ďťżGROUNDED
by PoisonPen
copyright 2015
Kit stared at her son sprawled face-down on the front hall rug and knotted the fingers of one manicured hand in her hair with frustration. Aaron hadn't moved since the angry taxi driver -- still covered in her son's vomit -- had dumped him there. At a plump five-foot-three, there was simply no way she was going to be able to carry her son up a flight of stairs and into bed. Since his most recent growth spurt had sent him up over six feet, she doubted she could even drag him as far as the living room couch.
"Hey," said Kit, nudging Aaron in the shoulder with her foot. Not getting a reaction, she placed one fuzzy, high-heeled, pink-slippered foot on the side of his head and pushed hard enough to tilt his head awkwardly backward. She elicited nothing but a loud snore from her son. His mouth hung open and a string of drool was dampening the rug. She let his head roll back down.
"Gosh and fiddlesticks."
Kit (short for Kitten, though no one but her late husband had ever called her that) stood nonplussed, arms crossed over her dressing gown, hip cocked and left leg annoyedly crooked to the side. She couldn't very well leave him lying in the entry foyer all night (mentally correcting herself with irritation that it was already early morning; Aaron had been out all night into the wee hours). Tea, she thought. This called for tea. Wait, did she have milk? She tried to remember if she'd seen a milk carton in the trash and felt a flash of annoyance as she remembered that Aaron hadn't 'sizered the garbage before he left and now she'd have to do it. And then her eyes went wide. The 'sizer! That was it!
Nearly all Portasizers (trademark and patent Milenko Industries LLC, all rights reserved) had an organic matrix lock-out to prevent misuse, but Kit was wealthy enough to own an industrial-grade trash disposal unit which was exempted from the mandatory lock-out. It was a six-to-one model which she realized she could use to reduce Aaron to something a little over twelve inches. Once he was in bed, she could 'sizer him back.
Kit scurried into the kitchen, strapless slipper heels clip-clopping over the tasteful granite tile, and unslung the Portasizer from its hideyhole over the trash bin, carefully disconnecting the remote leads from the unit's USB-6 slot. She glanced at the read-outs and her rose-tinted lips made a moue of displeasure as she realized it was down to its last two charges. Well, that would be enough for the task at hand and the trash could wait until tomorrow when she had time to for a recharge.
Aaron hadn't moved from where he lay. After sighting precisely down the 'sizer at her son so she didn't accidentally reduce the rug (which, she thought, really did tie the room together), she pressed the firing stud and heard the characteristic sizzle-CRACK noise of buzzing electronics and displaced air. Aaron dwindled away into a 13-inch doll on the rug, still motionless and snoring. "Like a trashbag full of chicken bones," said Kit with a snort. She nudged the little figure with the toe of her slipper, rolling it on its back. Aaron slept on.
Kit cinched the waist cord on her dressing gown and bent down, red-painted fingers wrapping around Aaron's chest under the armpits. She lifted him effortlessly, thumb under one armpit, index finger under the other, his limp legs dangling below her fist. His entire torso fit comfortably in Kit's small white hand. His head lolled to the side. Aaron's upper arms were horizontal across Kit's thumb and index finger, forearms hanging down. The tiny fingers of one of his hands brushed against her ring finger which she found to be a markedly weird sensation, like a fly crawling on her skin. She shook Aaron gently in her grip to move his fingers away, sending his head lolling bonelessly from side to side and legs swaying like pendulums. "Goodness gracious," said Kit, lifting Aaron close to her face so she could squint at him clearly, "you have been a troublesome little boy tonight, yes sir. You just wait until tomorrow, young man. We shall have words." After turning off the lights, Kit carried Aaron up the stairs in her right hand, the LED read-outs of the Portasizer glowing in her left. It was an odd feeling, like carrying one of her childhood Ken dolls, but with a warm squishiness beneath the clothing instead of cold, hard plastic.
Aaron's room was that of a grown man's, but still had remnants of the snips and snails and puppy-dog's tails of a young boy's -- signed NFL football, sticker-covered skateboard, Nerf hoop over the trashcan, an old Creed poster starting to curl and yellow at the corners. The bed was a mess of unmade blankets, as usual. Kit put the Portasizer down on the bedside night tale and smoothed the worst of the wrinkles out of the blankets, then laid Aaron carefully down, shoulders and head propped up on the leading edge of the pillow. She was sighting down the Portasizer to return Aaron to his normal scale when she realized it would be a lot easier to get his sweat-drenched clothes off him at this size first.
