Small.
That's what you were.
In a world of big people doing important and influential things, you were barely a blip on society's radar. A business trip had sent you up to New Jersey, though to be honest, the business it was for was largely unimportant. Feeling smaller than usual was the one thing you hadn't made proper preparations for. You couldn't even get your bearings before a series of jeeringly taunted words were drilled into you alongside the accusitorily poised tip of a shoe. It collided with you and jammed like you were a piece of irreverent lowly gum to be squished out of place.
"So uh...yeah, are you s'pposed to be all puny 'n stuff, lil guy? Cuz...I know when I was talkin' to youse earlier, you were mad hot shit...and now, it's more like...I Dunno, man, that pffft sound you get when ain't nothin' coming out. Like...you is mad shrimpy!"
It was a jarring sensation.
To go from one desperate low to a somehow even lower, even smaller, even tinier low. And yet, it transpired, almost in an instant.
First was the blistering cold. The warmth of a set of heated lips exchanging heated words robbed with a fairy-tale-like suddenness. Next was the disorienting sensation of clunking against the ground, near some discarded newspapers that fluttered overhead, large enough to eclipse the dim glow of the moon. Following that was the piercing rallying rousing barks of distant dogs, who moaned like creatures out of biblical scripture, or a monster movie. In either case, their kaiju cries flooded the air almost as trumpeted wildly and viciously as the voice just overhead.
"Hey! I is talkin' t'youse," The voice began with a loud, demanding, almost adenoidal clearing of the throat. The woman speaking was clearly used to being heeded and heard, and took grave offense to being ignored, "Shit-talker! You wanna up 'n man up to it, or nah? Shrimpy little psychopath ain't even worth nada. Straight zilch. And that's how big you is, isn't it? Nada? Zilch? Zero feet tall? Gotta be p humiliating, I ain't even gonna lie. Mad shit to ain't shit. You ain't even talking. Ackkkkktually. Is you talkin'? I can't even tell at this height, goddamn. If your lips are still moving, they better not be, honey, cuz you got another thing comin', and that thing are these designer all-leather-interior boots and you is not gonna like what they sound like if they get interrupted by a lady takin' one big step. Sssssssska-wish!"
Ah, that's what got you into this predicament, wasn't it?
A few rough words towards a lady who cut in line almost become the last ever spoken by you -- a man, scruffily plucked up by the back of his neck by a woman now several hundred times his
own size. A spinning coin was stomped just to the left, to call attention to his predicament, landing on heads before vanishing under the fine leather surface of a shoe.
You almost wanted to shunt yourself out of that body, pretend for one fleeting second this situation was as unbelievable as it felt -- that you weren't actually crumpled into this tiny little body, being chatted down to by a scathing series of rebukes from a woman big enough to make you into a glob of spit, abducted into her mouth with the stringy slobbery entrapment.
"Hmmm...you look purty scared, small fry...you gettin' all up 'n personal with my grill? Up in this girl's grill?"
Her teeth flashed in an ominous display of near inescapable ferocity. A spark of flame seemed to signify she had a cancer stick wedged somewhere, but, without the sticky tarlike scent and the sight of billowing smoke -- it quickly became clear she just liked the intimidation factor of having her face lit behind a flame. It framed her cheeks favorably, and her slender chin that seemed to weave with the shaded invitation of the fire that caressed her features without ever touching them. She seemed impossibly large, and this only served to make you feel smaller, and smaller yet still without ever having to shrink any further. You coughed and blinked in dumbfounded excess -- as she brought a finger to the top of your head, tracing it back to hers, then back again.
She was sizing you up. Or perhaps down. To emphasize your disparity to a criminal degree. The mafiosa bitch.
She winked. As cinders soar and flew, she winked at your tiny body that struggled to match the verticality of a thumb tack.
A thumb tack...
That would be lovelier than this. Something she could step over and forget, why did she have to hyper fixate on you like some doll to strut up upon an irreverent stage of mockery? It was bad enough she had legs that spanned higher than you could crane your neck back to see all of, only barely tastefully cut off by a thick, furry overcoat. But there was that noticeable worthlessness that she almost regarded you with accompanying every poke from her shoe, and every stomp just shy of you.
"I could just squish ya, you know!"
