She's just up ahead, further down along th'road...just...try not to spook her. She's a bit..." The rancher took one hand and waved it like a poorly calibrated and balanced scale at the somewhat hapless farmhand. "...Flighty. Excitable. Dangerous. Pick yer favorite. I gotta warn ya though. Yer in over your head. However lost y'might be...it might be better just to ask -"
The farmhand ignored his warnings.
Whatever the rancher might've said before digging his pitchfork into a flitting field of bundled hay was of little consequence. Perhaps he knew the dangers that beset him for this choice. Perhaps he not only anticipated them, but in excited anticipation, craved and sought them out. Perhaps his desires, his carnal cravings, his wants, were perfectly in line with precisely what would await him.
The mythical Soul of the South. The Giantess of Bellway St. Big Momma. She had countless names, and none of them really stick more than the typical 'stay away from' that preceded her name as though it were a prefix or title. Her impossible height and somewhat misdirected intentions to help those littler than her came with a naivety none could find in an ordinary sized person. They simply wouldn't survive. But with the vertically gifted height, it was impossible to succumb to much of anything.
It wouldn't be for several hours before the scattering of wildlife fleeing in a small stampede clued the farmhand in. A small coupling of squirrels, a few deer, and a hog, all scurrying from the sight of something...
Crazy. Impossible. Blindingly obscured by sunlight.
Cupping one hand over their eyes to beat off against the imposing sweltering heat of a distant sun, a lone farmhand spotted something crazier than diseased, mad, charging cattle. Weirder than any deer or buckshot ranger gone rogue. Odder and queerer a sight than ever seen south of the midwest.
A woman.
Not just a woman. A big woman. A giant woman. Her personality could only be described as beaming and unavoidable. She wiped a thick smog's worth of sweat and battered away invisible clouds of working woman's musk, trying to matt down her hair and feign some semblance of decency. She sucked thick inhales past teeth that were decorated with the pick of what seemed to be a whittled oak tree. And her eyes were soft. Settled on the farmhand.
Unblinkingly on the farmhand.
They looked so docile and innocent, it was impossible not to see them -- and miss completely her approach just south. Both her arms had already shot out with all the tumultuous force of a thunderstroke, and the pace to mimic the lightning flash preceding it. She looked like she'd
helped countless before her. Deceptively young, though the saying goes that she was as old as the south itself. Or at least, that she was prevalent throughout much of its history. Tales of a giant woman scooping people out of harm's way and promising them free passage to where they were going. Almost like a spirit ferry or a psychopomp. Tales of her carried loudly, echoing throughout the eras and passed from generation to generation in striking voluminous storming cacophony.
Louder still, was her voice. It carried, striking in volume and scent.
"Well, I'll be just darned!" She spoke with jubilation. She seemed to have longed for more company than she ever wanted to admit. Or at least. Would admit upfront. It had to be lonely, being so massive and without company you could see eye-to-eye-with, literally. A fact not unknown to her.
"You're a really bitty critter, y'know that, hon? And y'look just like me...'cept yer WAAAY bittier...aww, ain't you just as cute as a Junebug buskin' fer honeydew in the month of Juuuuuly!" A sweet, schmitterling soft voice fluttered as fingers tutted with a delicate softness that almost resembled one such majestic insect. Her hands wove when she spoke, weaved through the air overhead. Except. Unlike butterflies, they were massive, imposing, like ancient and long-extinct birds -- impossible, fantastical, and real. The creases of her fingers seemed to take almost a lifetime to bend before it was obvious the gloves over top them were being pulled off at the wrist -- exposing the bareness of palms overtaking a much smaller form.
Dangling what felt like dozens of feet off the ground, a giant eye spotted the darting limbs of her captive and widened. Lips were too far south to be even within periphery, but above them, the bits of cheek betrayed a cheeky grin wide enough to eclipse houses and homes. Settled over like a gust of wind preluding a storm were the honeysuckle words and sweet country twang of a voice booming enough to upend a herd of cows or shunt back sun-slicked tractor trailers.
