Giantess World
As late morning stretched into early afternoon, Astraea still savored the luscious sensations of her cheat meal day, though ever-conscious of her husband’s miniscule-but-significant emotional presence, let her empty gut keep on gurgling. Each new prospect she happened across, attracted by the ethereal aroma of their unease, she scrutinized for any good reason she might have to not only frighten them into oblivion, but toss them down her gullet and line her interior with their soul. Yet with every one, just as she was about to convince herself they were probably unworthy enough for consumption, she could imagine her sweet husband’s quiet exhalation and staid-yet-disappointed expression. That was perhaps the worst part: he wouldn’t even say anything to stop her, but would let the sorrow fester, making it near-impossible for Astraea to fully enjoy her catch.
“You’re welcome, Mitchy,” she inaudibly sighed to herself with each possible meal she merely tasted instead of scarf down.
Unfortunate loners pacing the sidewalks, hailing taxis or taking calls, provided on-the-go goodness for Astraea, as she swooped a hand low over their heads, cruised a burly bare foot at them like a battering ram, or simply opened her mouth wide enough to let them see her shining uvula. An office building belted out a whole company’s worth of cries when the giantess squatted low enough to let the globes of her enviably-toned short-clad buttocks fill their window views, in range where even a cautious sit-down would cause the whole complex to fold in on itself. Crowds exiting restaurants after the lunch hour were spooked straight back into those establishments when Astraea hunkered down on her hands and knees, peering in at them and languorously stroking her tongue around her lips, until a puddle of saliva gelled in the street.
All these options were tempting, and now five hours into her semi-unrestricted terrorizing of the city, the Apex was feeling the strain. She needed someone to physically put in her belly, if not many someones, because her body was starting to wise up to the tease of the scares without the follow-through of diminutive forms involuntarily inch-worming down the ribbed tunnel of her esophagus. Just as she was mouthing eeny-meeny-miney-moe while counting out random passerby in the distance, Astraea heard a shout from a nearby alley, accompanied by a burst of fear not owed to her presence, which naturally made its unseen source all the more intriguing and worthy of another stomach growl.
“No offense, Brody, but you’re puttin’ me in a real awkward position here,” spoke the exact reason for that fear. The six-foot-five mountain-man nonchalantly smacked a crowbar against his palm while slowly advancing on the debtor, who was already on the ground, bleeding from the temple and backed against the alley trash bins. “See, if you don’t pay up, then that makes me look like I’m not doing my job, and it’s just a whole thing. Much, much easier if you stick to the schedule. Then I only have to ask politely!”
“By MONDAY! You’ll have it ALL, p-plus EXTRA!” Brody wailed.
“Oh, you’re right about that. The extra part, I mean. But, you’re gonna have it today, or…” the loan shark’s heavy said, but paused to smirkingly admire the blossoming existential fright he saw lighting up his victim’s face: not just nervous and stammery as before, but sheer eye-popping throat-drying ghost-faced alarm. Intimidating though he knew himself to be, the collector didn’t often see this much hilarious fright on a “customer’s” breakable countenance, and so he paused to appreciate it. This was going to be easier than he thought.
“A… A-Ap…” the sprawling debtor wept. He raised a shaking arm and pointed behind the collector, who was too amused by this display to turn around, or notice the mysterious glob of syrup-consistent drool that plummeted from the sky like a cannonball and splashed into the street two feet behind him.
“What the fuck was that again?” the man laughed, cupping his ear and waving the crowbar. “Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I believe I do,” a sultrily-feminine voice boomed from directly behind the collector like a droning subwoofer, accompanied by broiling gale-wind that nearly made him face-plant. “But fair’s fair. You can have mine.”
With that, Astraea vertically extended the widened gangplank of her beefy bud-stippled tongue, inched it forward the final distance, and adhered the loan shark’s man to her sticky pink beast. From the moment she had his squirming self glued in place, and received the benefit of his startled unease followed immediately by the richer flavor of his recognition of exactly who had spoken to and then licked him, the Apex’s saliva flowed out in disproportionate quantity to the relatively-petite amount of man she had available for gulping.
Still, this response came as buildup from the rest of the fun she’d had around town while unnaturally curbing her hunger, not to mention the combined ultra-trepidation of the victim and perp. Now it all flowed like a liquefied-taffy waterfall of bubbles and steamy fluid down her engorged mouth-muscle, of course pouring too down the spread-eagle little man who couldn’t wriggle free from the pull of her taste buds despite his panic-grunting. Funnily enough, this exact juxtaposition of their bodies couldn’t help but remind Astraea of a certain “marital” roleplaying encounter she’d had with her husband the day before his departure with their daughter, a comparison that only egged her on further. Unlike Mitch, though, this guy’s writhing turned to violent seizing and screams when the woman slowly began retracting her tongue, and him, back into the muggy darkness of her drippy maw, truly milking the moment and squeezing so much soulful terror from both the new victim and the wounded witness below that the goose bumps rippled all across her body including her tongue, seemingly doubling the bumps on her sensitive appetite-aroused flesh.
The crowbar clattered back to earth in a puddle of spit, the last visible sign of the loan shark’s man, as Astraea forcibly welcomed him into the gooey face-melting palace of her inner jaws, sealing her lips with an unnecessarily vocal slurp and an unintentional spritz of saliva that plastered the ground and even hit the debtor in the face. She winked at him, not especially wishing to terrorize the paltry thing to literal death when he was already having such a terrible day, but also didn’t miss the chance to savor his increased fear, and was gratified to notice that as much as Brody was intimidated by the possible-hitman currently entombed inside her mouth, it was nothing next to the mortal jitters he projected when that gallon blob of her needful spit swallowed his head. In case her total victory wasn’t already obvious to all parties present, this was a tantalizing bit of proof.
Her tongue capsized into her cheek, pinning the collector against the springy give of her orifice’s interior, before trading him to the other side and performing the same submission-hold with only the gentlest firming of her tongue-tip. For a minute she repeated this, never hard enough to let him pass out, puffing her cheeks with his body while warming up her salivary glands even further, to the point that Astraea had to consciously choose not to tip him into her wide-open throat and extract his spectral essence with every inch he was imbibed down the snake-like chute of her digestive tract. This one, above all others she’d come close to feasting upon physically as well as spiritually today, was almost-assuredly a winner. In truth, she would ultimately sleep just fine after eating any number of the city’s flawed denizens, knowing she’d only somewhat-fudged Mitch’s hopes for her, but with this fellow particularly and anyone of his ilk, she’d sleep peacefully with a smile on her face and wet dreams in her mind’s eye.
And that gave her an even better idea.