Giantess World
Story Notes:
This one's a little different than my usual. Expect heavy emphasis on transformation, metaphysical weirdness, hand and footplay, plus plenty of sweaty filth in between. Enjoy!
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Interested in commissioning me for your own custom story? I can write your ultimate macro fantasy, from a wide range of genres and lengths. Read details here: https://www.deviantart.com/thejacksmith/journal/Story-Commissions-Are-Open-Again-698491757
I also have a side-shop for miscellaneous pre-written & discounted goodies, such as flash fiction, unfinished tales, and deleted scenes from series like Time-Out and A Little Blackmail. Check it out here: https://www.deviantart.com/thejacksmith/journal/New-Special-Stories-Shop-802615692
My Patreon for early-access stories and exclusive tales is now online! Hope you'll give it a look: https://www.patreon.com/JacksmithShrinkStories
“Oh, goddammit, David, now you’re just making me look bad!” Claire groaned with a whiny lilt, rolling her eyes but smiling ear-to-ear nonetheless, as she jokingly clapped a palm across her face in embarrassed response to the gift her coworker was presenting. “Is there some kind of BFF of the Year award you’re gunning for here? Because it’s working!”
“Hey, what are friends for?” David shrugged with a sheepish grin of his own, as he handed over the new lighter he’d purchased for her. Claire had been clicking the old one in vain for several minutes now, while the unlit cigarette hung from her lips like a lollipop stick, as the pair leaned against the brickwork of the décor store’s outdoor loading dock. “I knew you needed a fresh one, so…”
“Well, that’s definitely the kind of pick-me-up I can use today, for sure. Thanks sooooo much!” Claire replied with a grateful nod. Right away she lit the cig and took a lengthy drag, but continued palming the lighter in her bare hand, while that omnipresent Hardy red-and-black work glove flapped in the breeze from her hoodie pocket. “I mean, did you see how much stuff there is to get done today? We’re both going to be beat by the end. So this is going to help for sure.”
“Exactly why I gave it to you now,” David chuckled.
“Okay, I guess I have to admit, at least for today, that you’re more of a Gryffindor than me. Or, at least you’re not a Hufflepuff.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff.”
David didn’t say this quite flirtatiously, since he had no intention of trying to come between Claire and her girlfriend Alex, but he also had to admit to himself that he wasn’t about to turn down some platonically affectionate treatment while in her company, which admittedly was at least a partial motivation for having personally acquired the new lighter for her, after he’d noticed she needed one. Plus, while huddled so close to Claire during their fleeting break from the many inventory chores awaiting them indoors, he was given one of the usual indulgent opportunities to study Claire’s ungloved hand from up-close. There was a special kind of relaxing, almost-hypnotic experience in watching her cradle the new lighter in her peachy creased palm like a cherished heirloom, curling and flexing her fingers in and out around it, then squeezing it down against her warm squishy hand flesh, which was already shining with a thin sheen of clammy sweat from the heat of those padded gloves and the labor they’d each already had to endure from the start of this shift.
“You’re too nice, David. What did I do to deserve it, seriously?” Claire taunted, playfully swatting at her friend with the loose glove. She dug the butt of her cigarette against a nearby ashtray until it went out, then slid her fingers back into her work mitt and pulled the Velcro strap taut before securely reattaching it to the wrist.
“You just have to be you,” David said, which was an honest answer and still not intended coquettishly, but hearing the corniness of these words aloud made him cringe, in spite of Claire’s expression remaining one of calm gratitude. Any awkwardness he might’ve felt over his embarrassing borderline rom-com response, though, was nothing next to the sharp and instantaneous alarm that came of having his whole consciousness launched in the direction of his friend, while his body seemed to shrink and then dissipate into nothing. It felt like a combination of fainting to the earth and spiraling toward a dizzying backward freefall up into the sky. Everything happened too fast for David to process, let alone cry out for help, before he no longer had lips to speak with, or limbs to flail in rightful panic. Yet still he perceived everything around him more-or-less the same, including seeing the back wall of the store, feeling the light morning chill, and smelling the lingering ashy flavor to the air leftover from Claire’s use of his present.
But of course nothing was the same, because David’s “body,” or whatever he could call his transmogrified form, was tightly adorned around none other than Claire’s right hand: not just on her glove, but having become it. In place of autonomous limbs, he had five hollow appendages like tube socks, each one filled in and partially inflated by the comparatively thick pillars of his friend’s fingers, though he had no control over them. Where his organs and skeleton might’ve once occupied, there was yet more empty space, which was now clasped snug to Claire’s meaty palm. In place of his skin, hair, or any remotely recognizable human feature was only red-and-black cloth and synthetic leather, engineered to protect the owner and give them a better grip. Simultaneously, he was made to feel the surreal exterior violation of having his body puppeteered by a giant hand, and the miserable claustrophobia of the skin-tight interior as well.
