toward the tankards. Some drank immediately, gulping down the milk as if it were divine nectar. Others sealed their portions with reed corks. Roland’s men stood bewildered and helpless, soaked to their boots.

The torrent slowed to a trickle. Anna gave her teat one last squeeze, gently pulling her mighty nipple to dislodge the remaining droplets. Then she stood upright again, and the giant tit retreated back into the sky. Sunlight flooded the clearing once more.

“I HOPE THAT’S ENOUGH,” Anna rumbled.

Roland wiped milk from his eyes. He was drenched. She had produced more than enough -- ten times more. Her nourishment would last the Indian village for months.

Anna gazed down at them, a bemused smile playing across her lips. Then, without another word, she pivoted, her colossal feet lifting off the ground in a graceful arc that seemed to defy gravity. Her other foot followed suit, swinging into the air with an elegance that belied its tremendous weight. An avalanche of dirt and plant material plummeted from her sole, showering the forest below. The world rumbled once more as her mighty footfalls began again, sending a symphony of tremors reverberating across the valley. As she receded into the distance, Roland’s eyes were drawn to her monumental behind, each perfect crescent wobbling in time with her steps. The curves of enormous breasts were visible peeking out from either side of her torso, swinging pendulously to and fro as she walked. 

Anna walked toward the horizon, her silhouette eventually merging with the sky, until all that remained was the distant rumbling of thunderous footsteps.

And then she was gone.

…

It was midnight. Try as he might, Roland could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face filling the darkness.

Silently, he rose from his bedroll, careful not to disturb any of the men sleeping nearby. Without a sound, he slid on his boots and tucked a flintlock into his belt. With a last glance back at the camp, he turned towards the wilderness and vanished into the treeline.

The full moon was a glowing orb in the sky, its light filtering through the canopy of leaves above, casting an ethereal glow across the forest floor. The silvery beams seemed to light a path for him as he ventured deeper into the woodland. In the silent night, every sound was amplified: the rustle of leaves underfoot, the distant hoot of an owl, the gentle flow of a stream somewhere in the dark. His heart pounded in his chest as he walked. Part of him feared what he would find, but a larger part of him felt drawn, compelled to satisfy the obsession that had consumed him from the moment he’d set foot on these shores.

He pressed on. The forest was thick here. Roland could barely see through the gloom. Suddenly, his pace halted as he almost stumbled into what appeared to be a sheer cliff that had materialized from thin air. He took a step back, eyes squinting in the dark to make sense of the obstacle.

And then it dawned on him. He had arrived.

Roland recognized the vertical expanse which towered over him for what it truly was: the sole of Anna’s foot. The moonlight scattered across the gigantic surface, revealing crevices and textures engraved in her skin which seemed to glow with an ethereal white light. Roland could see every tiny crease etched into the pale expanse, running deeper in places that had wrinkled and stretched, the imprints of a lifetime supporting her immense weight. As his eyes climbed higher, up over the arch of her sole and the massive pads of flesh and tissue comprising the ball of her foot, he glimpsed the five rounded mounds of flesh which served as the base of her toes -- each one obscured by the elevation, but undoubtedly gargantuan. He shivered, recalling the force this very same foot had imparted into the ground as she walked.

A rumble emanated from a distant point, filling the air like a slow roll of thunder. It was Anna, murmuring in her sleep. The sound was a reminder that this monolithic foot was only the extremity of an even more staggering entity.

Roland knew his urges were madness. But he mustered no resistance against them. He had neither the energy nor the will.

Roland spied an opportunity at the intersection where Anna’s heel met the earth. The ground had given way beneath the colossal weight of her heel, creating a mound of dirt that he could use as a makeshift ramp to scale her sole. As he climbed towards the base of her foot his world became a wall of flesh. He could feel waves of heat emanating from her body, saturating the air around him. 

Tentatively, he pressed his hands against her sole. He was met with a surface that was soft yet resilient, its texture slightly tacky and surprisingly pliant, allowing him an excellent grip. His fingertips sank into her skin, finding purchase in the creases and contours.

