Giantess World
Alma Warren awoke with her fists balled hard to her cheekbones. Her ears rang, stinging at the same resonance frequency which had brought her back to consciousness most days for the past year. The high-pitched sound, so precise and cutting, made it difficult to move at first, but the mangy prisoner mustered the energy to drag herself out of bed. Despite so much practice with this particularly punishing sound effect as an alarm clock, it was still tough to keep her knees from wobbling, and the Alpha was already tense enough from fitful dreams that her knees nearly buckled when she stood. Still the ear-slicing waves concentrated on her, and they wouldn’t cease until she was in position, so Alma staggered to a full stand, too proud and filled with rage to let herself show weakness for more than a few precious moments.
Then, doing everything she could to hide the tweaks of brain-wracking pain currently infecting her ears, the woman padded across the spare floor of her cell. Alma wrapped her knuckles in the fringes of her white uniform, rolling them along her ribcage through the fabric. She passed the table and the toilet, arriving at the glass wall which faced the vast space beyond the reaches of her translucent prison. Only when she stood in soldierly posture, eyes up and spine erect, did the sound mercifully shut off.
Through the glass loomed the enormous feminine face which greeted Alma every day. There was no hiding from that gaze. It was a countenance Alma had come to see in her nightly nightmares, which made her even madder, as the young Omega was difficult enough to avoid during daylight hours, let alone her nocturnal subconscious. The same porcelain complexion, the same freckles, the same green eyes that cut almost as deep as the sonic alarm clock, and the same rigid lips keeping robotically neutral. Blinking at the sight of her ward obeying her usual mandate to stand at attention, the twenty-two-year-old Junior Enforcer still held the device aloft, just in case she was given a reason to turn it back on.
Jenna Reynolds lingered in front of her bedroom shelf where she kept her Alpha prisoner, the glass cell resting there like a pet terrarium. While with one fist she none-too-subtly waved the high-pitched emitter around, her opposite hand rested on the shelf’s precipice, occasionally drumming on the glass with her fingertips hard enough that Alma nearly lost balance. The petite Omega rarely budged the portable cell from its position, except when it became necessary to wrangle her guilty captive. When she was first given responsibility for Alma’s sessions and aggressive rehabilitation, following the diabolical woman’s part in a terrorist plot to exterminate Beta schoolkids, Jenna had made sure to choose a place on a shelf without a view to the bedroom window, and even made a secret point of never setting houseplants or much of anything suggesting nature or life where Alma could see it from her cell. These were luxuries that only humans deserved to enjoy, Jenna had concluded on that first day when she received the Alpha for a year of enforcing.
Now, they’d arrived at the end. In three days, Alma would transfer out of Jenna’s hands and into jail for good. Frankly, the Omega had to believe that Alma would be much happier back in the slammer, which was the only real downside of having such total authority over her this past year. It was just a shame, Jenna felt, that a more appropriate volume of consequences commensurate to the woman’s crimes couldn’t be carried out daily from now until her death.
“Wakey wakey. Eggs and bakey,” Jenna droned in a dead monotone. Her thumb clicked threateningly on the trigger to the sound device, which caused Alma’s beady black eyes to dart about, but the Alpha didn’t move otherwise, either out of fear or hateful defiance. “Good morning, little thing. What do you say now?”
“Good morning, Enforcer Reynolds,” Alma said, practically retching over the syllables, but still she watched the device.
“You don’t have to worry about me turning this thing back on, unless you give me a really good reason to. I want you nice and loose today since we’ve got a lot planned, so it doesn’t help anyone if you’re only at 50%.” Jenna said. Her tone brightened slightly, as it was impossible to totally conceal the enjoyment she got from speaking to Alma like this. The Omega set the device down on the shelf beside the cell. “I don’t know if you’ve ever wondered… actually, you probably have wondered, since I’ve used the thing on you over three hundred times now… but I have tested it out on myself too, on an Omega wavelength, since I can’t hear the Alpha setting. That was part of the training. So, you can rest easy knowing that, yes, I am completely aware of how much it sucks when it’s switched on. I hope that brings you some comfort.”
Alma only twitched. The interior of her skull however was alive with borderline-erotic desire for untold acts of vengeance on every god-damned hundred-fifty-foot-tall Omega upon the planet, but none more than this petite ginger demoness who’d haunted Alma’s every hour for this infinite twelve-month period. Years ago, Alma was imprisoned in this same house for the same reasons by Jenna’s mother, who for a long time was the Alpha’s most-hated being on the planet, but the older Enforcer’s daughter had now usurped her. Alma despised everything about Jenna: her oddly-angelic appearance, her demeaning actions, her creative mind, and even her voice, dry and smug. Having spent so much time in the girl’s custody, Alma had come to suspect that Jenna wasn’t a big talker outside of her enforcing duties, yet the humongous bitch overcome her introversion purely to ensure she never had a moment’s peace.
“Cheer up, now. They’re coming to rescue you from me this week, after all, to throw you in a jail where you can’t even see through the walls, so there will be even less for you to look at,” Jenna continued. With both hands free, she walked her fingertips along the cell wall, coming to rest at the upper glass lip. Slowly her palms gripped the box. “But on the bright side, you’ll have plenty of alone time to think everything over. And I do mean plenty, because you’re never going to leave once you’re there. Maybe you’ll even start to miss me, once you get bored enough. How long do you think you’ll last before you wish you were back with me again, little thing?”
The Alpha bowed her head. She was indeed looking forward to being released from the clutches of the do-gooder creep, even if it did mean a lifetime looking at metal walls in solitary. Sometimes she was just surprised the giant girl’s obvious loathing of her had never resulted in an “accident” during a session that either permanently crippled Alma or ensured her sentence in regular prison had a severe internal-bleeding-related time limit.
Then again, they still had today. This was to be her final scheduled session. Anything could still happen. Not that Jenna couldn’t squeeze in some extracurricular torture between now and the day Alma “moved out,” but while the fire-eyed Enforcer’s enthusiasm for Alpha-chastening was insatiable at all hours, she was also a stickler for the rules and regulations. This last occasion spent together, trying to physically force-feed some empathy into Alma’s head over a bunch of three-inch-tall humanoid insects, was going to be something special. She knew it already.
“I asked you a question. Have you finally gone deaf, or are you just trying to add some extra fun to what’s coming later?” Jenna repeated, her timbre back to its usual stone. She leaned in against the glass, making her emerald glare impossible to avoid. “Admit it. You’ll miss me.”
“I’ll die before I want to see your face again,” Alma answered.
Jenna studied her charge, nodded, then withdrew from the wall-sized window. She didn’t bother hiding the smirk forming at the corner of her lips.
“That’s what I thought. Thanks for your honesty. It’s hearing things like that which makes me love what I do,” Jenna remarked. “Especially when I’m doing it to something like you.”
At last the Omega’s hands tugged the glass enough to tip it forward. Clumsily, Alma face-planted on the wall. Wanting to avoid a repeat of the alarm clock, she went obediently limp, allowing Jenna’s outspread fingers to fish down inside and ensnare Alma around the ankles. A thin index finger and thumbpad latched firmly in place. The Alpha was dragged very slowly up the glass incline, far longer than was necessary to do so safely, but the little prisoner knew the Enforcer tended to smile just a little wider if she could make all the blood rush to Alma’s head first. Once out, the dangling inmate’s legs were released from Jenna’s fingers, allowing her to plop into the waiting cup of the Omega’s other hand.
Alma sighed as she looked wishfully to the cushy edge of Jenna’s palm just a stride away. Early in her year sentence, she’d been deceived by the apparent ease with which she could simply leap out of the Omega’s hand to possible freedom while kept here in the open, and had made several attempts to swan-dive off the plank of these giant slender fingers. Each and every time though, no matter how tricky Alma got with her technique, she was re-captured in midair by a swift grab. These little rebellions were always answered with memorable punishment, so by this point, the Alpha had reached the bitterly logical conclusion it wasn’t worth it.
But then again, she was about to go through her last session anyway, so…
“You can try if you want,” Jenna said disinterestedly. She stepped away from the shelf, not even looking directly at the Alpha in her hand. “Long way down. I may be a little on the short side… but I don’t think even you could make it. Either way I’d catch you. And if I have to catch you, I may have to have a word with Aegis about you not being ready for a vacation in jail yet. So, are you feeling lucky today?”
Too defeated to even get satisfaction from resisting her, Alma remained slumped and pouty in the center of Jenna’s hand.