"...Shhhhhhheeeooooot...you're about as stuck as a little tin soldier toy tracked up in a block of peat block marsh!" She laughed. The rippled sounds of her accent seemed to decorate the skin with a heady scent of breath that must've tasted something plentifully rich and sweet recently. Meat, perhaps? Hopefully not people meat. The freckles decorating her cheeks were smeared with leftover saucelike remnants of a meal past consumed. "Uhm...honey bunches, you alright in there? You didn't up 'n go braindead on me, did ya? I don't think I pinched you up too quickly, did I?"
The smaller farmhand seemed stumped.
When the myth of a Giantess, wide-berthed, with hips spanning hilltops, and a smile that resembled a setting sun, started to make its rounds through the local markets and sometimes through more unsavory channels, it was largely laughed off. But here it was, in real life, larger than life, quite literally. Here SHE was. And she seemed...benign.
"Say, I know what it is...you must be homesick, lil fellah! Don't worry, I know where all the barns are 'round these parts...howsabout we mosey on over and try t'find the one where you came from? Lemme just...pack up my things..." Her things were an odd assortment of mud-coated knicknacks and keepsakes, salvaged from nature and machine parts. Each one was lifted with tremendous ease, sifting through the air and, without a moment's hesitation, pressed into her oversized overalls. The stitched together makeshift fabric was used more like a sling than an article of clothing. The scanty frilly clothing that hugged her body served her better. "Now's jus th'question of where to put you...hrm..."
She seemed to contemplate her breasts for a brief moment. Weighing them in her hands as if in slightly jovial offering. There was an air of mischief about her as she did so, not insincerely, but almost tauntingly. "Nah...these knockers would knock out a little fellah like you...bummer though...it's where I keep my car!" Car. Not car keys. Car. The creaking of crumpled metal seemed to suggest this was no joke. "I'm juuuust kiddin', lighten up...obviously th'car's in my back pocket, guh-doy!"
This did nothing to alleviate concerns. Instead, new dread was inspired concerning the trustworthiness of the woman who, rummaging about along her hindquarters, seemed to discover a depressingly flat slab of metal - formerly producing a squeaking, crunching, metal scrape -- now produced the sound of a thin sheet of plastered tinfoil interspersed with scattered windshield glass. She mouthed a quiet 'oh', doing her best to mask the humility in her voice's low thrum. Her enthusiasm quickly picked back up as she began to toy with the farmhand, shifting a thumb over the top of his skull, tracing down along each cheek, and inquisitively prodding for an answer. She lifted him towards her nose, as though she were going to snort him -- freezing at that, and lowering him before the idea could even be objected to. "Hrrrrrrrrm...this one's a toughie! Not a lot of places for a teensie critter like you in a world this big and bold!" She seemed almost oblivious to just how small the world really was, compared to a titaness like her. Soaked in sun-dispersed sweat, and with horses the size of their plastic miniature counterparts. She stood up, as birds flocked to the skies to try and avoid her footfalls and approaching path.
"Ooooh, I've got it!!!" She shouted. More birds fled. This time, ones as distant as what had to be clocked at at least a mile's radius. A few cows fled and began kicking up a ruckus. She was walking chaos incarnate. A furious tornado wrapped up sweet and perkily in a tomboyish girl's body who poked around at bugs in the dirt. But much, much bigger. By a cruel Lord's divine prank, much, much bigger. "...Howsabout...you tag along on foot...GET IT? Oh wait, honey, you can't see nothing in there, can you? HMmhg...hmp...Gimme just a lil second purty lil dear and I'll have a clearer picture lickety split~"
Before the opportunity was even afforded to 'get it', the tiny was perched under one arm. The sun vanished, replaced with the sweaty, moist-rich underarm pit of a callously giddy goddess. She playfully squeezed a few times, producing a vulgar sound that had to have been on purpose. No one could be that grossly juicy and crudely wettened just from a little outdoorsing. Could they? The answer hardly mattered -- as before it could arrive, another did, in the form of
the sound of hopping. Thick, crude, one-legged stomping dug craterous impacts into the Earth below, smashing and bracing the world for the arrival of a hopscotching Giantess.
