Giantess World
Clenching her eyes and mouth shut, Alma tensed every battered muscle in her shrunken body to a brittle knot. She fidgeted weight from one needly leg to the other. Stars still twirled even in the dark behind her eyelids from so much spinning, and her stomach was performing triple barrel-rolls, having come to a forced standstill so quickly after revolving at such a rapid pace. Alma’s body cried out for her to hunch over, to gasp air and let her gut settle, but she dared not fall for the allure of that prospect, since the consequence would be too revolting to survive.
Instead Alma remained as still as she could, with her standing limbs splayed like a scarecrow’s, and awaited while another gooey, phlegm-dotted blob of crystal saliva, cannonballed straight from Jenna’s lips, sailed through the air toward its intended target. The spitball struck with bullseye accuracy, impacting like a rock and bowling Alma’s legs out from under her, but also splattering apart in its plasma-esque form rather than carry enough force to shatter the miniature Alpha’s bones; that would’ve been far too easy. Dense liquid flecked all around the small blast zone, some of it settling over where prior shots had already begun to stickily dry, but the majority of the payload had met its mark.
Knocked on her back, pill-bug style, Alma became awash once again in the fragrant, bacteria-flavored gunk and its many bubbles seeping over her every limited micro-inch. Jenna, bobbing her chin just once in self-satisfaction, mopped the back of her hand across her lips. Then she granted Alma a moment of rest, though the real purpose of this pause was for the Alpha to figuratively-and-literally stew in the fruits of her transgressions, and also semi-secretly, for Jenna to burn this imagery into her mind, since it was to be her last opportunity to bestow this kind of justice on a being so heinous as this one. The Omega yearned to prolong this moment for as long as possible; she would’ve been perfectly happy living trapped in this same instant in time for quite a while, if it meant the inhuman Alpha would be stuck there too.
Alma quivered, hating every drop of spit soaking into her skin, and in turn every bit of her own skin that had been infected with the Omega’s arrogant fluid, though pride didn’t let her respond, either by angrily weeping or screaming in fury. Hands shaking, she pulled apart the saliva clotted over her face like hot taffy, until she had a clearer view upward. From the little thing’s Beta-sympathizing vantage point on the desk, having regrown a little from the compression but still hovering very close indeed to the scale of the three-inch animal she hated most, her righteous enforcer looked to stand somewhere in the dizzying neighborhood of three-thousand seven-hundred feet tall. And the Alpha already thought that the previous fraction of that size was plenty for the abominable dictators. Then again, Alma bitterly admitted to herself that this size surely was a better fit for the egos belongings to those Omegas and their hyper-inflated lovey-dovey theology.
“You know what to do,” Jenna said. Resting her cheek against her softly upturned fist, the freckled monolith of an Omega might have appeared lackadaisical to anyone else, but there was no mistaking this as anything but an order, with the promise of swift retribution for taking it as a suggestion instead. She loudly slurped and collected spit in her cheeks, but didn’t fire. “Up.”
Head pounding, insides spinning so fast she was certain to throw up soon, Alma still did her best to obey and stand to her feet. It wasn’t easy. Despite her bodily ailments, the toughest opposition was physical, in the form of the Omega’s gummy spittle, now draped over the tiny woman in a continuous opaque wad. It had begun to dry almost immediately after landing, making it feel heavier to Alma and thus trickier to overcome. She had experienced a variation on this exercise before, of course, on many prior sessions during this year. It was unpleasant at first, but since it was like playing catch with a medicine ball made of frothy liquid, Alma had learned to steel herself and handle the fired spitballs without being knocked down, even sometimes smiling right in Jenna’s smug face after catching the glob.
However, those occasions were all experienced while the Alpha still possessed her God-given human stature; now, having been reduced to a paltry fragment of that size, even the smaller lumps of Jenna’s saliva were enough to knock the puny thing right over, and not only be laid prostrate by the force of a single hock, but be entrapped there just by the pathetic physics of dribbling throat-juices. Of course, the Omega had become quite good at this spitting thing, even practicing in her spare time, and there were no such thing as “smaller” lumps now.
The backwash-flavored liquid itself didn’t really smell any worse, didn’t hurt any worse when it knocked Alma over, and came no closer to suffocating her with its encroaching filth than it had when she was her usual height. Throughout her criminal career, she had learned to cope with physical tortures designed to haunt every conceivable sense and extremity, and in many ways, this was just another of those.