The Omega traveled to her desk across the room and took a seat, setting her palm on its side and unceremoniously dumping Alma onto the table surface. Once the little woman had righted herself, Jenna’s hands rested prayerfully, fingers laced together, within flicking distance of the Alpha. Sitting up straight in her chair, and granting herself a few feet of extra height, the Omega’s lips pursed to an unreadable point, per usual. She looked ready to conduct an office interview.
Most of Alma’s disciplinary sessions began this way, arriving at the desk, all business-like and above-board, whereupon Jenna proceeded to explain what series of humiliating, brutal, and/or disgusting games would be played out as recompense for the Alpha’s crimes against tiny humanity. Then she’d play them out, beat by beat. The towering girl was modestly made-up and dressed well in a springtime teal blouse and dark skirt today, something she could’ve easily worn in a professional setting. Like this was all so legitimate. In fact, Jenna had apparently cleaned up a little more than usual, semi-formal and lightly glammed, seeming to treat this like a graduation day for Alma’s harrowing time in this room.
It made the Alpha even more resentful to see how officially Jenna viewed her job: a job which just happened to involve using her extreme size and strength advantage to illustrate, in practical terms, what it felt like to be a helpless Beta at the hands of an uncaring Alpha. The sight of the bleeding-heart titan made her sick. Her stomach turned; her teeth ground to flats. But through her fury, Alma reasoned she ought to save some vitriol for the actual session, or she’d only drive herself more insane.
“Don’t look so glum,” Jenna said. “Yes, today is technically the final exam of your re-education, but if you do a very good job, there will be a surprise for you at the end. A real one, too, not one of my hilarious gotcha-surprises. So… impress me.”
Alma managed to swallow the snarl she felt brewing, and instead jerked her neck. No promise of later rewards from Jenna was ever good news, even if she claimed the contrary. But the Alpha wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of it working on her, whatever the hell it was. She would have the last laugh.
“Having said that, there is another surprise, and this one you don’t have to wait for at all,” the Omega said. She clutched each fist in its opposite and wrenched her wrists back and forth, cracking her knuckles like she was preparing for a bare-fisted brawl. “Stand up straight, now. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Amused at this show of intimidation, Alma risked a slap on the wrist by snorting aloud. Was this supposed to scare her?
Ignoring her, Jenna flexed her fingers, then lifted her right hand, and brought it down like a hammer of judgment straight toward Alma. The Alpha flinched to a defensive ball, despite herself, deciding in that split-second that perhaps she’d been right all along about her captor using this final session to turn her into a quadriplegic. However, though the rushing wind from Jenna’s falling palm suggested the impact would be life-threatening at least and liquefying at worst, that hand came to a midair halt a few inches above the cowering little woman, close enough that Alma could feel the heat of her skin. Clawing her fingers, the Omega’s hand started trembling. An animalistic roar tolled in the Alpha’s ears, nigh-deafening, possibly a latent side effect of the alarm clock, but she knew better. Alma had been down this road before, more than a dozen times over the past year. The now-familiar unearthly pressure squeezed down on her in invisible force from Jenna’s outspread hand, though the tiny criminal was kept from splatting face-first on the desk, instead held in place by intangible waves. Puppet strings. It felt a lot like being trapped in the middle of same-poled magnets, repelling one another at the point of contact yet still strangely attracted by the opposite ends.
Alma chomped her upper lip but maintained her composure. She was being compressed again: that little party trick of the Omegas, one of several in their freak-repertoire, which allowed them to temporarily shrink living things. Already she was below the five-foot-tall marker, courtesy of Jenna’s concentration, and still descending slowly. For educational purposes, Jenna had stolen away one or two feet of Alma’s height before, which was certainly a boot to her ego at first, but the blow was softened once the Alpha observed the fact that her Omega handler didn’t come out unscathed, receiving bruises and evident internal pangs. That alone made it worth a minor shrink-spurt, which ended a few hours later anyway when Alma regrew.
Around two-foot-three-inches, however, Alma was surprised to find she was still suspended in the yawning vacuum of dwindling space between the table and Jenna’s comparatively-enlarged hand. This was the lowest she’d ever gone before, and the process only became slower the smaller she got. Then, hearing an involuntary grunt from Jenna, the first ever, Alma chuckled to herself; it seemed this became more painful for the Omega the longer it lasted. Nevertheless, she was slightly unnerved when the procedure continued, until she was the size of a toddler. A while later, an infant. Yet still Alma kept shrinking.