Not that it alleviated much. The object-shunting pressure quickly vacated everything beneath her down to the last patch of grass, and, by the sound of it, heapfuls of dirt and soaked soil, splashing over her in gushes of mud. The sight was probably a crude, piglike one, tastefully muted by the barely trimmed tufts of underarm and thick scent carried. A few unclear ambigious words, hefty grunts, and sounds just barely infiltrated past the fleshy thickness insulating the underside of her arm and sideboob. The subtle shifting and incongruity of both arms nearly squished her tiny passenger with all the force of a hydraulic press -- before -- soaking in the deluge of pitsweat, the farmhand was ushered back into the light. He dangled, precariously, over the open mouth of an awaiting boot, the strings of which had yet to be fastened or tied. Wiggled with all the anticipation of a burger topping ready to be pressed under the bun in a diner, the farmhand could hardly voice a thought before the giantess spoke aloud.
"Got a clearer picture now, haaaaandsome sweet little thaaang?" The forced intonation carried with it an onus; the pressing insistence that the eyes angled downwards. The farmhand was ragdolled, pinched, and shaken about until he did, eventually, angle his eyes downwards towards the sweat-spattered boots that were Frankenstitched together through a variety of sources -- different color and length leathers all patched together, and holding back a thin muggy layer of sweat. Her toes wiggled barely against the Earth, their sheer nudity seeming to want to entreat the small man -- pressure mounting as they wrapped about his hips to give him a sample of what was to come. "Can ya see? Yer about to be acquainted with my feet! Least until the feet hit the road. Then you'll probably scurry under my soles for s'pport...which considering how I've a tendency t'up and ache harder than a crocodolian munching on a beam-beaten-boulder when I'm on my feet all darn day..."
There would be no arguing. She flexed her toes and began to lower them towards the shoe, choking back the entrance peeled with each hand so as to make it easier. "Besides...look! They like you? Can'tcha see it? Yer almost big enough to stick around with 'em rovin' fer good!" That was a horrifying thought, even if the laughter put to rest any concerns that this would be her intention. Her lips clasped around the face of the struggling farmhand and smooshed into him with an erotic splash of salivation. She had managed to lean forward enough to kiss her toes -- affording him some tiny creature comfort he was more than a creature being used to massage away her toes in permanence. "At ease, little feller, at ease! Don't need to have you muckin' through the mud about being dragged through it! You won't be stuck for'ever none, and certainly won't be cover -- ooh, dear, yer still a bit juicy here..."
Her thumb mushed over his face and slicked his hair into place after her spittle storm completely rearranged his face in an oceanic swirl of spit bubbles and tonguing. Just that one brief kiss was enough to reveal a glimpse of spit-glossed titanic teeth that looked as though they were earthen gems from inside a crystalline cave. Yet with one finger, she effectively banished all of this. The sight, the slick wetness, and all that was adhered to the farmhand.
"I've got y'covered! Literally! A shoe covering! Like that lil old nanny who done lived in a shoe! It's hospitable to small folk, enough for there t'be nursery rhymes 'bout it!" She seemed to think her logic was airtight enough to start lowering the tinier folk right into the slimy, sticky adhering sole of her worn out shoe. There were a discerning number of scratches, presumably animals, betraying this was not the first time she had attempted this. "Oh...and by th'by...this ain't my first rodeo...havin' a teensie critter hitch a ride in my shoes...please don't up 'n start rampaging or I WILL have to squish ya. Nothin' personal love, just reflexes." As she spoke, her feet reflexively twitched, crumbling up the air and letting little bits of dirt and mud crud shower in small enough fragments to still be handfuls to the studious farmhand, hoisted back further and further against shoebound captivity.
At least the discolorations and stains made more sense. It wasn't just sweat warping. Things had been abducted beneath the onerous weight of a giant's foot. The wrinkled, sweat-soggy exterior was a lot cooler a damp than the sun would imply. All body heat seemed to dissipate in a steamy mist as she stood upright, nearly crushing -- but not quite properly engulfing, the tiny. The boots were made deliberately oversized and big on purpose.
