Abel tugged at the thick metal band around his neck. It didn't budge, of course; he was only human. Instead, the collar clung around his neck just as tightly as ever. He scratched at it, frustrated. Though his breathing was unhindered, the band irritated his skin and kept his larynx much too claustrophobic. He still wasn't used to this.
Three days ago, Abel had been what the Sisters call a Worm. The wooden box containing him and thirty or so of his fellow humans had been pulled off a shelf and placed on the ground for a regular cleaning. Above them, a cute young woman in gray robes sat in a wicker chair and slipped off her sandals. She had smiled down at the humans in a somewhat cruel way that confirmed for Abel that this was her first time going through the procedure; she was likely a recent initiate assigned to mopping duties, but she had to be cleaned herself before entering the main Worship Chamber. Anyone used to this ritual generally ignored those beneath them, preferring to read a book or converse with others in the room rather than pay any attention to the work going on below.
Before the young woman could do anything more, someone else had approached the box. Clad head-to-toe in a purple hooded robe and wearing the faceless white mask tell-tale of their order, one of the Sisters glided into view. She bent down and placed into the box a basin of water and a tray containing specially made human-sized tools and rags.
May your soul be cleaned as your body is, the Sister said, slightly muffled behind her mask.
May my body be cleaned well, the young woman had replied, giving the customary response.
With that, the Sister left to do whatever other duties she had, and the young woman raised her foot and let it dangle above the box. She wiggled her toes and smiled down at the humans once more. The little people darted to their tools, both to prepare for the work ahead and to avoid the rain of dust and debris being cast down upon them by the wiggling monster above. The young woman lowered her foot...
Wait! the Sister's voice rang out from across the room. The initiate froze and looked towards the voice. Then, she scurried to stand. Her foot crashed into the box throwing dust and stunning several humans, Abel included.
Sit, a deeper female voice had said. The woman obeyed.
Three new Sisters appeared above the box. One was in standard robes. The other wore a robe trimmed in lavender and carried a silver bowl, signs of the Oraculara The robe of the last one was trimmed in a shimmering yellow silk-like material, and her mask was decorated with swirling designs of pure metallic gold. White ropes and tassels hung from her left shoulder as an added testament to her importance. She was Cerandria, Matriarch of the Sisterhood of Versyllia.
The lavender-trimmed Sister knelt down, out of sight of the people in the box. There was the clicking of several objects colliding with each other, then a clanging as each of them fell into what Abel assumed to be the silver bowl.
This one is correct. It's a male, dark-haired.
Cerandria and the other Sister peered down into the box. The Sister crouched down and snatched up a human, a slightly older man that Abel had enjoyed speaking to. The man flew through the air before being placed somewhere else. The Sister that had taken him produced a handful of assorted gems and gave them to the lavender-wearing Sister. Again, there was a clicking and clanging as all three women looked into the bowl.
Without a word, the normal-robed Sister scooped the man up and roughly deposited him back into the box. She looked inside, seeming to consider her options. Her blank, white mask and purple hood filled the sky above the tiny people, all of whom were staring back, bewildered by these strange happenings. The Sister's hand darted back into box... and wrapped itself around Abel.
Air whipped around him and his stomach fled to his feet as he was brought up, up, up, before going down and being dropped into the cold embrace of his own reflection. The lavender-clad Oracle above dropped the assortment of gemstones, though each one miraculously avoided hitting him. They crashed around him, setting his ears to ringing.
This is the one, she declared. All three Sisters looked down at Abel.
The Great Matron could only give a Hmph, as the other Sister plucked him up and whisked him away right into her pocket.
From there, Abel had been taken to a sort of metalworking room, where some Sisters had used a strange form of magic to literally mold the steel collar into shape around his neck. He was then placed in an enclosed wooden vessel and left alone except for being fed, watered, and washed. That was, at least, until now.
His container shifted violently, throwing him to his knees. It shuddered again, and again. Whomever was carrying him must be traveling up or down a set of stairs. Abel desperately wished she would be more careful, but he knew it was in vain. After all, he was only human.
The shifting stopped just as suddenly as it had started, and the swaying of his carrier's previous gait returned. Abel arose. This he was used to. Years of living in similar vessels had given him his box legs, and he was actually one of the more skilled ones, better even than some elders. He subconsciously kept his balance as he waited for his destination.
He faintly heard a door open, and moments later the swaying of his container stopped. He felt the familiar jostling of being set down, and then stillness.
The top of his vase was ripped away. Incense smoke rushed to fill the area of low-pressure, and the otherwise dim candlelight assaulted his unadjusted eyes. A gloved hand cast him once again in shadow as it appeared above and entered the vessel. It wrapped around him, squeezing him firmly into the soft wool, and pulled him out into the world. His nostrils were filled with a spicy-sweet smell similar to a mixture of nutmeg and thyme.
Abel craned his neck. The hand he was in belonged to a Sister trimmed in lavender; one of the Oraculara. They were in a circular room with a domed roof and no lanterns. Around them, a group of high-ranking Sisters stood silently, holding candles. Their masks betrayed no emotion, but they seemed to be regarding Abel severely.
The Focus has arrived, the Sister holding him said. Her voice matched the lavender-trimmed one from the days prior. She lifted Abel further into the air.
Is it clean, Sister? the others chanted in unison.
Not clean enough. the oracle replied. She carried Abel to a raised clay basin in the very center of the room.
Focus? What did that mean? Abel had heard the term used in conversation between the women while he was at their feet, but he could never gather the actual definition, only that it was something the highest-ranking members of the order kept and valued greatly. This situation was only getting stranger and stran-
Free-fall. One instant Abel was clutched firmly in the Sister's hand and in the next he was plummeting,
watching her fingers and mask slip further away...
SPLASH!
Cool water surrounded him. He flailed his arms instinctively, clawing at the fluid in a desperate attempt to reach the shimmering waves above. However, the weight around his neck pulled him further down, no matter how hard he struggled. Empty lungs screamed at him. Was this what he had been brought here for? To be dropped in a bowl to drown?
A shadow appeared above the surface. The great hand, now free of the glove, plunged beneath the waves and scooped him up. As soon as his head reached air, Abel inhaled deeper than he ever had before. Immediately, the oracle dunked him back into the water. He was brought out once more, sputtering and coughing. Deft fingers ripped away the rags he'd been wearing that were now no more than a sopping mess of scraps. The Sister tossed him into a towel, and jostled him around to dry. When she was satisfied, she let him slide onto a table beside the basin.
It is ready, Matron.
From the shadows, the decorated robes of Cerandria stepped forward.
Thank you, Veradha, she said, her towering form looming over Abel. Though her face was covered by her mask, it was clear that the great matron was peering down her nose at the tiny man below.
You may begin.
The oracle Veradha began to speak in some language that Abel couldn't understand. Occasionally, the surrounding Sisters would repeat a particular phrase, or offer a kind of response. When she was finished, Veradha produced a set of gemstones from her robe.
Your hand, Matron.
Cerandria extended her arm above the table, and held her hand in place. Veradha lifted her own hand above the matron's and let the gems slip through her fingers. They hit the matron's palm before crashing onto the table. Abel flinched from the sudden noise and vibrations.
The oracle examined the gems closely, deriving some meaning from how the various cuts and minerals landed, and from which painted-on runes were showing. When she learned all she could, she scooped them back into her hand.
Human, walk to the center of the table.
Startled, Abel froze. Humans were almost never addressed individually, if at all, and it was never good when they were. He knew, however, that worse would come if he didn't follow orders. So, after only a moment of hesitation, he made his way to stand in the center. Though he was away from Cerandria's domineering presence, now he was exposed with all eyes upon him.
Veradha lifted the gems once again. She swirled them in her palm and then let them slip from her grasp. Abel clenched his eyes shut as the lots fell from the heavens.
They impacted around him with deafening force.
He pried his eyes open. The gems had landed dangerously close, but he was thankfully unhurt.
The patterns are the same... came a whisper from above. Veradha arose from her reading to address the observers.
Their auras are truly kindred! she declared, The Binding shall commence.
Two Sisters emerged, both clad in red-trimmed robes. A giant finger pushed Abel onto his stomach and held him there. Using their obscure metal-magic, the red Sisters attached his collar to a long length of chain, and then bound the chain into a circle. They released Abel, and returned to the mass of other women.
Cerandria took hold of the opposite of the loop of chain. She spoke some words in the same language as before.
If worthy, it is bound! she spoke finally.
If unworthy, may it perish, the group replied.
With that, she lifted the chain.
Abel was hoisted into the air by his neck with such force that he'd thought his head had come off. But no, struggling beneath the collar was his body, intact and attached. He opened his mouth to breath, but his throat was completely closed by the collar, not letting any air through. He started to panic, but only a second later a warmth seemed to flow from the chain into his collar, leaving only the same discomfort he had felt for the passed few days. With the ability to breathe again, Abel kicked into the air and grabbed at the collar before surrendering to this new predicament.
Congratulations on your new focus, Matron Cerandria, Veradha said.
We'll soon see if your sentiment is warranted, Great Oracle, came the reply.
The matron pulled the chain closer, letting Abel dangle like a caught fish. She lifted him higher using both hands... and slipped her head through the loop.
Abel collided with her thick silken robes, stopped by the flesh hidden beneath. He looked up as best he could, straining to lift his body up in order to turn his head. Above, Cerandria peered down her nose at him once again. He stared back from her chest.
With the ceremony finished, the Sisters vacated the room, leaving Veradha and some of her underlings to gather the ritual materials. As the matron climbed the stairs, gravity and inertia seemed to collude in order to cause Abel as much grief as possible, as each bump or sway the giant woman made pulled on the chain enough to choke him just a bit, but he never completely lost air flow.
Finally, the woman topped the last stair and traveled down a long hallway. At the end she pushed open a set of double doors, and she and Abel entered her living chambers, locking the door behind them.
Cerandria's room was lit with the soft glow of a fire built by one of her servants. Strategically placed candles reached where the fire could not. The only dark area was an archway leading to a balcony, where tendrils of night filtered through a shimmering veil. The matron stepped across her tufted crimson carpet and closed the glass-panel doors leading to the crisp outdoor air. They clicked shut, sealing Abel and his mistress inside. Though he'd been dangling from her neck for several minutes now, Abel hadn't felt truly trapped until the finality of that sound echoed around the room.
A choking force pulled the tiny man upward. Hoisted by his neck, he watched Cerandria pull away the collar of her robes. Far below, beneath his flailing legs, Abel saw her breasts come into view, jutting from her body like the burial mounds his ancestors built. He stopped struggling, mesmerized by the sight of the Holy Matron's bosom. In that instant, she released her grip on the chain.
Abel dropped, her collar whipping passed as he plunged into the robes. The chain snapped taut, and he collided with her skin, bouncing off and spinning. He landed against her again, this time on his stomach before the chain unwound and his back was thrown to the wall of flesh. Her robes fluttered, and through his pounding head Abel heard the sound of fabric sliding against itself. In one movement, the clothing was pulled up and off her body, and cast aside on the floor.
His world shook as Cerandria sat on her bed and bent over. Abel flew from her chest to dangle above her feet, choked again by the pressure around his neck. He tried desperately to stand on her bare thighs to relieve his discomfort, but he couldn't match the last few inches he needed to meet them. The matron's mighty arms appeared on either side of him as she unbuckled the straps on her sandals and let the shoes fall away. She gave both of her feet a brushing to free any stuck dirt, and then returned upright. Abel once again fell against the skin between her breasts, though this collision was thankfully softer than before. He pressed his legs against her, and used the chain as a brace to spin around in the collar until he could see her face.
Sandy-blonde hair cascaded onto Cerandria's shoulders, some strands ending only feet from Abel. Her arms reached behind her head and she fiddled with the buckle to her mask. Then, placing one hand on the face, she let it drop.
Intense brown eyes flicked down to Abel. Her features, much younger than he'd anticipated, twisted into a sardonic grin. It was the first time he'd been regarded since Cerandria had donned him at the ritual.
Consider yourself lucky, human. It is forbidden for anyone outside the Order to see a Sister's face.
She placed the mask on her bedside table.
Besides, very few can even survive having gazed upon me.
Gravity shifted as the living precipice fell backward. Abel went from hanging to standing, and watched as Cerandria rested her head against her pillow. She massaged her face for a moment, and moaned. The ground under Abel vibrated.
I'm going to sleep, she said. Keep me awake with your movements and there will be consequences.
She rolled, tossing her little ward onto the soft hill of her breast. The other crashed down, pinning him with empty lungs between the giant mammaries. His collar grew warmer. Abel poked his head out of the fleshy prison, and though the pressure kept him from drawing breath, he could watch as every candle in the room was doused by a spontaneous breeze. Curtains and potted plants rustled, and even the main fire shuddered at its touch. Then, the gust vanished, and Cerandria pulled her sheets over her arms.
It's good to be back, the matron said, shaking Abel to his core. She exhaled a single forceful breath before her respiration slowed to a steady, relaxed pace.
Trapped in the woman's chest, Abel could do nothing but watch the firelight dance across the silken sky. His view swayed gently with each breath, but it never gave him anything new to look at. Besides, the slow movement and warm confines reminded him of being rocked by his mother as a child.
He didn't know if his captor had already fallen asleep, but Abel felt the fogs of slumber reach him. He dozed off before he could realize that the crushing weight and lack of oxygen were causing him very little grief.
Giantess World
Story Notes:
Doing a lot of worldbuilding for this one. I really enjoy writing it.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm desperate for cash, so if you like my stuff consider commissioning me for 1¢/word. Details at ( https://www.deviantart.com/ubersalamander ). I was going to write a big apology and excuse for not adding to 'Heavenly Bodies,' but I just talked about it in the journal on DA.
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Chapter End Notes:
Like I said, please consider commissioning me if you enjoy my work. Otherwise, I always appreciate criticism and critique.