“D-David?” Claire gasped, rightfully taken aback, as he’d vanished in seemingly less than a blink. Apparently going weak in the knees from surprise and horror, she clutched the wall, on the verge of hyperventilating, and instinctively slapped her gloved right hand over her chest as her pulse rapidly increased. “DAVID, WHERE ARE YOU?”
The glove-man had no response except an automatic grunt of distress from the impact of having his contorted body collide with Claire’s chest by the abrupt force of her hand. He could feel her heartbeat thumping like a jackrabbit’s while smothered to her uniformed breast, and he couldn’t blame her, since if he still had a heart of his own, he’d have been on the verge of cardiac arrest from sheer existential shock. This response of impacting her body also had the frightful side effect of showing David that he couldn’t emote aloud, either, since his disturbed groan echoed purely in his consciousness alone, but still only his now-gigantic coworker’s panicking breath could be heard around them.
Which, to him, meant there was no way of getting her attention, no crying for help or just plain crying due to total mania, either of which felt very appealing right now, in the face of such hopeless weirdness. And he didn’t have high hopes about her figuring out what had happened, because who in their right mind could ever have conceived of the fate which had just befallen him? Was there any way to reverse this? Was there still some slim chance this was just some nightmare or hallucination, despite the realism of everything his senses were telling him, or was he damned to occupy this workman’s glove forever? Claire didn’t retract her hand after unwittingly smacking David to her bosom, either, but helplessly clenched her fingers against the fabric of her hoodie, which gave her transformed friend another bizarre lesson in the sense-twisting physics of inhabiting a mechanic’s glove with all his perceptions just as sharp as ever, but none of the outward capacity for intelligent communication or physical freedom to resist being used this way. Her soft yet firm fingers curled inside and around him, alternately furrowing and stretching out segments of David’s faux-leather material flesh in elastic response to the whims of her digits, which clung onto her clothing as though for dear life. She was trembling as she did so, thus vibrating her glove-made friend by proxy, while tightening her white-knuckle grip on the hoodie until she’d manipulated him into a fist, making David feel as though he was being hyper-extended into a curled ball like a trained circus contortionist, only with none of the flexibility.
“CLAIRE! PLEASE! STOP!” David shouted inside his head. Not that he had any greater hope of being understood this time, since the words still didn’t physically manifest, but as his very being was powerlessly locked among the grippable fibers of a padded glove while his good friend unknowingly clenched him into a painfully fetal posture without any way to stop her or escape this heinously odd reality, and lacking any ability to sweat or gyrate with pain as anyone might’ve in the form of a person, there wasn’t much else to do but voice his hysteria to the void and hope someone answered. “YOU’RE HURTING ME!”
“David?” Claire shouted, only this time with concerned wonder, as if she’d somehow heard him. Her righthand fingers thankfully relaxed their taxing hold on her hoodie, which in turn untensed the many automatic pressure points suddenly afflicting David’s new mitt body at every juncture of her joints, knuckles, or even minor texture differentiation in the flesh of her hand. Internally he breathed a sigh of relief to be spared these stressful abuses once her fingers were extended back to a neutral position, at least partially, since the probing infringement of having his whole glove body continuously flooded with the dexterous lively form of her Claire’s relatively-immense appendage was still very much in effect. Though David doubted he could go unconscious in this form, the psychological consequence of having his clothen physique match and contain the exact shape of his gargantuan friend’s hand was equivalent to the violently uncomfortable feeling of trying over and over again to catch his breath in an airless space, but never succeeding. Even as her hand didn’t actively mean him harm, as was technically plush and pithy to the touch on his insides, the cumulative sensation was that of having a raging itch burning across every inch of his body that he wasn’t permitted to scratch.
“Yes!” he tried to yell again. “CLAIRE! It’s ME! Please, HELP! I’m… I’m your… your…”
David didn’t have to finish explaining, though, as he saw the recognition in the giantess’s face, telepathically parsing his stammers, and then looking down at her own shaking hand. Her eyes widened to dinner plate-girth, and David could feel her quivery palm tensing again within him, as she evidently pieced together almost-exactly what had happened in inexplicable seconds.
“Oh, GOD-DAMMIT, NO! ALEX!” Claire roared as if to the universe at large. “You told me this WOULDN’T HAPPEN! He wasn’t doing that! He didn’t DO anything!”
Chapter End Notes:
More to come!