"Giddy on up, tiny! Let's find where ya came from!"
She insisted, taking one triumphant step forward -- revealing the first of many setbacks to accompany big, loose shoes on big, meaty woman's feet. Jostled to the side and thrust face-first into a toe, the farmhand was catapulted into wet squishes and slurred around in cyclical motions. The squishy smashing and stamping of a foot overtop relinquished force unimaginable, tremendously impactful and forcible. A few skittish squeaks and twitches too many made the southern belle start to twitch, her toes involuntarily curling, and scrunching up her little occupant as ticklish little bouts of laughter splayed out overhead.
"Careful down there, lil critter! I don't s'ppose you've got compunction with switchin' shoes? Yer startin' t'make my strides a bit lopsided! I'd hate t'accidentally overcorrect and leave you squashed flat like the bottom run of a stack of Flapjacks!"
With that declaration, the shoe was removed. Slowly, her delicate, pretty, but somewhat unseemly toes danced back out of the shoe -- and the entire world was spun on its side. A wet splotch of the shoe seemed to gush a soft spray of watery wetness that adhered to the side of the face and cascaded down in thick little driplets. With a huff of the whiff of scent produced, the farmhand was quickly released from confinement into the open palm of the giantess, while she kissed him to the back of her shoe, stickily stamped into her ankle so as to more easily shunt back on her shoe.
"...Here. Let's just go ahead 'n alternate..."
Her other shoe came off with a tumultuously loud collapse and audibly shaken thud. It was as though she were terraforming the earth, making the ground level with the depth it sunk whenever she took another step -- just as she did now. It may have been more horrific to travel
with her without the cover of a shoe. One wrong move, and then falling under her would result in an almost certain death. Her indelicate stride, her almost innocuous happy-go-lucky attitude, all of it was seemingly endless potential for disaster.
The farmhand froze.
Before him was the mouth of the other shoe, her left. This one seemed to be even sweatier, spattered with mud along the outside...but cozier on the inside. The all-too-familiar footscent came in swathes and overtook the entirety of the smaller being, before a large puff greeted him when he landed.
"We got a bit of a trip ahead of us...so do get niiiice and snug'n comfy..." Humming began.
Humming, forever the preceding factor to any large or long journey, humming, always the epitome of a phenomenal trek...and every the soft lulling trait that accompanied the Big Momma now. It was hard to really put to words in the farmer's head what came next, aside from a peaceful and tranquil rest. But not all at once. It was spread in peacemeal, between hitches, sudden stops, rocking motions, and adjusting between the spaces along each set of toes. It was an almost unmistakably relaxing feeling, the sweet and salty tang of hydrating on nothing but footsweat. The touchiness that came with being confined entirely to a foot.
It was a surreal experience, only marinated on more extensively by the sound overhead of a giantess humming. A few encounters came spuriously along the way -- all averted. A coyote that tried to nibble at a shoe, only to get flicked effortlessly into murky night woods by the sounds of it. A traveler hoping to be picked up -- only to be denied as the Giantess was at 'full occupancy'. A relief to the farmhand, who had long since retired from the energy necessary to socialize before arriving at his destination.
Perhaps that was the trick.
He hadn't had one in mind.
No clue of where to go. The Giantess was supposed to know, how the legend goes, where one was meant to be headed. And even as her colossal foot threatened to cave in his skull or cram all of her weight onto it, no such relieving thoughts came, and no release from the quandary of a question came.
"Stay tucked in there, love. Don't want you t'set something off, ya hear...? It's alright if yer a little bit quiet. Sometimes I am too, believe it or not!!! But make sure ya don't get quiet and fidgety..."
It was a funny thought.
As if a being like her could ever be quiet, even entirely unintentionally. There was always a gastric noise overhead, or a waving waft of scent from scrunched toes and sweaty soles. The click of a lock step from her knees and her rubbing ankles. The cyclical walking when she bounced a heel off the ground. