Muggy. Damp. Wet. Not only did this describe the air, but all the occupants in it as well. It was impossible not to feel the powdered mists of the forests sprawled out in every which direction, even when they were parted by the singing, whistling plummet of a set of boots. A sight currently gracing you at this very moment. You'd grown up in these woods, though you only knew part of them well. One thing you did know well, completely and in totality, was the fact that these woods were not meant to be treaded at your size. And yet, for all your hesitation, your careful, cloistered little existence as a 'Tweeling' as the strange, banner-clad explorers called you -- in their sky-tower-sprawling khaki shortpants, their massive pillarlike legs, and their funny accented voices -- you were...
Curious.
Lethally curious.
There were countless tales of you 'Tweelings' winding up snatched away to never be seen again. Put in humiliating cages the sizes of thimbles to the giantfolk overhead to be poked and gawked at. And then, after that, who knows what became of them. What was certain, was that none had ever returned. Even still, your fingers traced their nails over a precariously poised vine along a stone slab as you watched a small encampment of them travel by. The dewdrops from yesterday's rain still clung to the ground with a fervent insistence, as if the landscape were a controlled inconvenience meant to ward these wayward travelers from their desired destination. And, in a manner of speaking, it was. The woods were supposedly alive, in ways more than the figurative. Plants here would be moved by rows upon rows of your people, entire droves of them showing up to alter the landscape in a bid to batter off predators and confuse pack hunters. But these giantfolk were different.
They seldom tired. Drinking from strange cannisters of sunlight-sealing heat and intensity that sloshed audibly when close. They wore flat coverings atop their skulls that never shook or stirred, even when they trekked the steepest of inclines. They seemed to never need to hunt, and would waste the carcasses of giant creatures instead of picking them clean in gratitude, opting instead to steal their souls in metal slabs with etchings and images engraved into their legendarily scaled keepsakes. A beam of life, and the dead creature was forever degraded. You couldn't think of a more unenviable state than winding up in one of their metal slabs.
As such, your people went to great lengths to avoid it.
Splashing holy waters through carefully precise and coordinated movements over them to make them deafen and die. To abduct them until they starved themselves of souls to steal and assumed their stale black façade of unlife. What never lived, cannot die. And these metal slabs never knew breathing that wasn't mimicked from souls of creatures stolen. You saw it yourself, once, before reporting back to the elders...the stolen likeness of a boar, spread across the metal slabs in hundreds of moving etchings, like thousands of paintings, mimicking a monstrously accurate rendering of both the creature and the sounds it made. The giantfolk seemed to keep their souls when the metal slabs took hold of them. Some even willingly subjecting themselves to the flashing ritual -- as if to mock and deride their very design with their unfathomably large size.
You're swept from your thoughts as if by a set of focused fingers -- until you ARE swept by a set of focused fingers. The windy little gust they produced on proximity must've stirred you out from under your deep trancelike state and suffocatingly ensnared you in a set of hands that were covered in clean, grey, 'SAFARI' gloves. You know they're safari gloves because the strange, alien word is branded in stitchings along the giantfolk wearing it -- down the index finger and coiled about the thumb. You have a pretty good view of it, perched in a suffocatingly tight thumb, perilously stayed from any motion as the sunglasses-clad curious wandering woman lowered her spectacles...the deep, black, monolithic frames paved the way for a curious set of eyes, and a massive abyssally deep mouth chewing some unfortunate -- oh, no, it was gum. You hear it click familiarly against the teeth. It reminds you of the strange semi-edible sap of some of the trees where you were raised. There is at least a giantfolk thumb's worth in her mouth, as she pushes it towards you, conducing it to expand and enlarge as a little bubble envelops the corners of her lips and enlarges in front of you, like a behemoth of a bullfrog ready to pounce...it pops, astronomically loud, as she sips it back into her mouth, and...laughs. She's laughing. You must've done something terribly humiliating for her to laugh...