You didn't need to be reminded, and you certainly wished you didn't know. But there was something about the way she roused suspicions in you that wasn't her plan. Maybe it was the tremor to her lips, the softness to her eyes. Or maybe you were just being extremely generous to yourself about the sort of fascination a woman that much taller than a man could ever have or feign taking in him. Whatever the case, her colossal pillar like legs were brought ever so slightly
closer as she crouched, lumbering forward to get a better look at you. In your line of work, not that it counted for much of one like this, this usually constituted a sort of flirting.
"But what a waste of a cute one that'd be..."
Seeming almost as instantly infatuated and intrigued as you were, the tall, coat-clad woman with stripes spanning her pleated pants and immaculately clean wooly cloth wrapping about a body tightly affixed to enough to nearly choke the form of her into prominence. Not a single curve went unadvertised, with the clinking of what could only be novelty oversized bullets, or coins, or some kind of rare metallic bijou inside her deep pockets, likely responsible for taking an even deeper cut of profits.
Such was the risk associated and attributed to mouthing off to the wrong clientele in the wrong part of New Jersey.
Soon enough, everyone, everywhere, gets cut down to size. This was your time. You wanted to say something, repeatedly opening your mouth and then shutting it for the sake of trying to hold conversation. This apparently wasn't the right move. Her eyes widened, challenging you to speak, before shunting you to silence again as they slacked. She huffed and pressed a finger into her cheek, evacuating air between her lips hot enough to kill you. Perhaps she expected the full red carpet treatment after shrinking you? A nagging sensation ate away at you all the same. Like you should know who she is for some reason. Perhaps something you read about in the newspaper, or saw on a headline scrolling past the television on the morning news...
"Ugh...you is boring, you know that? Most people scream. Not every day you get'to go toe to...well, whatever all of you is with Plat'num Nells."
The name hits you with a scathing ferocity. Platinum Nells, Nails, The Last Nail, and countless other nicknames were always attached to the obituaries of countless a missing person. A clean-up crew of at least a dozen. Grizzly in scathing permanence and potency. The city-lights danced with the reflection of far too numerous and far too vast a bodycount to keep score, but it was always understood that she was a danger not to be reckoned with -- and if it could be helped -- acknowledged.
Her eyes lit up. It was as though she smelled your fear. With a gale wind wafting a jettisoned burst of aerial acceleration, she swung her hat forward, nearly sweeping you up in the updraft as her teeth were flicked over with a wildly wily tongue. Tucking her fanciful hat delicately interwoven her fingers and pressed to her chest, her brows gradually rose.
"Ohhhhhhhh, so NOW youse up 'n recognize me, huh? Took you long enough, little ingrate! Talk is cheap, but names, brand recognition, honeypie, those hold sway! And awww - did that cheap little hat trick take a bit of sway outta ya?"
Try as you might to deny it, the effort would be pointless. Under the state and condition you're hard-locked into, there was little to no point in pretending you hadn't recognized her. Now things started to make sense. You were set up! Everything was meant to bait a response out of you that you fell for, hook line and sinker. You were the bait to make Platinum Nells look more intimidating to her women and men, to command respect. As soon as the realization hit you, your predicament became a lot worse.
A cap was inches away from your face, or, more astutely, a lid. You were being shoved and funneled towards the open mouth of a massive jar, jingoistically jingling with a fat mountain of change at the very bottom. Perhaps it was meant to urge compliance? The way she nudged you seemed to guarantee a soft departure, but if you squirmed or fought back, being tumbled into that pile could break bones or fracture things not meant to be fractured. Sensitive, doughy flesh. Not one eager to be punctured by much of anything, you accompanied the hand gestures of the oversized monstrosity of a woman, delicately dipped past the opening of the jar and obediently seated on its peak like a little palmtop dragon with a miniature hoard. Perhaps the disassociative comparison helped lighten the blow of your surreal problem. Perhaps the impossibility of deriving some amusement from your suffering might lessen it just a pinch. But, followed by a pinch to the nape of your neck, swaying you by the tether of your clothes, this proves to be false.
False.
Fake.
Those weren't fake, were they?
You'd seen a great deal of sets, out of the corner of your eye, online, and countless other places -- enough to at least get a gander and general sense of scale -- none of them were ever that big.
Squishing up against the glass were a set of impossibly huge boobs, contesting with the air for every bit of liminal space between you and the outside world beyond your restraints and captivity. You almost stumble over a few dimes to try and get a better view, as warm breath settles over the surface of the chilled glass, and long nails carve into it the soft shapes of a heart, and a single rectangular bar -- platinum -- by the looks of it. Nell's calling card.
"...Listen 'ere...you stay put...and no funny biz alllll the way back to HQ...and I ain't gonna have much a problem with you, shrimpy. But...you start bumblin' around, strainin' your lungs...and well..." The goliath woman gestured to a nearby window. Several of her armed gunmen open fire into it, sending shards of glass showering over the ground as they exchange laughs and puffs of their cigars, emptying round after round. Covering an ear with one hand, the other clasping more tightly about you, Nell trumpeted, "CAPISCHE?"
There was little room for arguing even if you were a lunatic enough to make the impossible-to-survive-attempt. Going against a giant woman who shoved you into a coin-jar was likely to result in some seriously concussive consequences. Yet. Once more her chest was brought up against her tits with voluminous force, both of her breasts just barely parting at the V-neck split cut of her cleavage, wrapping warmly around the jar, almost enough to stick. She cackled lightly overhead as another wince peaked down at the opening in your captivity. She blew a soft little tuft of flavored breath -- minty, but with a cold, off-putting vindictiveness to it, like you were being punished with the taste of her latest sweet snack.
"...Tells ya what though...you behave well enough...and I might jus letcha tour a bit outside your predicky-mint!"
The joke was somewhat less than obvious to anyone but her, as she unwrapped the surrounding enclosure of a peppermint stick with her nails, the hooked candy cane plunged between her fat, luscious lips as she drizzled a bit of spit over you. Sloughing over your shoulders like drizzled caramel, the sweet sugary mix of a compound compressed into your shoulders and collided with the underside of your neck, forcing a shunted grunt out of your mouth and into the open air like a plea for mercy. Who knew wetness could weigh so much? With a gruff humming grumble silenced by the jingling of coins -- you started to realize that your panicked state of unease was only being exacerbated by her tits...she had started moving without capping the top of your jar's lid!
"Thaaaat'sit...just stay nice 'n easy...behave ya self, toots, ya hear? Y'got two big FAT STACKS waitin' for you on the otherside if youse can manage to behave just a wink longer, kay, shrimpy?"
The nickname was beginning to grow on you. And you hated to process it.
Like a noxious slime, or some kind of visceral creation of science's own bastardizing formula. You wanted to weep at the noxious feeling and encroaching sensation, or at least let a cry of resilient objection ring out -- to suppress the feeling that this weirdness would ever belong outside of a storybook told to an idiot child. But since it was indignation that got you into this mess, the idea that anger would get you out was pointless. This was a dangerous woman. You knew her type. As her fingers clicked over the lock to a door you were confident wasn't her own, she walked into a warehouse. Of course. Evildoers always do evil in warehouses. This mafia boss had to be no different. You peeled your eyes open to what had to be the first sadistic sight you'd laid eyes on...
While you waited for them to adjust, you tried to picture what would be the first thing you viewed. A man getting his face splashed over with water while he choked through a piece of cloth perhaps? Maybe a knife being driven into an awfully terrible tremble-inducing part of the body not meant to house knives? Though, come to think of it, you never gave it much thought, but there isn't really a good place for the body to house knives. It wasn't built with that function in mind, at least, yours wasn't. As your brain tried desperately and defiantly to come up with some
kind of explanation or deviating train of thought, you finally locked in on the horrible, awful, fear-infecting truth of...
A doll-house. A big, oversized, plastic dollhouse. Emasculating as the sight was, your subsequent handling only served to humiliate you moreso...
The finely-dressed woman plonked her jar of coins down, reaching past you with slender, gloved fingertips -- finding herself unable to retrieve what she intended with a tight pinch from her hands -- she removed the gloves with her teeth accompanied by an annoyed grunt, and successfully bunched up a finely pinched grasp full.
"Y'see...when I was about yay big...my folks told me...Nell, sweetie, yer a tough girl...tough as nails, or, bricks, or some...fuck I don't remembah none. Y'don't need dollls...but my folkssss...oh, they was wrong." Platinum Nells smiled, easing her fingers over the front of her doll-house...peeling it back...to reveal a big, sparkling ornamental tree, with countless banners and celebratory little flickers of light oozing in all directions. The sensation it created carved out a jarring sense of dread, and in its place, put a warm, misplaced softness. "And now...bein' this big t'people...means I can collect dolls whereva I wind up, whoeva ticks me off! Nothin' personal none, shrimpy...just...y'know...show biz..." Plucked up and perched on her tits, the giant woman breathed heftily, causing her tits to swell and squish together, lopsided with heavier pressure poured over you whichever way she faced.
"Nothin' wrong by that, is there?" She seemed to gesture with an omnidirectional weight to the way she wrote off culpability. You couldn't bring yourself to shake your head in disagreement. Not with near lethal tit-ivating consequences weighted against you. As beads of sweat started to seep in, you had to root and steel yourself for the scent that accompanied, only for the cold of their colliding sensation to make clearer their identity -- tears! -- something had triggered an emotional chain reaction that dragged tears out of her. She sniffled and wiped at her nose with a flick from her fingers, sheathing a glove over her.
"Y'can...up'n leave if you wanna...maybe it's not fair of me t'punish people just to get what I want. I dunno if that makes me any better than them..."
She dipped her head back in the melodramatic urge of the surging moment, her eyes fluttering back as she sniffled and sucked air through her teeth. She was heaving. Though the prospect of freedom was certainly an enticing aspect of what could come about if you were to relent, you did feel a touch sorry for her. You eased up your hands over her heapfuls of now slightly wettened titflesh, and eyed up at her. She cleared her sinuses with a silken tissue, easily discarded as she waved her guards away. Both armed gunmen looked partially confused -- there was no harm in looking over a tiny thing like you in her company, and it did leave her rather vulnerable in your company, but the thought of what might happen for betraying direct orders from Platinum Nell, and her mighty iron fist, or plated stilettos, might have changed their tune rather swift. With a series of combative groans looping together into a somewhat subdued zip-it motions from the
boss -- the mafia head honcho's lackeys both lowered their weapons and began to stumble to patrol outside, in the cold.
"Are you tryna say something?"
Oh, here it was again.
The irrelevance of the spoken word.
Try as you might, to lift your words, she seemed to be interpreting your motions more than anything. The way your hands glided up and your head tilted with passion, passionate something, seemed to give her room enough to have fully interpreted a completely different direction entirely, her hands pinching your wrists as she puppet-dolled you along with her own suggestions of dialogue.
"You think I'm...pretty? A real catch of a wowzer woman? Heh..." That is, suffice to say, not even close to what you said. Her eyes rolled back as her eyelids fluttered shut. Her oppressive grip grew further and further in fiery intensity, nails digging into you and her teeth sinking into her lower lip in appraising joy. She clicked her shoes against the ground in a triumphant series of looped together stomps as her teeth clicked over a candy-cane holding a makeshift cigarette-like position idle in her mouth. She swallowed the shards and began her next line of faux-interpretations. "You think it'd be a crying shame to leave a dame like me crying? Y...you got the hots for me? Woah-ho-hoah little guy, this is goin' a bit fast for my blood...but it's mighty brave of ya to be so forward!"
You felt her tits start to suffocate you from the ankle up to your midsection as a reward for your compelling 'honesty'. Or, more astutely, hers, voiced through the lens of your body and minimal input or interpretation from the honest truth of what you had to say. You tried to dodge the allegations, cycle back, and though her eyes followed you, her mind didn't, wandering astray in whatever wayward direction she'd imagined. "You never wanna leave? You wanna stay here forever in this lil humdrum community...? Where all your worries and troubles is just taken care of by someone just so much bigger and more responsible than ya? Ya wanna feel the encroachin' crunch and squeeze of my body just scoopin' ya up and greeting you each meal and each mornin' come?"
She was starting to get annoying, with all of these insistences. But one clamp of her teeth further along the candy-cane, and the dementedly possessive woman became candidate zero for people worth messing with. The crunch had reduced it to fragments that scattered over her lips -- the same lips inching closer and closer to you as they sealed the surface of your face behind ensnaring spit and sloshing tongue. The side swipe was enough to catch you off guard on its own, but the way she managed to entice you for a second mauling of your miniature body -- by forcing the imagined instance with another lashing lick was almost too much to bear. She had slurped you facefirst into her mouth...for a kiss...