He began his ascent. Soon his fingers protested with lactic burn, but adrenaline silenced their complaint. Halfway up the slope Anna’s foot was rocked by a minor twitch as she shifted unconsciously in her sleep. The movement sent a shockwave across Roland’s climbing surface. Mustering every ounce of his strength, he gripped even harder to avoid being flung off her body. 

As he scaled the near-vertical terrain of her sole, the textures shifted subtly beneath his hands. Here were deeper grooves where her skin had wrinkled from years of bearing her weight; there were patches of softer, more supple skin. His arms and legs worked in rhythm, muscle memory taking over as he scaled higher and higher.

In time, he reached a particularly challenging section: the arch of her foot. It was an overhanging precipice, a jutting bulge of flesh and muscle that would require him to change his angle of ascent. Straining, Roland pulled himself over the arch, his fingers gripping tightly to keep from falling back down into the abyss.

Once past this obstacle, he found himself within a cavernous space between her big toe and second toe. It was a narrow valley surrounded by two towering walls of flesh. To Roland, the toes loomed like ancient monoliths. The skin here was softer, more cushiony, imbued with a kind of tenderness that contrasted with the harder sole he had just conquered. This intimate enclosure trapped heat, making the air warm and slightly humid.

Navigating through the toe-valley was a surreal experience. With walls of flesh rising hundreds of feet on either side of him, it was easy to forget that these colossal structures were merely a small part of a much greater whole. Eventually, he reached the downward slope leading toward the top of Anna’s foot. The decline was steep, and Roland had to exercise caution with each step to prevent himself from tumbling forward. The angle of the slope and the pull of gravity accelerated his pace involuntarily, and he found himself reaching the flat expanse atop her foot far sooner than he'd expected. Each step on this more level ground was a relief, a small reprieve from the climbing and descending.

Laid out before him was an expanse of flesh that defied imagination. Anna’s calf stretched away from him like a broad plain, like a vast highway twenty-span wide. Far off to his right, he glimpsed her other leg sprawling through the forest.

Taking a deep breath, Roland began his trek. Each step required significant effort. Her skin, supple and elastic, seemed to absorb the force of his steps. The sensation was akin to walking on taut fabric -- firm, yet with a gentle give.

As he passed the halfway point up her calf, he felt a gradual change in the landscape. The skin here was smoother, and the flesh beneath felt more solid. The incline increased subtly, offering a greater challenge. Occasionally, Roland felt a muted rumble reverberate through Anna's calf -- a shiver, perhaps, or a deeper adjustment of her musculature. Each time it happened, he stopped, clutching whatever imperfections he could find in her skin, holding his breath as he waited for the earthquake to subside.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Roland reached the bony hill that was Anna's knee. He could make out the impressions left by the gigantic tendons, ligaments, and bones pressing beneath her skin. Carefully negotiating this uneven terrain, he started his ascent up her thigh. 

If her calf had been a plain, then her thigh was a mountain, sloping upward in a gentle but unrelenting incline. He noticed that the texture of her skin changed here, becoming significantly softer. Unlike the taut firmness of her calf, Anna's thigh felt more like a sea of flesh that yielded generously beneath his weight. The work was grueling, each step draining more of his energy, but Roland pressed on, driven by the reckless determination of a man possessed. 

Even as he climbed, Roland couldn't help but marvel at the scale of Anna's body, at the overwhelming realization that each hill and valley he crossed was but a minuscule part of her. And all the while, subtle hints of movement -- whether from her deep, rhythmic breathing or minute shifts in her muscles -- reminded him that the spongy ground beneath his boots was alive.

After a seemingly endless period of time, Roland reached what he perceived to be the summit of the thigh, the undulating curves of her hip now discernible on the horizon. 

Climbing the final stretch of Anna's hip was like scaling the peak of a massive, flesh-toned hillock, and when Roland finally reached her waist, it was as though he had transitioned from a mountainous region to a sprawling plateau. 