"Blimey, aren'tcha a lil bugger of a beaut...? Name's Cassandra -- Globetrottin' explora sent out here t'catalogue you lil Tweelings...now...don't go 'n give me no huffy attitudes, I know these is yer stompin' grounds, 'n I'm right happy t'return ya to 'em as soon as I've finished gettin' yer specs...it'll only be a day or two. So no poutin' now!"
It was...strange.
You always pictured giantfolk as abrasive, domineering, and briskly uncaring about your safety or wellbeing. But this woman, this colossal gal was...soft, patient, and even seemed a little compassionate to your plight, your time, you felt...like a person to her. The surreal feeling of a finger larger than you were caressing and colliding with the base of your back and sliding over the sides of your shoulders should have sent a spine down them. Instead, it shot warmth in oozing, soft, cyclical little spins upwards.
"Y'know, luv...you don't have t'get this shook up over a bird that's got ya cradled nestlike. Yer fine! We don't eat Tweelings." She had a funny way of talking, for sure, but it was far more reassuring to your ears than you would've expected. Something about the way her breath traveled with a soft, flighty, fluttery little series of giggles uplifted you. Your hair was briskly plucked at by her breath, like grass in an autumn breeze, but somehow warmer, somehow more natural. It was as if you were being swept up and treated kindly by the weather itself, an object of interest selected whole and fully.
"...Tell ya wot...how'sabout we cut with the chit-chat and get down to the science, yeah? Have you on your way right quick!" She adjusted the circular disk on her head forward a bit. Much like the 'SAFARI' branded gloves, her head-topping seemed to be of the same make and model, but with a rounded cone atop that you only barely managed to discern. None of your kind had ever managed to reach a height extreme enough to bear witness to this part. It was...pretty. Like a mesh net used to capture prey, showing the resplendent rays of golden that were her hair. The barest brown in the roots seemed to suggest she'd somehow altered its color, dyed it, perhaps, as your kind did their tents and linen. It was remarkable, the feats that these giant folk could attain.
From their massive buckled boots with laces and lattices that snugly kept them adhered to the foot, to the short pants that seemed to hug and accentuate some of their...fattier parts. Even their --
Metal slab.
One was held towards you, an ominous void along the outside. You flinch, on instinct, which solicits a compassionate coo from the giantess. She tucks a finger underneath your chin, careful not to collide the scraping side of her thinly trimmed nails with your skin at any part. Instead, she looked at you with an almost soft, maternally queued 'awww'.
"Darlin...sweet 'lil Tweeling, luv...look at this thing now...do ya really think a phone's gonna hurt you? Just because it's bigger than you and unfamiliar? I'm bigger than you. And I'd fancy a guess t'say we've never once met before. So I guess that makes us unfamiliar too -- even if you know my name...here. Let me show ya..."
She swept a few strands of hair out of her forehead and began to cock her head back comfortably. You were held in her hand as tightly and securely as ever, but there was a softness to the way she brushed her thumb over your chest and belly. You were tightly held and softly secured in place with a kind of doting care that only an examiner of species exactly your size might have. This was a learned carefulness. Her eyes fluttered shut as she clicked across the surface of her metal slab, bringing up an exact soul-snatching replica of her surroundings. But...when it passed over you on its way to line up with her face. You felt nothing. Not nothingness, but...nothing. You were perfectly safe, you were perfectly unharmed, and, as the flash of radiant light passed over her...so was she.
"See? Not so bad, is it? It's a photograph! We take photos -- "
She seemed to notice you took issue with that phrasing.
"We...capture...photos. Imprints. Sorta like...this...!!! Watch my feet, alright, Tweeling?" She angled you as said, towards her foot as she slenderly slid it out of her boot, the sock-clad thing dragging an outline into the dirt. A rounded, rumplike softness, she appended with eyes. Little slits down the side and one straightened line, followed by diagonal juts. Viewed all at once, it resembled some sort of...stick-person. A stick-man. An effigy of what you might look like. She then turned her metal slab on it, capturing one of her "photos". She tapped at the stick person, as if to signify it was unharmed, it still remained, and demonstrated the image on the slab. She then leaned forward and traced a hand between the curious device, and you.
"I'm going to do this...to you!"
You seemed confused for a moment. Why would she drag her foot over you? Carve into you a shape? Or did she mean the metal slab was going to take your likeness...you scrambled a little bit as she laughed, seeming to piece together the issue of your confusion rather readily, before lowering you towards the ground.
"Are ya tryna say it'd be more comfortable if I...traipsed my toes over ya first...?" She seemed convinced her working theory was correct, even if it was more off than you were. You felt her toes collide with your body almost immediately, the sock-fabric mercifully obscuring you from the scent and taste of her all-obscuring feet. You were then dragged through the dirt, to playful effect, in a nice, little, circular round sensual semicircle. Halfway through, you felt some shifting overhead, as you saw the dragonlike thread of her socks sheared off with a pinch from her fingertips. Now it was just you, her feet, and the ground underneath you, all in unified company. You had to suck air in past your teeth just to brace yourself for the feeling, to keep breathing beyond the stale, recycled air of her foot fumes, no doubt from the sticky dewy air that hung low as the rolling fog.
"Hmmm...y'don't see much calmer...perhaps I need t'draw the whole darn figure, eh?"
She kept true to her words, smooshing her feet fondled over you in a meritless and merciless attempt to calm you down. It was more than a little demeaning, but, you played along, not wanting to displease her or seem ungrateful for her efforts to accommodate you. You don't think you'd ever been this close to a person's feet before. Something about the softness took you aback, as, with all the rocks, juts of wood, splintery bits, and grass, you'd expect a much denser surface. Perhaps it had to do with the gumlike rubbery material that giantfolk shielded their feet with? You had your footwrappings, your meager coverings, but this was...another category entirely of forcible reinforcement. You stared at her shoe some distance away, as she slid you over the diagonal juts that represented legs in her little stick figure diagram.
"Ohhhh....I get ya...you're not used t'my scent yet, are ya? Feral creatures, you Tweelings are...truly fascinating..." That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. And yet, the ever foreboding sensation that she didn't seem to care one reason or the other struck you almost as immediately as the feeling of fingers pressuring their way around your torso and lifting you into the air. You were suppressed from breathing, suffocating stuck in what could only be described as kindness-captivity. The age old adage of killing someone with kindness finally made sense to you. The mouth of her boot's opening lay just beneath you, billowing gusts of what had to be travel sweat and scent were suffocatingly near as you were slowly lowered into the confines of where her feet would later reside. It was dark. It was damp. Every bit of sweat stuck to her boot's sole to a slushy extent. You tried to climb out to little efficacy, as you saw the pale white underside of what appeared to be a gradually approaching sole...was this giantfolk CRAZY!? She was going to SQUISH you. You had to think fast, fleeing towards the open end of the shoe as fast as you could manage, not willing to play the mass-scale drop game that her foot lowering seemed to have in store for you. Your breaths accelerated and your eyes widened at the delirious display of the apocalypse in a shoe.
And to think there were Tweelings desiring to live in a shoe.
As her foot stampeded further in, wriggling and worming past the small enclosure, you felt what had to be the most terrifying approach of your life, more fearsome than any forest creature or predator who noticed you by happenstance. Her toes wriggled, as if she were trying to entice you with them, make them more appealing, the pink little juts of paint on them seeming almost ceremonially applied at your size. You had to breathe. Conserve what little fresh air you had left. There was no telling when you'd escape from this predicament. If you would ever escape, or if the giant folk would forget about you. Is this how so many Tweelings went missing? Due to the callousness of giant folk?
You breathe in...and feel the ground shift.
The boot was lifted.