Rather, Alma was instead finding herself beaten down by something far worse. The knowledge that she, a real person whose natural right to subjugate the lesser class, was being put into the very same position as those pitiful things, and being made the bitch of a young woman’s cavalier spit globule. It was a heavier weight to bear than any amount of saliva that Jenna could produce which, even the crass little Alpha had to accept, was a substantial quantity, not only relatively due to their extreme size difference, but because Jenna was keeping herself consistently hydrated with a water bottle the comparative size of a rocket ship, and maintaining full eye contact with Alma while taking every new gulp to reload her ammo.
“Up,” Jenna repeated.
Alma grunted, wrenching her limbs every which way, and at last breached through the gluey bonds of spit. Wobbling as she clambered to a full stand again, the shrunken woman defiantly stuck out her lower lip and shot Jenna a classic stink-eye, though it wasn’t delivered with the usual unbreakable fortitude. The Alpha, much as she loathed to discover it, felt herself rotting on the inside from this injustice. She would rather have had tar dropped repeatedly on her at her regular five-foot-plus height than to withstand another round of this.
Yet withstand it she would have to, because now that Alma was standing, Jenna was picking up a silver rope off the desktop again. The towering Enforcer let the end dangle near her captive, gently sidling it closer, until the magnet in the end of the line connected with Alma’s customized prison uniform. The cloth and rope united with a soft click, a deceptively stable connection that would be unbreakable for the little woman, especially in her reduced state.
Alma had been surprised the first time Jenna demonstrated the outfit’s magnetic properties, wondering how a beast so colossal and probably-clumsy had managed to insert thin yet powerful magnets into a seemingly ordinary prison uniform smaller than her own bulky fingers. The Omega had then taken immense, crescent-grinning pleasure in informing Alma that this fabric had been specially tailored by a local Alpha-and-Beta couple at their embroidery business. That news had made Alma wail far louder than any of the bruise-inducing punishments Jenna had inflicted that day.
With Alma attached to the magnetic string, her tiny feet left the sticky ground again. Once Jenna had lifted the delicate yet volatile critter a solid ten feet off the tabletop, a grossly sobering height for the cut-down Alpha dangling limply off the end, the Omega pinched the opposite end of the silver line between her thumb and index finger. Then she began to spin it, expertly rotating her wrist swiftly and at an even keel, turning the string into a lasso that spun in wide arcs around the middle, but winnowed on the ends, causing Alma to spin incredibly fast at the exact same point in space.
This act, too, Jenna had become quite adept at with practice, carrying strings around with her in her pocket and twirling them in place of twiddling thumbs, though for what purpose, very few probably accurately guessed, aside from her mothers and closest friends. Now that the passenger on the end of the string was a feathery fraction of her old weight, Jenna could get a truly formidable spin going. In total silence, the Alpha was spun for sixty carefully watched seconds, and at last upchucked the previous meal she’d half-eaten and felt rising back toward her gullet each time they repeated the cycle today. When time was up, Alma was lowered back to the desktop, the line disconnected, and she was left standing amidst the disgusting refuse of her own vomit and Jenna’s cooling saliva.
Feeling dizzier and sicker than ever, but also knowing there’d only be a five second window before the inevitable follow-up, Jenna resumed her scarecrow pose. For the eighth time now was knocked clean off her feet, buried under perhaps the largest and thickest portion of drool yet, suggesting the Omega was in no way starting to run dry. This one was delivered loud and proud, spewed through puckered lips and capped with a sarcastically blown kiss.
At the end of ten rounds, Jenna didn’t order Alma to stand again, and since the Alpha had just finished puking for the third time in what was only the very first “activity” of the day, she laid still, even though it made her nauseous all over again to think about. The gunk from the Omega’s mouth was soaking into her, through the uniform, turning her sallow skin pruny like bathwater. To think of the last time she’d had any fun, back at the Convention Center a year ago, compared to now, Alma practically couldn’t sit still. Luckily, she didn’t have to choose to hold herself steady, because the settling layer of bubble-and-yellow-flecked spittle was keeping her cemented in place just fine.
In her rage-fueled daze, Alma heard the quiet thumping of calm footsteps beyond. Blinking past the saliva forming molasses layers over her eyes, she could no longer see the larger-than-life frame of the visually enlarged Omega, and felt a momentary rush of euphoria at not being directly observed for just a few precious seconds. That break was to be short-lived, though, as Alma knew well, and after less than two minutes the magnet string caught hold of her through the balmy fluid to literally fish her out of the sour mire. Jenna held the string aloft before her eyes, studying the groggy, messy little criminal hanging from the end. With the flat of her pinky fingernail, the Omega batted the Alpha into her opposite palm, where again she took a moment to enjoy the sight of the tiny thing coughing and retching.