"Ohhhhh howhhh cahnnn I sahhhhyy...NO...geht it...CAHNE???" She slurped on the fragments of candy that swiped by your face, too sucked and rounded down to be sharp -- even if bits collided with your hair and slid along your face, with stickily adhering plucks, before being banished into the shadowy, cavernous dark maw of her mouth, and towards her ravenous gullet with little fanfare. As unceremoniously discarded as you might be, if you were a little less flirty in her self-subscribed and prescribed narrative. There was something ridiculous about the way you couldn't claw out a single bit of clean air that didn't feel wintery frosted, or soggy from the moisture-rich breath that came with it. She swallowed, gulped, padded her lips, and you consequently, before continuing.
"Heh...sorry, I said...how can I CANE no? Like the Candy Cane! That's done bludgeoning my pronounciating!" You sneezed. It must've looked like a laugh to her, because it seemed to elicit a small blush out of Platinum Nell, a welded impurity in an otherwise metal-cold woman who operated with the ruthlessness of a machine and had the attitude to match. Yet, her fondness for doll houses, and her secret life as an abductress -- as well as her contagious sweet tooth that had you scraping through her spit for scraps of leftover candies -- all seemed to mellow out her image a bit. That is, until you were pinched by your ankle and lifted upright over the impressionable sight of her mouth -- shaped and sized up like a landmass landmark on its own, now made all the bigger by how close it is...
"Aww...more sweet stuff? But honey, that'll spoil rotten my appetite...plus somethin' as sweet as you just might fix me up with some cavities! NOT good for a dame my age's image, I tell ya what!" She giggled and seemed to freeze in mock shock -- flicking you into the air before catching you once more by the ankle, whispering in a hushed voice of outraged scandal, as if you had made a misstep -- even though she was taking all of the steps for you. "Didya just ask me how old I even am?! Honey, that's the one question ya NEVER ask a woman a hundred fifty times yer height, pipsqueak!"
She drubbed her feet against the ground, sitting perched on the roof of your doll house -- presumably your permanent confinement, now squishing beneath the crunch of her ass, fat and bare. She didn't seem the type to wear panties anyway, but the threatening sound of her flesh affording no give seemed to give the doll house a life expectancy in the quarter minutes.
Not that you were fairing any better.
"I was just beginnin' to like you, Shrimpy...tell you what...."
You did not like the sound of that 'tell you what'. But being told what, you were poised in an outside foyer and window perch overlooking the entire doll house. The three story doll house. You breathed with a pregnant pause as the threatening crunch of her ass, one cheek now peaking through the roof, started to do away with the building's structural foundation. It came crumbling slowly, as if she were gently peaking upwards to try and afford it some artificial longevity, instead of pressing down all of her weight at once and doing away with it in one cruel instance...
"You make it outta here alive...and there's another big 'ol smooch waitin' for ya! If ya up 'n fail to...well...I guess you get SMOOSHED instead! HAH! Snrt. I love dark humor! Now...run off little shrimpy! Unless you wanna have a whale of a time under this keister 'o mine!"
She didn't appear to be bluffing. As she turned and twisted, swaying her buttocks from side to side, the weight only further pushed her asscheeks downwards until her anus was winkingly visible, partially peaking out and pressuring forward with a tumultuous weight and heft to them. You stumbled into the main room, a plastic bed poking up at her just barely enough to support the room that seemed to be almost melting downwards under the warm heft and weight eliminating the verticality inside. Each gaspy breath of air you sucked in seemed to deny you a proper exhale, as though you were taking in more than you were letting out. Was it dust? Was it coming from her? You appeared to be...salivating. You don't remember this being the sort of thing to excite you!
Confronted by more feelings than you wanted to acknowledge, you bound down the stairs just as you feel the hairs of your arms stand on end. The entire upper floor was crunched into unrecognizable oblivion. And the two cupboards on the floor you were currently milling about on seemed to be next. Struggling to force your way brute-ishly through your surroundings, you could only pinch yourself at the unbearable predicament you seemed affixed with now. Your exit was blocked!
Several prop mops, rakes, and various sticks were locking you onto the floor, and judging by the sight of pink skin poking out from the staircase you just exited, this floor was about to go. Thankfully, the snug quilt over a nearby couch, just in front of a very not-real plastic television, seemed to tie nicely. You ran towards the railings overlooking the outside and began to tie the fabric to them, yanking downwards to test for durability. There was a slight give -- but it would have to do, as the ass just overhead seemed to signal, with terrifying grunts, that you had run out of what little liminal time you had. Yanking in a circled stunt you had only ever read about being attempted in fictional stories, you threw yourself through a small thin sheet of plastic meant to emulate a window on the second to last floor -- tumbling towards the ground.
Immediately, you were greeted with a maze of mannequins twice your size, a bemused voice of laughter soliciting mockery just overhead. Something took hold in you, extracting air from your lungs and mushily compressing you into a ball on instinct. You were fetally squatting somewhere behind a pink polyester table-covering, as Nell tormentingly commented...
"Well, well, well, ya haven't croaked or creaked yet...buuut, can you work your way out of this one, wise guy~? There's still that kiss waitiin' for ya...what's it gonna be...a kiss of DEATH...or a kiss...from somethin' cruder...?"
Her asshole seemed...to wink. From the crack overhead of creaking plastic, ripping through the air, you made a nosedive for what you could only hope was the exit, countless man-shaped imitant figures were forced out of the way, as you slid down the staircase, nearly snagging your
shirt on the guard rail. All that remained was the front door. But as you shunted yourself out -- two fingers pushed into your chest...and held you in place. The giantess ass was still coming down over top of you. The giantess giant ass. This was terrifying. She was unabashedly trying to torment you and force you to crudely interject into each sentence some sort of sycophantic praise...
"Do you liiiiike me, Shrimpy?"
Life or death and she wanted roses and flowers, while exposing you to the one disgusting part of her that smelled like anything but.
Her butt.
She didn't seem willing to renege on this. Even as her ass crumpled the side of the doll house you weren't on -- its plastic edifices mushed together like oh so many dolls she rounded up and rummaged to furiously fumble and compound into a big, flatly compressed little mass. Only one wall kept you from almost certain ass-annihilation. Thinking quick on survival instinct alone, and hellbent on feeling your way to survivability, you could only count yourself lucky enough to be a bitch that wasn't paste so many times in one singular instance. Huffing and sucking air past your teeth, you winced, and mired to contemplate what doing this would mean if the consequences were as lethal as their administrator. You hoped you weren't guessing wrong...
As you kissed her two fingers, bridal grasp style. Though your hands were much smaller than each finger was long, you were able to overtake her, yanking one astride your hip, the other, tipped forward just a bit, to trip it on and douse it with liquid love. A few spit-rich kisses aught to melt the heart of this peppermint ice queen. You let your eyes lid to take in the moment, half-shut and absorbed in the intimacy of what felt like an eternity's grasp. You couldn't move, wouldn't move, and adored every waking second of what could only be described as 'being wrapped around her finger'.
Her ass collapsed, but her fingers had already plucked you -- narrowly sparing you an unfortunately timed demise. The Mafia Boss had been outclassed. Fanning herself off with one hand and the hat curled into it, she began to press a coin from her collection into a small music box. The rush of blood to your head from the sudden movement only matched by the rush of blood to your head when she kissed it. Stamping it with her lips and lavishing you with lovelust-rich attention and longing want. It was apparent, just from how you were handled, that you were not only wanted, but that her deigns to desire you were as natural as any other. You had won her over...and she was no stranger to having it known.
"Well, I'll be, Shrimpy...you up 'n done it...not only did ya defy death to make me feel like a special princess for a day...but you just gave me a kiss better than men ten dozen hundred fiddy trillion times your size ever could...shucks..."
She seemed genuinely delighted. Clasping you with a glove-wrapped hand, and raising to her feet, there was a pregnant pause as she tried to compose herself after the sheer, genuine delight of having her answer so passionately pushed into her. What happened next seemed to be a blur. A few guns clicked, as what appeared to be shiny-badged uniform men approached bearing imposing looking metallic guns. Each of them stared with dead, hollow looks in their eyes as they glanced over the bare-assed woman playing with what must have appeared to them to be a small toy. Huffing at the stank machine musk in the air and empty parcels, they spoke with an air of enmity to them.
"Are you Platinum Nell? NJPD. New Jersey Police Department. We'd like to have...a few words." A few of the men chuckled, sarcastically. They were itching for a shootout by the way they were all closing in, poised drastically, intimidatingly. "After your countless crimes...illegal actions...and...blah, blah, blah. You know why we're here, you know what brought you here...so why not just step out and make this easy on both of us. You're alone, right? Let's chat."
They wanted to have a few words...
Those words were bullets, probably. Each one of them in quick succession. Was this your new life now? Imagining how many things could puncture the living crud out of you? You could almost picture the searing breakneck quickness of each of them unloading into her, and you, a modern day extreme size difference Bonnie and Clyde.
They were quick on the draw.
But, not as quick as Platinum Nell. Already bolting behind a box and cackling over the top of her belted lungs, she squealed with a manic sort of grin. You were facefirst under an armpit, squished against a breast bigger than your entire body. From the muffled cloth, you could hear her bellow, still lovedrunk from your earlier gesture...
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE US ALIVE!" She insisted. The sound of the voice was enough to send your hands instinctively cupping your ears. Geez, this woman could shout. It was bad enough that it almost charmed you how suddenly she'd make a bold claim like that, even worse it was acoustically intrusive. Like lyrics to a new favorite song, the words rang repeatedly through her head. And based on the NJPD Officer's response, you weren't the only one.
"Us? Did...did she just say us? Hah. Alright, men, spread out and search the perimeter. Clearly, she's got an accomplice we happened to miss. I go left...Agent Sanchez, you cover my six...Agent Smith, take the staircase..."
Just as the men spoke, she began her hasty expeditious retreat -- ducking through countless boxes as sweat welled up and built along her underarm. The bodily plain staleness of her arm seemed to attract all sorts of odorous complaints to lodge with the situation that her mouth failed to verbalize. She was cackling softly as she pinched off her shoes, depositing you at the mouth of one with a guilty, knowing look. This wasn't going to be much better than being tucked
facefirst into her armpit, she seemed to urge to you. But it did seem...somewhat safer. Her heels were grasped tightly, as if they were as precious as her own life to her. Who knew a mob boss could be so...fearsomely feminine? It must be a Jersey thing.
"Now just...pipe down...'n keep quiet...handsome..." Nell commanded. She seemed to be cozying up to you, even if her demeanor never shifted. Must have also been a Jersey thing. Her hands clasped around the shoe you were tucked into seemed to slap against you with the same combative force as her feet, sliding against the ground, as she flicked a wrench in the direction opposite that she was headed. A few trigger-happy guns fired and sung out with their ballistic songs, trying to corner and encroach her unsuccessfully.
"Cease-fire, cease-fire, goddamn you!" Whoever was in charge seemed to insist. The NJPD must hire anybody these days. "Do not discharge your weapon until we have a confirmed sighting...I'm putting each of you on suspended leave with pay for every shot fired without connecting with someone -- and that someone better be Platinum Nell! Now are all of your bodycams off?"
The NJPD alright.
As they sorted internal rank-and-files the exit grew closer and closer, as a huffy pouty face appeared on Nell's own, outstretched above. The soporific smell of feet clamored up and rose where you were seated towards the heavens, almost blinding you and keeping you from sensing anything that wasn't her. Not that you minded much. She had a lovely floral afterscent and accompanying fragrance you couldn't quite place...and her words were starting to grow just as intoxicatingly sweet.
"Alright cutie pie...here's the skinny...that door up there, just ahead, once we reach it...we gotta burst through it and book it! Lucky yain't in my tattas right now, or you'd be in marshmallow hell! Or...heaven...dependin' on your preference...heh...so youse just...stay calm, and yain't got nothin' to worry about...men like...feet, right? So this is practically a blessing..."
Oh, God. She isn't, is she?
You feel your face and personal space encroached on as you're slid underneath the arch of her foot, sneaking indelicately back into her heels. Is she going to attempt to run in these? You almost want to plead, beg to be brought back to her tits, anywhere but here. The feeling, the sensational terror of being squished...would be put on hold, as a gun was brought up to Platinum Nell's temple. Clicked into place by an officer eyeballing what seemed to be his ticket to fame and promotion. Reaching into his mic to call for back-up, he instead screamed, as loud as he could manage.
"I FOUND HERGgj j k - ?!"
You were flung through the air, immediately.
Up, up, up and away with a spring of circularly fired bullets just missing you, and your lovely mafia vixen. There was something about the puzzling disorienting situation that made the fluid in your ears pop and your eyes widen harder and faster than you thought they ever could. It took you for what felt like an eternity's passing to clue yourself into your surroundings. Maybe if you had simply gotten crunched underfoot, it would've been easier than the stomach-turning intensity of whatever this was. Countless goons began to ring out fired shots of their munitions, the deadly enticement almost having an erotic tinge to the implausibility of survival without something, someone to cling to.
Platinum Nell.
Where was she?
You couldn't see her. Nothing more than a shoe. Her shoe. She had to be alright, right?
Her shoe had been brought up against the gun, either in desperation or absentmindedness, sending you catapulting through the air. You could see, meters out, countless encroaching officers, but no Platinum Nell.
Had she sold you out?
You didn't want to confess to anything.
But you also didn't want to be left behind either. The burning resentment had little time to unfold, as you saw her unbuttoning...something. Her shirt. She was stripping down, no, stripping up -- no -- BUNDLING up for the cold outside -- and lining herself up with her tiny body as the ground got closer, and closer, and closer -- you were intercepted by her tits once more. Huffily buttoned into place, she ran further towards the glowing emergency exit -- a loud, triumphant freedom rang out -- the Fire Alarm. Water showered overhead, soaking you in drenched bits of your captivity's sprung free price, as you heard reverberating laughter overhead.
"WE DID IT WE DID IT WE DID IT! Did you see those coppers? They were all like...aaaahah, you're under arrest, and we wus all like...I don't think so...and we high tailed outta there, you were my diversion, and this whole operation and shebang went off without a hitch!!! Little guy, you da BOMB!" She insisted on annunciating, wiping tears from her eyes as she snorted and laughed, crunching the last remnants of her peppermint...before offering you a tiny bit of her haul to share. "Don't worry lil guy, I didn't pay for it. Doesn't offend me one teenie tiny bit if you think it's garbo."
Appreciatively, you ingested, nevertheless. Sinking your teeth past the crispy candied outside, you flicked your tongue over your lips and graciously accepted what was offered. It tasted...about like her spit did. Repeatedly invasive sliding collisions of her own tongue to 'help' seemed to come just as readily as the funny noises she liked so much that your mouth
produced. You had to cup yourself together just to keep this thief from stealing you away with the candied bit of delight -- not that you believed that would honestly stop her. If she was willing to ass-crush a doll house just to get a reaction out of you, being swallowed whole and alive with a bit of candy wasn't too far out of the question either. With a snort and a rousing bit of laughter, you were lifted onto one shoulder, and perched comfortably. A far cry away from the little heel-and-turn torment when you first met, what already felt like hours ago.
"Y'know, Shrimpy...kinda got the hots for ya now...crazy...whirlwind...sure...buuut...how am I s'pposed to put that all behind me...without another doll house, anyway. Snrk...you think you wanna make this a thing between us? Life on the run? Fast as we want it, as far as these legs of mine'll take us?"
You thought on it for a while. It was technically a job offer.
Certainly more lucrative than the one you had. She pressed her hat to her breast, carefully plucking you up just far enough to see it coming, but not far enough to escape the breastbound pressure you were flicked and tumbled into. She was using manipulative strategies and overt seduction to coerce an answer, you were well aware. But her breasts felt as warm as the sentiment behind them. And hearing her heartbeat race like that almost made the gesture more pitiably sympathetic than you think she intended. Struggling to stay conscious, you nodded, you nodded viciously, before she could even make her plea. Something about the way she made you feel telegraphed to her made her quiet for once. Struggling to pinch you out of her bosom, she elected to simply push a single finger over your hair, roughing it up, and concluding you earned your keep.
You were inclined to agree. You felt...different now. Big.
That's what you were.
In a world of big people doing important and influential things, you were barely a blip on society's radar. And that made you scary. You could slip in and out unseen. A business trip had sent you up to New Jersey, though to be honest, the business it was for was largely unimportant compared to this. Feeling bigger than usual was the one other thing you hadn't made proper preparations for. You couldn't even get your bearings before a series of jeeringly taunted words were drilled into you alongside the happy voice of a newfound partner in crime, and in general. You could barely contain your overflowing well of excitement when she dabbed a kiss into you...
"So hot stuff...where do you wanna see in Jersey, baby? I can get you anywhere you're not s'pposed t'be...here...OR on me~"
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
Check out ittybittyknowitall#6342 on discord if you want a commission. He is an amazing writer!
Chapter End Notes:
Check out ittybittyknowitall#6342 on discord if you want a commission. He is an amazing writer!