You were being flung into the air, yet never off of her, stumbling back towards the space between her toes as she stepped down, then up. Each cyclical movement was disorienting, and, as your heart racing seemed to decide, a bit exciting. You widened your eyes and stiffened your teeth into a wide grin. You were on an adventure none had survived. You were in no danger of dying, immediately. You were going to survive what so few could or had. Overhead, you heard the somewhat...ribbingly sweet voice seeming to almost conceal your presence. It was hard to make out what they were saying exactly, especially with your head competing with several scrunched toes to have access to the airspace, but you certainly heard the last thing she said.
"No siree, no Tweelings t'be found...a shame since we just set up camp...but...maybe t'morrow we'll have better luck, yeah?"
There was several moments of silence. A giggle. And then the boot you were confined to began to distance you from the foot you were almost used to. You stuck to it for a brief second, before tumbling against the ground and into her other foot. It cradled you plucked upwards between the vicegrip of two toes as your eyes settled on the vertigo-inducing distance you bore from the ground. It was...kind of terrifying. The thought that the slightest bit of clumsiness could mean the end of you. But the supporting sight of her hand cupping under her toes to lift you up, and her cooing voice seemed to put those irrationalities to rest, as you let out a frantic series of chuckles, slowly meandering down from the height of your fidgety fit of anxiety.
"Hey, hey, hey, easy there...I wasn't gonna rat you out any...I want MY name, Cassandra, Globe-Trotter to go down in history...not a bunch of glory hogging needle-necked Tweeling pokers like this lot. They're just here to carry my equipment...we're not taken you away...just taken photos, and carrying on our way. 'less you'd like t'come with me."
Her smile beamed.
There it is.
That must be what draws people in and away so easily. That flare for adventure and the theatric, her warm smile, this is why Tweelings never come back. How could they want to with a gal like this as the spokesperson to the outside world? You start to run your hands over yourself, giving her an affirming nod and hoping she understands. It's not exactly easy to speak very loudly at your size, much less at all, under the present circumstances. Her toes curl some distance beneath you as she rocks, excitedly, producing a shrill, but adorably endearing noise. The sound rushes past you again from the rush of her breath as you're spontaneously smushed up against her chest. Both of her gigantic tits squeeze around you and give you a burgeoning feeling of nestled warmth along yourself you can't quite understand. It feels...oddly familiar. The strange sort of fixation you got whenever you were close to giantfolk like her.
"Oop..." She says overhead. "If that isn't the cutest...oh you HAVE to see this, little guy...!" The safari-garb-clad giantess lifted her metal slab -- only this time, without eliciting a flinch out of you. How could you show fear? Even if this thing would steal your soul, it would be well worth it for tits like hers. Your posture waddles and you shudder just the tiniest bit, as you feel the overwhelming warmth of bosom embrace on every side shield you from the fear welling up inside you. It never surfaces. Not on your face, not in your giddy little shudders, you never show the slightest bit of fear as a massive flash comes over you.
"Aahh...there's a walloping of a good photo snatch...! Look, look little Tweeling...that's YOU...see? And you're still right here...unharmed...!" As she rotated her phone, her index and middle finger traced over you in little swivel-pivoted circles. You were greeted with the likeness of your own flustered self, eyes shut in ecstacy -- probably from the flash as well, comfortably situated in more tit than you could ever handle in a lifetime. It was...perfect, actually. You felt like a cute little twee necklace. Something she could show off to her friends, or, better yet, hide from them entirely...you liked that thought much better. Being a coveted prize tucked away in one of the most intimate tick-tock heartbeat-hearing central points on a giantfolk's body.
You felt, as if on cue, your body starting to dip further past her breasts, past the point of retrieval, and into the cute depths of her brasserie. You had to blink a few times just to confirm it was all...real. Every time you opened your eyes, however, massive breasts were waiting for you on the other side, and a hand was deep-diving you further and further into their midst.
"Riiiight, uhrm...so here's the skinny...I can't let ya be seen, love. It'll be a bumpy couple of rides up ahead, and...no doubt the danger of being discovered around every corner...buuuut I got the feeling a little troublemaker and adventureseeker like you won't mind too much will ya...?"
You almost didn't respond at all.
She had such a lovely way of inspiring fiery billows of confidence in the bottom of your belly. Your eyes wandered about, as if feigning deliberation, before you agreed to let her, no, encouraged her, to scoop you up and take you as she would. Except...she didn't remove you. You were still situated sequestered between her plump breasts, given only the consideration of a two-finger little rhythmic tap atop the head to signify your struggles were appreciated and your willingness was accepted.
"Excellent...!!! So...first off is a nice little spot of motor vehicle travel...you've probably never seen a car, have you...? Hmmm...well...you can just drift right off to sleep then...don't mind none the things I say to my partners, I'll have them start packing up and we'll head back by morn...YOU...little Tweeling...should drift off, get some shut-eye, yeah...? It's been an eventful little spot of bother, no doubt, getting used to...well...all of this!"
She wasn't wrong.
When she gestured with her arms to add emphasis, she had to stop her breasts from squishing you entirely between them, the defeaning suffocating jiggle slap of their repeated collisions alone enough to get you kicking and straightening yourself out on reflex. Yet, despite your best efforts, you were swallowed, as if by fleshy, warm, all-hugging quicksand. It took on more of you than you could break free, and faster too. You honestly preferred the spacious panic of the boot to this, to be honest, but had no way of communicating it. That was the sad, miserable, and sometimes erotically gratifying truth of a Tweeling, no magical powers, no clairvoyance, no gold to bribe with, and no telepathy. You were stuck unable to communicate preference for who knows how many miles, who knows how long. Something seems to have put a skip in her step, literally, as Cassandra marched onwards, either oblivious, or unbothered by how hard her breasts were battering you.
She probably thinks you enjoy it.
She wasn't wrong.
You felt that arousing bit of temperature rise accompany your own rising, as you stiffened, your back, and other areas. Was it bad to be turned on at a time like this? She hadn't meant to do anything sexual, especially with her enlisting your aid. And even if she had some complicated things to call you and terms to use for you, it wasn't as if you were somehow undeserving of them. these giantfolk were so far advanced, so perplexing in their customs and actions you earnestly believed they harvested souls until less than eight minutes ago. She continued walking for what felt like an eternity. Occasionally stopping, inspiring the delusional belief you could get comfortably situated, only to hear overhead vibrations stop and realize she had been talking to someone, and was resuming her trek, and continuing your despair. Though perhaps that was a melodramatic word for it...
It wasn't until the light stopped creeping in that your dazed mind realized that you were stilled.
You peered out from the cavernlike cleavage depths, seeing her lips, snoozing, snoring, and jettisoning air upwards with a beautiful display each breath. You consider, for a moment, crawling up to her lips and stealing a kiss. But something about that felt wrong. What if you fell in? The inky black hole of her esophageal lining grasping you as you were flung down her gullet...not an enviable or escapable position to be in. You sigh softly, and crawl back between her breasts...when something catches your eye. The tapestry of muscles along her belly. It really resembled a sculpted work of art. You crawl on your knees, then rise to your feet and wander. You're too far to hear her distant, lingering snores, that sound more akin to a thunder rumbling now. Her abs were massive. Each one felt like a pillow that desired to be appreciated, lain on, and treated with your careful, tiny, almost imperceptibly small touch. A feather tickle at best. You eased over one, hearing her snort something...
Only to process it was sleep talking.
She hadn't even noticed you left her breasts.
With a slow sprawl, you lined yourself along her belly, eased your hands into place under your cheeks, and began to time your breathing with hers. Feel your heartbeat with hers, and feel your entire body shift whenever her stomach did. Sleep called for you, and like the call for adventure she offered you, you were not one to decline. With a few, lingering, soft breaths, you slept peacefully.
Until, of course. She rolled over in her sleep, moments later. Burying you alive and fussily under a mountain of abs and soft flesh until morning. At least you'd sleep soundly enough.
Giantess World
Story Notes:
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Author's Chapter Notes:
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Chapter End Notes:
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