“All right, what the hell is happening?” the Alpha sneered, her voice drowned out by the roar. Either that, or Jenna didn’t care to answer her and risk snapping her focus. The urge to run struck her, but Alma was immobilized in place. She was just under a foot tall now. “Hey, listen to me, crazy. What the fuck is this?”
Above, the Omega gripped her shivering arm with the other hand to hold it steady, though she could only do so much. Red strands of loose hair clung to her perspiring forehead. Her breathing hastened, and she had to consciously slow it down, controlling the influx of sensations, especially the dire pain in her forearm. Below the skin, muscle was being shredded faster than her specialized physiology could repair it, and bruises that began as small shadowy dots over Jenna’s sacrificial limb had grown, turning purple. This was more difficult than the Omega had even anticipated, but she was committed now to see this through.
“Stop,” Alma screeched. She peered frantically around, nearly dislocating her shoulders and hips from the effort of trying to swim out of the shrinking field, to no avail. By her best estimate, she was only seven or eight inches now, and though her body’s diminishment had slowed to a crawl, it was undeniably still taking place. “STOP IT NOW!”
Jenna’s hand overhead, already the scale of a massive king-size mattress to Alma on any given day, had become utterly astronomic. Her every finger was an ancient temple pillar; her palm formed a floating island of flesh. Like a topographical roadmap, formed from peachy dunes, oily ravines, and spiraled print variations. For the first time, when the Alpha looked up at that hand, she realized she felt something new, other than the usual seething hatred for that enormous race of narcissistic hypocrites. Her insides coiled to an existential nexus. Only then did Alma understand where this was all headed.
This soulless tyrant bitch was turning her into the lowest thing on Earth.
At last the roar died to only an ear-tickling echo, the suspending force gave way to normal gravity, and Jenna lurched forward against the desk’s side to cradle and massage her damaged arm. Judging by the bruises spotting her skin, the Omega was in some moderate agony, though her face betrayed only its usual martial stoicism. Her lip quivered, but aside from this, Jenna looked down with only quiet triumph on her handiwork.
And she truly did have to look down, as there wasn’t much left of Alma now.
The shrunken woman squirmed on her side in the fetal position, paralyzed by the dread of what she knew had happened, even though she was still in denial. It simply wasn’t real. There was no conceivable earthly way that Jenna had just made Alma the same measly unholy dirt-dwelling three-inch stature of a fucking Beta. The little beast wanted to implode. She opened her mouth, either to curse Jenna to somewhere worse than hell, or just to scream until her throat drew blood. Neither sound could escape, however, as Alma waged an internal war to preserve the last of her Alpha-born dignity and keep the Omega from claiming victory over her spirit. But right now, she was losing. Alma’s face turned blue from the strain, squeezed like an insect to the point of bursting out through her skull.
Looming high above in her seated position, Jenna only briefly contemplated the charming reality that, at this instant from Alma’s narrowed perspective, the monolithic strawberry-blonde had to appear somewhere in the neighborhood of half a mile tall. She put that fun fact aside, and cast her gaze to her battered arm, still pulsating with the kind of overwhelming and molecular pain that Omegas generally had no need or even method to experience. Jenna’s tongue pressed firmly to the roof of her mouth. A moan molded in her vocal cords, but she bottled it successfully, at last on top of the gnawing feeling coursing through her body.
This was nothing. This was just a single moment, passing, and one that Jenna had concluded she deserved months ago, when she first decided that this dramatic act would serve as the commencement of Alma’s final session. This was hardly atonement: just a pebble in the ocean of her guilthood, for the Beta lives cost over her brash actions during the hostage crisis, and for Vince. Weighing her current suffering against those casualties, and the gaping hole of their loss which still resided squarely in Jenna’s center, she would’ve gladly continued self-destructively compressing Alma until she vanished to nothing at all.
“I think this size suits you much better, thing. I guess it turns out you’re an even lesser creature than I gave you credit for,” Jenna said. Still nursing her compression-arm against her stomach, the Omega brought her other hand to bear over her puny target. This time she didn’t stop at reaching for her. “Let’s see how much you’ve learned.”