Alma felt the tremoring motion of Jenna’s pale palm beneath her gummied back. The shrunken woman’s clothes were sopping now, sticking to her like a second skin, and reeking of the inside of the Omega’s mouth. Every move made her seize with disgust, but the Alpha fought through her fury and kept it bottled, even if that bottle was beginning to crack. She could still scarcely comprehend the moral outrage of being made into a surrogate Beta. As the seconds ticked by, and the cooled saliva thinned to a film around Alma’s body, she became aware then of a pervasive chill settling on her every exposed body part, even while the Omega moved at a snail’s pace. This, she realized bitterly, was what the little runts probably felt all the time.
Having paced several times around her room now, Jenna wordlessly and without expression knelt to the ground in the center of the space, tipping her hand and nudging her prone ward onto the floor. Alma let herself be shuffled around like dice, too focused on regathering her strength for whatever came next. Upon sitting up again, though, the Alpha was struck by the violently-humbling view that lay above her. Jenna was standing half a football field away now, facing the prisoner and gazing down at the speck with mighty arms crossed, somehow glowering without even needing to frown; those piercing irises of hers alone got a lot of caustic mileage.
The tiny woman had stood at the feet of plenty of these gigantic buggers in her time, and come to be bored by it after half a lifetime, but the experience was made freshly harrowing, now lying in the presence of an Omega from this supernaturally-constricted lowly vantage. Try as she might to avoid it, Alma shuddered from toe to scalp while looking on up at the gravely awe-inspiring visage of this deluded, sadistic, dignity-robbing giant who stood very close to three-quarters of a mile tall from the Alpha’s size-distorted viewpoint. There was so much distance and surface area to Jenna’s body, deceitfully petite in proportion to her class, a fish-eyed telescopic effect was actually taking place. This caused Alma to squint and feel as though the top half of the Omega was tapering off to a slender malform, though the parts of her body that were within range of the Alpha acted as a firm visual reminder that this was not the case.
The hateful giantess’s colossal feet, encased in satiny white socks blank as new-fallen snow, pressed together at the heels but slowly fanned out into first position like a gargantuan ballerina. Her toes flared through the meshy material. When Jenna began tapping them on the floor, even with a layer of cloth between to dampen the impact, Alma could still feel the subtle vibration in the ground beneath her, as though something was moving far below the crust of the Earth.
Alma would not be intimidated by this. Would not. Soon enough, once the compression wore off fully, the Alpha would be returned to her rightful size, and the humongous lug would be back to normal too: tall but not too tall, certainly shrimpy compared to others of her ilk, and unable to put lasting fear in Alma’s heart, no matter how hard she tried. That thought alone kept the Alpha strong, though it still couldn’t keep her stupid arms and legs from quivering, and no longer just due to the chill.
Jenna’s toes gingerly drummed the floor for a silent minute. Ceasing, then, she slid both feet in closer, barely picking them up at all, yet exponentially increasing the magnitude of the negligible floor-tremors rocking Alma’s backside. The effect was so resonant to one of Beta-scale, the miniaturized woman had to wonder how Omegas didn’t bring whole city blocks crashing down with just a few stomps. When Jenna came to a stop within touching distance of the pipsqueak, she pressed both insteps together, pointing all ten toes at her charge to form a bumpy wall of white-wrapped extremities.
And assuredly, wall was the first term to Alma’s mind, because from so close up, she could see the hair-fine detail of the fluffy fabric making up the socks, but could no longer see most of Jenna’s towering body past the tall horizon of those digits, like a range of cliffs nearly blotting out the sky. Only the Omega’s deadly-calm face was visible just over the peaks of her big toes, the expression of a living storm just before the next tidal wave.
“You know the drill,” Jenna said. Somehow or other her words still carried tremendous weight, even from so high above, quaking Alma nearly as much as those footsteps had. She was correct in this surmise; Alma had been in this position innumerable times before, albeit while much larger, warmer-bodied, and cooler-tempered. “But don’t get too bored. Sometimes a little variety, like what’s happened to you, is all it takes to make the old feel new again.”
With that, both of Jenna’s big toes lurched forward. They rose lethargically off the floor, silenced in their fuzzy threaded coatings, and reached for Alma. Fixing a toe on either side of the diminutive woman in a tight canyon of socked geometry, both digits crept inward, collecting Alma with an abrasive pinch squarely between where those toes were meatiest in rounded swollen form. They held so firmly to the target that the sock fabric stretched to the point of peach skin-hue straining through the material. Then they lifted up, toes and Alpha in tow.
Normally when the time for this particular session-activity arrived, Alma felt like she was being roughhoused by a couple of overstuffed punching bags: restrictive, uncomfortable, but manageable. On those occasions, it was gratifying to be able to resist, albeit pointlessly, and still feel the fabric and flesh beneath indenting softly to her angry fists, even if fighting couldn’t free her; it was a sign of some vulnerability in the Omega, a microscopic victory for Alma.
At her compressed stature, though, this was more like being clasped between immense boulders in a snowy avalanche careening. White fluffy walls, muggy and fragrant of sour jogging insoles, clamped their way in and closed off the view of anything else. Bulging mass seemed to inflate from both sides as Jenna’s toes ventured ever-closer together, with the tiny Alpha sandwiched between. No part of this smothering posture made Alma feel the least bit in control like she usually did, or like she’d be able to withstand it if Jenna crammed her toes too close together. It had to be incredibly difficult for the Omega to even feel the mosquito-ish form trapped between her feet, let alone know how hard to press. How would she know when it was too much? The sudden possibility that she might now be squeezed and killed by an Omega’s big toes, of all things, just because the over-confident idiot was such a glutton for punishing in cruel and unusual ways, revived Alma’s nausea. That, and the fact that after Jenna’s toes had lifted off the ground again, they began to bob, jumping like synchronized gymnasts, bouncing from the floor to a few feet up in the air, which was more than enough to shake up Alma’s insides.
All the while, the rest of Jenna’s body did not move. Arms at her sides, breathing as slowly as though she was asleep, the Omega kept her neck mildly craned toward the floor to witness her handiwork, even though Alma had vanished between the folds of sock and muscular big toes. Jenna’s heels stayed rooted to the floor, the act entirely piloted by the regimented up-down wallop of those toes, and the steady arching of her soles to gain extra height. Hitting her rhythm, she began to rock all the way from the heel to the tips of her toes, maximizing the range of Alma’s rise and fall, but also speeding up accordingly.
A quicker pace meant more-per-second of the thudding, discombobulating impacts when Jenna’s toes smacked the floor and shot back up again in the same fluid motion. Normally, while gripping the woman between her socked feet, the Omega got to savor her sickened reactions, and feel her thrashing limbs. She had neither of those entertaining side-effects to enjoy now, since Alma was both out of sight and far too weak to so much as budge a thread in those socks, let alone the beefy globes of dexterous might just inside them. But what Jenna lost in those delights, she gained in the surefire knowledge of Alma’s anguished new perspective.
The Alpha was flummoxed by sensory contradictions. The pure-white fabric allowed light through the dense tufts, even though it blocked the view beyond; whenever Jenna’s toes came down, increasing the surface area of big-toe flank squeezing the shrunken creature between them, all light was shaded instantly to blind darkness. Worse, the transitions happened so fast now, while the Omega showed off such speedy athletic prowess in so small a region of her massive form, Alma felt she was on a verge of an epileptic reaction.
And that was only if the olfactory clash didn’t get to her first instead. Omegas didn’t exactly sweat much, superhuman as they were, but even they weren’t immune to certain mortal intricacies when sampled from such intimate proximity, as Alma was now while body-locked between giant toes. It took a lot of energy to power an organism this enormous, and it was evident in this funky void that a coat of filth and skin-oil had comingled, hardening in the very fibers of the sock; in answer, however, there was also a pungent aroma of perfumed cleaning product as well, practically stronger than the opposite odor, and frankly, Alma would’ve been happier with the acrid smell of sweat than this chemical mixture. She wanted to cough on every supplex, but had to resist, for she had such limited air already, and so instead endured the peppery aura in her gullet with each burdened inhale.
As well, the rapid arc of Jenna’s toes offered both a numbing clench when she struck the floor again that spun Alma’s brain in a blender and emptied her lungs, followed up by a gentler hold during the split-second rise that ironically allowed sensation to flood back through the tiny prisoner’s body, and oxygen to flow, but also for her synapses to register the blunt-force trauma. The suffocating texture around Alma was soft as a downy pillow at some instants, then stretched raw and thin, even rug-burning, in others.
The experience was a whole new animal from the usual arrangement spent at her former size; this was the mental and physical equivalent of drowning without dying, falling without landing, of feeling a fluttery itch on one’s skin but being unable to scratch it for a year. At some point, Alma became aware that she was involuntarily moaning in protest from somewhere deep and primal in her gut; she quickly silenced herself, her pride laced too tightly in her bones to allow Jenna to hear these mewling reactions, but it happened again minutes later. A noise like a dying animal’s, somewhere between a gag and a squeal, kept pumping out of her tiny vocal cords. The Omega’s toes had taken such a hold on Alma, they could evidently squeeze out the subliminal cries the Alpha was, previously, strong enough to keep tucked inside herself.