Holding one leg between thumb and forefinger, she wiggled a Ken-sized Nike sneaker off Aaron's left foot, then his right, dropping the shoes onto the night table. Even at his diminished size, she could smell the rank, vinegar reek of his sodden, sweaty socks. Then she bent him over at the waist and, pinching the back of his black t-shirt, worked it up over his head, feeding each arm through one by one to keep from just picking him up bodily. Aaron flopped back down, still completely comatose, shirtless and shoeless, but still clad in socks and jeans. The wet shirt was dropped on top of his shoes.
To Kit's surprise, Aaron had actual abs. They weren't large or conspicuous, but she had never noticed them before. He must be working out. Without conscious thought, she brought a red-nailed index finger down and ran it across her son's belly, feeling the hard bumps. The finger was almost as wide as the boy's abdomen. He certainly didn't take after her. She had a soft, ample belly, large pillowy breasts, and notably wide hips. Even her arms and legs were pudgy, though her hands and feet were petite. Aaron took after his late father, all muscle and hard angles. Where her face was round and cherubic, his was sharply defined. Under her bottle-blonde hair, however, she did share Aaron's curly black locks.
Kit's attention was suddenly drawn to the fact that she'd been gently stroking Aaron's abs. Blushing furiously, she snatched her finger away. She grimaced as realized her finger was wet with Aaron's sweat. She briefly considered wiping it on her dressing gown, but it was silk. Without thinking, she popped her finger in her mouth, tasting salt and warm musk and tangy body wash. Aaron was still snoring, so she carefully pinched his left sock between her nails and wiggled it back and forth until it came off. Kit wrinkled her nose, dropped the sock on the night table in the growing heap of her son's sweaty clothes, then went to work on the right sock. His feet were surprisingly well cared-for. She remembered him spending childhood with filthy hobbit-feet and supposed it must be part and parcel with the new attention to working out and looking good for the girls.
There was no way she was going to be able to work the latch on Aaron's belt no matter how delicately she worked, so Kit grabbed her son around the torso, lifted him up in her fist, and began tugging at the bottom of his jeans with her other hand. The pants were tight and Arron was slippery with sweat, so to get the proper leverage she had to squeeze her son tightly. Bit by bit, tug by tug, she worked the jeans down over his hips, then flipped them onto the tiny heap of his clothes on the nightstand. As she laid him back down on the bed, Kit grew uncomfortably aware that Aaron was naked. He wasn't wearing underpants.
A trickle of sweat rolled across Kit's palm, distracting her. Why was Aaron so sweaty, she wondered? She sniffed her palm and got no hint of alcohol. Kit frowned. A pink nib of tongue emerged from between her ruby lips and swept across her palm, tasting for alcohol. Salt, yes, and a bitter hint of cologne, but no alcohol. So why was Aaron passed-out unconscious?
What Kit didn't know is that Aaron had spent the night at a rave and was long past the point of tripping balls on a near-lethal combination of Ecstasy and GHB. It was leaking from his pores as he dripped sweat, and she had just dosed herself with it.
Kit's vision grew preternatually sharp. The colours on the Creed poster were neon-bright, almost phosphorescent in the dim light cast by Aaron's table lamp. Kit blinked, then blinked again as she held up her hand, mesmerized by the swirling whorls of her fingerprint ridges. Her mouth opened slightly and Kit licked her dry lips. Without thinking about it, she extended index and middle finger down to the foot-tall figure lying on the bed and pressed her finger pads against Aaron's pecs. Slowly, she drew the fingers down to her son's hard abs, the sensation jolting through her fingers like electric shocks. The tactile skin-on-skin feel was amazing. Completely absorbed in the sensation, she absentmindly trailed her fingertips down through the well-groomed tangle of Aaron's pubic hair and then stopped as they encountered his cock.
Aaron's cock was well-sized, though not disproportionately so. Smooth and graceful, uncut, Kit was transfixed at its feel. It stirred as her fingertips brushed it, butterfly-gentle.