The vista spread out before him took his breath away.

Anna’s magnificent breasts dominated her torso, twin mountains of pale flesh rising thousands of feet into the air. The gargantuan teats were collapsing somewhat under their own unimaginable weight, spreading across her abdomen and creating a dark crease where boob met chest. From his vantage point on her hip Roland could only see the round bottom half of each tit which curved an obscene distance over her stomach. Here the pale white skin, less exposed to sunlight than the top of her cleavage, was crisscrossed with faint rivulets of blue veins. As she breathed the giant breasts seemed to expand even more, wobbling against each other to the rhythm of her exhalations. He tore his eyes away and continued walking. 

Only a few hundred yards beside him was her mighty womanhood, an imposing jungle of dark curls. Roland knew somewhere within that foreboding black triangle of hair was her monstrous pussy, a prize beyond the reach of any man. A thousand men could be set to work pleasuring her mons without eliciting the slightest tickle, only to be swallowed in her cavernous depths. The thought made him shiver.

Each subtle undulation of Anna’s belly and boobs, a result of the inhale-exhale of her lungs, felt like the ground beneath him was part of some unimaginable tide. Each breath she took was a minor seismic event, a rolling expanse of skin lifting and then lowering him by several feet. It required Roland's full concentration to maintain his footing during these slow, rhythmic quakes.

Ahead lay a deep depression that looked like a round abyss. As he approached, Roland realized he was looking at Anna’s bellybutton, a dark chasm that could swallow buildings. The depth was such that he couldn't see the bottom -- and he dared not wander closer for a better look, lest he fall and become trapped in its darkness forever.

Its periphery was vast, and he had to choose his steps carefully, for the skin was more delicate here, more tender. Occasionally, he noticed fine lines radiating outward from the center of her navel: little creases and stretch marks that told the history of a body that had lived, grown, and changed.

Through the soles of his boots, he sensed her body's warmth, an undulating heat that surged and retreated with her breathing. The constant, almost imperceptible quivering of her skin served as a reminder that beneath him were organs operating at a scale he couldn't fathom.

Anna’s colossal breasts dominated his view now. Each tit soared thousands of feet into the sky, two quivering white mountains, her planetary underboob forming an unnaturally curved horizon. The cleavage between them was a cavern to him, allowing his passage with room to spare. A hundred men standing shoulder-to-shoulder could have passed through without touching either side. So round and full were her breasts that the upper parts smushed together, forming a canopy of cleavage above his head and a tunnel of flesh through which he walked. The heat here was almost unbearable, her sweet scent overwhelming, and her skin slightly sticky with perspiration.

It took minutes to cross the expanse of Anna’s cleavage. Finally he emerged on the other side, grateful for fresh air. He was dwarfed by the sheer cliffs of her collarbones rising to either side of him. His eyes naturally followed the upward curve where her pale throat flowed seamlessly into her jawline and chin.

The curve of her jawline was beautifully chiseled. What struck him most were the nuances in her skin -- slightly darker shades underscoring her jaw, lighter tones highlighting the rise of her cheekbones, which were barely visible from his vantage point.

Anna’s hair framed her face like cascading waterfalls of silk, each strand as thick as climbing ropes, pooling around her shoulders and sprawling outwards in a radiant halo. From his perspective at the base of her neck, Roland could only glimpse fragments of her features: the swell of her lower lip, a part of her nose, and the subtle arc of an eyebrow. The texture of her lips was rendered in astonishing detail, with tiny creases and the gentle hue of natural red color making them look so soft, so inviting. A corner of her nose was just visible, flaring slightly in rhythm with her deep, peaceful breaths. Each inhalation and exhalation felt like a gust of wind strong enough to sway trees. Further up were her eyes, tightly closed, bordered by thick lashes. Anna was radiant even in sleep.

Roland turned. The round tops of Anna’s breasts presented a smooth upward slope extending as far as he could see. He made his way to the base of her left tit and began to climb. Her breast flesh was luxuriously soft, his boots sinking into it, making the going quite difficult, as if he were walking over wet sand. He passed a small brownish freckle, a tiny blemish wider in circumference than his outstretched arms. Every breath Anna took caused the ground to wobble ever so slightly, reminding Roland of the unfathomable mass of tit accumulated beneath him. “Mountains” was not a sufficient word to convey the dimensions of Anna’s breasts. Roland may as well have been standing on the surface of another planet. The curvature of her endless boob formed the limits of his horizon in every direction, so big he could neither see its beginning nor its end, nothing but acres upon acres of pale skin. 

It had taken him minutes to cross the length of her cleavage, and now he was trekking over the upper surface of a single boob with no end in sight. If not for the gentle slope telling him which way was up, Roland would have been utterly lost on Anna’s giant tit.

Roland hesitated. There was a shift in the ambient light, a tension. Slowly, he turned his head, feeling as though he was about to confirm a truth he was both desperate and terrified to confront. 

Anna’s eyes, illuminated by the brilliant light of the full moon, were open and pointed directly at him.

Each iris was a colossal disk of color, an oceanic blend of hues that he had never been able to fully appreciate until this moment. The pupils were massive, dark wells that seemed to pull him in with an inescapable gravity. Their edges shimmered as she focused on him, the minuscule intruder trespassing on the expanse of her breast. 

Roland was paralyzed. He could not tell if her expression was one of curiosity, or anger. The weight of her gaze bore down on his body like a physical force. He felt like a speck of dust caught in the beam of a cosmic searchlight.

Anna blinked, an event that unfolded like the slow-motion fall and rise of a theater curtain.

“I KNOW YOU.”

At this intimate distance the words emerged not as mere sound but as a profound bass vibration that resonated through his bones. Her words carried unambiguous authority. For a moment his heart stopped in terror. Then her eyes softened, their enormous expanse shimmering like placid lakes touched by a tender breeze. A smile manifested on the edifice of her colossal face, reshaping her lips and pulling them back in a slow arc. Her entire face seemed to light up, her warm smile a glowing beacon that rivaled the moon.

“ROLAND.”

His skin prickled. A god had spoken his name. Anna’s gaze shot through him like a spotlight, her expectant expression urging him to keep going. 

He obeyed. 

The skin around the border of her pink areola was dotted with slight bumps. Ahead of him, the mighty tower of her nipple rose into the sky. Roland ran towards it, overtaken by desire. In an instant he found himself naked, not even registering how or when he had discarded his clothing. He wanted to please her. He wanted her to feel him. With arms outstretched he threw himself at the base of the nipple, finding purchase on its craggy surface, and began to thrust.

“HMMM, THAT TICKLES A LITTLE,” Anna murmured, her gentle chuckle shaking his world.

Roland felt his body lift into the air as the nipple began to expand. He felt the warm skin against his cheek and palms tighten as blood surged beneath the surface of the nub, making it double in size. Anna gave a gentle moan, and Roland felt himself swing through the air as the exclamation of pleasure caused her whole boob to wobble gently.

A shadow passed over him. Anna’s hand descended from the sky, fingers sinking into the breast next to the one he was precariously mounted on. Beside her giant titty, Anna’s hand looked positively small. She squeezed, white titflesh billowing through her outstretched fingers, and slowly kneaded her massive boob back and forth, and let out another earsplitting moan. Her forefinger and thumb pinched her nipple and pulled, lifting the surface of her teat into the air for a moment, then let it fall. The quaking as her giant breast settled back into place sent shockwaves rippling across her chest, making Roland feel like he was riding a ship amidst a storm.

As Anna’s self-pleasure intensified, he began to worry she would accidentally dislodge him from his perch atop her nipple. Nothing would save him if he were to fall between her twin behemoths. The slightest shift in her posture and those two mountainous tits would smash together like tectonic plates. Tons and tons of soft, yielding tissue closing in on him with inexorable force. The initial touch of the skin between her breasts would be soft, almost a caress, dense flesh conforming to the shape of his minuscule body. That tenderness would be a momentary illusion, however, swiftly replaced by the crushing weight that would bear down on him, compressing him from all sides. It would be a sensation beyond claustrophobia, beyond pressure -- a smothering, inescapable weight compacting him into nothingness between a mile of jiggling cleavage.

Anna moved again, interrupting his thoughts. She brought her forefinger to her mouth and moistened its tip with her tongue. Then, she lowered the finger towards him, closer and closer, until it filled his entire field of view like a descending moon. Before he could fully register what was happening, her fingertip made contact with his body and dabbed him onto its surface the way one might remove a speck of lint. The sensation was both comforting and horrifying: he was stuck to her, his body bound to hers by a dab of warm saliva.

Her hand began to move, lifting him off her nipple and into the air. Roland felt himself being carried skyward, his body stuck to the colossal pad of Anna's forefinger. His stomach churned as he rose higher and higher, moving in an arc through the air that made the world around him blur. He looked down. Below him stretched the distant, massive landscape of Anna's torso. He passed over the giant white plains of her breasts, each one capped with a thick nipple that jutted from its surface like an obelisk atop a mountain. Then her tummy flashed by in a blur. Finally, Anna’s hand began to descend, lowering him toward her legs, directly between her two huge thighs.

Roland felt the sticky connection between them break as she carefully rolled her finger, depositing him atop her mons.

“I WANT YOU, LITTLE ONE, PLEASURE ME,” the giantess commanded.

The reserved young woman he had once known was gone. No more shyness, no more innocent curiosity. She was a goddess now, and her pleasure was paramount. She would take what she wanted.

Anna’s hand lowered towards him, her index and middle fingers pressed tightly together, forming a battering ram which cleaved open her pussy’s outer lips. A wet sloshing filled the air as her gigantic fingers penetrated her womanhood, bulldozing through folds of wet skin dripping with cum. A deafening moan, louder than any that had come before, shook the air.  

Roland held on for dear life. There was nothing he could do. No way he could make himself felt, desperate though he was to fulfill his goddess’ thunderous order. He did not even know if he would survive, marooned as he was in a raging ocean of feminine lust. But he did not care. If he died here, a casualty to her pleasure, it would be the noblest end he could ever ask for.  

He clung to her skin, rubbing his throbbing cock against the hood of her smooth vulva, though he knew it made no impression on her, till he came helplessly, his puny seed spilling over a fraction of her skin. Far in the distance he could hear the splintering of trees and rocks as Anna’s hands rent the earth. Her feet bulldozed through the ground, toes curling in pleasure, her heels uprooting trees and toppling mountains as they flattened everything in their path. The sloshing intensified as Anna plunged her fingers in and out of her pussy, faster and faster, till the sky was torn apart with her loudest moan yet, a reverberating peal of feminine thunder that split his eardrums and echoed for miles around.

“ROLAND!” 

Her climax was a cataclysm. Anna’s love juices cascaded from her pussy in a deluge of pleasure. The forest below evaporated on impact. Trees were ripped from the earth as the flood of her pussy juices unfurled in every direction in an all-consuming tidal wave. The deluge surged through the woodland, churning the ground into a muddy quagmire, tossing boulders around like pebbles, and instantly crushing any living thing unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. She cried out again, her body convulsing in ecstasy, and for a moment Roland was rendered blind and deaf by the shockwaves. 

Then it was over. Roland was pouring sweat, his chest heaving with exhaustion. He barely noticed Anna’s fingertip descend once more, gently plucking him off the surface of her pussy, and depositing him in the cavernous depths of her bosom. There, buried in the soft canyon between her breasts, sleep took him. Anna was the last thing he saw, peeking through her cleavage down at his tiny body curled up against her skin, her face beaming with a tender smile.  He had done well.

He was hers, he was safe, and that was all he knew.