With a violent jerk, Kit snatched her hand away. "Oh my goodness gracious!" she yelped, shocked at her own actions, overwhelmed with horror. But the sharp small of Aaron and his discarded clothes were setting her brain on fire. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smelled anything so complex, so hypnotic. Not stopping to reconsider, she grabbed up all of Aaron's clothes and stuffed them in her mouth. She began chewing them like gum, letting her saliva slosh through them, spilling their load of sweat and musk and designer drug into her mouth. The wad of clothes was so large she could hardly close her mouth and the rubber-soled shoes had a very unpleasant texture, but she was enraptured by the flavour and the neurochemical fireworks going off inside her skull. Kit moaned around the teeth-mangled, spit-soaked wad in her mouth and became uncomfortably aware of the sheer silken agony of her dressing gown sliding against iron-hard nipples so erect that the areolas were puckered into sharpei wrinkles around them.
"Phoo." Kit spat the clothes out in a dripping mass onto Aaron's carpet between her feet and, panting with need, snatched her son's limp body up off the bed into her moist hands. Fingers curled around Aaron's back, thumbs pressing Aaron's shoulders against the underside of her fingers, she cupped his slumbering form. She closed her eyes and bent her head forward, nostrils widening as she inhaled deeply, ecstastic with the musky, leathery smell. Dipping her head, Kit thrust out her tongue and slid it wetly across Aaron's abs. Then, tantalized by the taste, she dropped her head still slower and tongued her son's tiny legs into her mouth up to the knee, sliding the soles over her tastebuds. The pungent taste made her wild. Groaning deep in her throat, knees trembling, she sucked on Aaron's sweaty feet, laving his smooth, hairless calves, and inadvertantly pushing her drug load into overdrive: balls, tripped.
Unable to stand on her shaky legs any longer, Kit tumbled into Aaron's bed, Aaron's legs and head bouncing loosely in her grip. Transerferring Aaron to one hand long enough to pull the cord on her dressing gown, she allowed it to flop open. Her large, pumpkin-sized breasts swung heavily to each side, giving her an unrestricted view down the rounded swell of her soft belly which hid the smooth-shaven mound of her now-drenched and engorged pussy. Roughly Kit dropped her son into the valley between her breasts, letting him land in heap of tangled arms and legs, then used her hands to push her breasts together. Aaron vanished.
If there had been a mirror handy Kit might have seen a pair of feet just barely peaking from underneath the mashed-together mass of her tits, but as it was she could see nothing except breasts surmounted by thumb-sized nipples of agonizingly painful erectness. She could feel Aaron squeezed motionless, trapped between walls of warm, heart-thumping, marbled white flesh and the sensation delighted her. Experimentally she let her breasts flop back down, leaving Aaron face-down, legs together, arms at his side, then pushed them back together again with a damp slapping noise, trapping him once again.
How long she laid like that, revelling in the sensation of having this tiny man completely enveloped by her cleavage, she did not know -- but when she finally released him, Aaron was glistening with her boob sweat. Wondering how her own sweat tasted, she pinched one of Aaron's hands and drew his limp body up toward her face, his head bumping over her chin, sliding across her lips, then resting gently against the side of her left nostril. His chest was now directly over her mouth and she made tiny kisses which left smears of red lipstick on her son. Then she spread her mouth wide and allowed her tongue to range across Aaron's pecs, circling and then sliding down to his hard abs as she widened her jaw. Her own salty sweat, sweetened with body butter and moisturizer, mixed with the taste of her son's own musky sweat and made her tongue tingle and sizzle. Panting, uncontrolled, she dragged Aaron's still-slumbering body still higher until she felt his manhood and balls slide over her lower lip and into her mouth.
After releasing an involuntary groan of lust, she narrowed her tongue into a slender point and began to bat it gently against Aaron's cock, dampening it, then sliding it over his balls, washing them of their leathery flavour. As his cock grew rigid and lengthened, she pursed her lips into a ring and began sucking gently at the distended member, occasionally licking at it. Though still fully unconscious, Aaron gave a soft moan as he spurted into the giant woman's soft, hot mouth, hips jerking spasmodically. The sudden arrival of a sharp, coppery-sweet taste in Kit's mouth heralded the arrival of both her son's seed and and new flavour to tantalize her over-stimulated tastebuds.
Kit's other hand had groped its way down to her sopping pussy and was vigorously frigging herself. The feeling was so incredible, so beyond anything she had ever before experienced, that she was beyond any capacity for rational thought. A single phrase repeated itself over and over in her head: "I just sucked off my son. I just sucked off my son. I. Just. Sucked. Off. My. Son." And while somewhere, in some distant portion of her mind she knew she ought to be horrified by it, instead she reacted with gasping, eye-rolling lust.
"Ohhh," groaned Kit, her son's Tic Tac-sized, softening cock resting on her lower lip. "Mommy needs you. Be a good boy and help mommy."
The fingers Kit lifted to grasp her son were slick and dripping with her pussy secretions and she had to grasp his torso tightly to keep him from slipping, so tightly that Aaron's eyes finally slid blearily open into half-conscious slits from rib-bending pain around his midsection. His drug-addled brain couldn't make sense of what he was seeing as Kit slid him down, past the quivering mountains of her breasts, past the soft, gently-rounded hill of her belly, and then stopped before the squelching blast-furnace heat of his mother's fully-engorged and receptive pussy as it drooled and slobbered on his blankets. Aaron's eyes opened fully and he had time to squeak, "What the--" before, for the second time in his life, he slid head-first through his mother's cunt.
Kit bared her teeth and sucked air through them audibly as she plunged her son's face against her clit, wiggled his face back and forth against it, and then shoved his whole chest, shoulders, and upper arms forcefully through the slick, hungry lips of her pussy. Wet velvety walls contracted with desperate muscularity, holding Aaron in place though he was now beginning to struggle. Placing her index finger firmly between her son's balls and asshole, Kit pushed -- hard. Aaron slid effortlessly inside until his face punched hard against her cervix and only his kicking legs and twitching feet could be seen. Tipping her head back and opening her mouth for a gasp of sybaritic pleasure, Kit pinched one of Aaron's feet and slid him part way out, far enough to feel his forearms emerge as his hands scrambled against her insanely sensitive pussy lips for traction, and then, shifting her index finger back to her son's taint, rammed him violently back inside her drooling tunnel. Over and over again Kit repeated this as Aaron's struggles became weaker and weaker, losing his battle to find a breath as he was waterboarded in his own mother's cunt juices. Faster and faster Aaron slid, never emerging fully enough to draw a breath, as his ribs were constricted by the irresistanbly strong bands of muscle wrapping his mother's pussy.
When Kit's climax went rocketing down up and down spine, she lost all conscious control. The walls of her cunt tightened like a velvet-smooth anaconda, compressing her son's chest until, already breathless and completely flummoxed by the wholly inexplicable experience, he lost consciousness. Kit let out an breathy "ahhhh" like a deflating tire as she slide her limp son from inside her to lie in a heap on his wet blanket. Blue stars, iridescent rainbows, and sharp, jagged spears of light filled Kit's vision with synaesthesic hallucinations of sexual excess and for more than a minute she could only lie motionless, panting, letting the reverberations of her orgasm slowly die out and restore rationality.
When she could open her eyes without seeing spots, Kit lifted herself up on her elbows and peered down her sweat-beaded body at the still form of her son lying between her legs. She felt some kind of panicky sensation in chest, briefly, but it came as if from a great distance. Her drug-hazed brain knew she was supposed to do something. Something important. Her eyes roamed around the room, using one hand to shield them from the unbearably vibrant neon-bright colours of everything, until they came to rest on the Portsizer still lying on the night stand beside the bed. Kit frowned. Something. Something about... growing something. Or someone? She glanced down at the little doll-figure between her legs, purple bruising already forming around his torso.
"Oh gosh," said Kit, "how could I have forgotten?" Grabbing up the 'sizer in hands sticky with her juices, she twiddled a dial and shot in vaguely in the direction of Aaron's unconscious form. There was a sizzle-CRACK and the depowered 'sizer went quiet as the doll-boy dwindled away to a miniscule, thumb-sized lump.
"Oops," said Kit. She let the Portasizer drop to the floor with a clunk.
Curiously, she fumbled with her fingers down between her legs, pinching the little body between a thumb and forefinger. At this size, barely two inches, Aaron was not even recognizable as her son.
Aaron was soaked and slimy with Kit's secretions. Using one hand to push one of her mammoth breasts up, he dropped Aaron onto the nipple. He bounced heavily off his bruised ribs, then slid bonelessly onto the areola. A little shiver made Kit's throbbing post-coital pussy twinge. Kit used a fingernail to flip Aaron onto his belly, then pressed her index finger into his back until she could comfortably slide him around her areola and against the rigidly-erect nipple. Her breath came faster as the sensation became more pleasurable until, having smeared the lubricating juices off of her son, the drying fluids adhered him to her tit and no amount of prodding with her fingertip would get him to slide.
Kit peeled up her son and watched him flop limply between her fingers. Too small to pleasure her, she thought sadly. Experimentally, she brought Aaron down to her pussy and rubbed him against the slick outer lips. She could barely feel him. Then, inspiration hitting her, she peeled back her clit hood, shoved the tiny boy against her clitoris, and then let go, allowing her pussy to slide closed. There was an electric tingle from her clit and Kit gasped. Aaron's legs had escaped his prison and she shoved them back inside her engorged hood, holding it shut with her fingers and trapping him fully inside, then began to rub herself with her other hand.
The continuous sensual trilling from her clit made Kit's pussy so wet and sensitive she could hardly bear to finger herself, working herself up to a second climax as she pictured her tiny captive rolled up in a ball of arms and legs against her button. When the tiny form began woke and began struggling, pounding fists against her clit, Kit had a second, less intense, but just as pleasurable climax. By the time the waves of pleasure had finished massaging her brain, the tiny two-inch form of her son was limp again, unconscious from the smothering embrace of his mother's clit hood and pinching fingers.
Kit released her clit, allowing Aaron to slide down against her pussy lips until the sticky wetness adhered him. She pried him off and drew him up to her eyes, holding him by the legs and flopping his torso, arms, and head back and forth as she inspected him. He smelled strongly of her womanhood. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back dropped the limp and unconscious form of her tiny son horizontally against her closed red lips, plump and soft, then rolled him face-down. The opened her lips a fraction of an inch and allowed her tongue to slide wetly from side to side across Aaron, starting at his face, then down his chest and abs, down to his cock and balls, then swiping over the tops of his thighs before reversing course and doing the same in reverse. She could taste both his leathery muskiness and her own coppery femininity. It was unutterably delectable. Parting her jaws suddenly, she let the tiny body plunge down fully into her mouth.
As she laid quietly in her son's bed, fingers of one hand playing idly in her cunt and the other tweaking an impossibly engorged nipple, Kit used her tongue to slide Aaron around in her mouth, marinading him in her saliva, tumbling him over and over, first against her palate, then against the inside of her teeth, then once again against her palate. Keeping her lips pursed closed, she opened her jaw fractionally, pushing the tiny, warm, delightful little body in her mouth between her molars, arms and legs dangling from either side. She pressed down gently, aware that with the tiniest of pressure she could bring her molars together and crush that body completely flat. She imagined how the juices might taste, what sort of amazing new sensations it might bring her effervescent brain to pop that tiny skull between her teeth. Then a wilder thought occured to her.
Eyes still closed to allow her to concentrate on the sensations in her mouth, she could feel the little body begin to stir between her teeth as Aaron awoke again. A swipe of her tongue sent him splashing into the pool of saliva which had begun springing up at her son's taste and his tiny form was pressed first into her palate, then slid backwards and -- with a high-pitched chirp of a miniature scream reverberating inside her head -- Kit swallowed.
The struggling lump squeezed its way slowly down her throat. Kit swallowed again, then a third time. The lump finally traced a path down into her chest, right next to her thudding heart. While one of her hands continued to frig herself, the other rested quietly on her abdomen, just below her breast, where she could feel the tiny, fluttery, jumping-bean sensations inside her.
The GHB was already preventing her brain from forming long-term memories and by the time she woke in the afternoon with a headache and a strange taste in her mouth, she would never know what had happened to her son.
Giantess World
Story Notes:
You have Apothecary to thank for this story. He tracked me down on IRC and nudged me with base flattery until I grudgingly gave in and wrote something.)
(PS: I hate the way the tags ruin plot points. Half the fun as an author comes from pushing people to the line of their comfort zone, then cheerfully pushing them over into the land of horror and PTSD.)
(PS: I hate the way the tags ruin plot points. Half the fun as an author comes from pushing people to the line of their comfort zone, then cheerfully pushing them over into the land of horror and PTSD.)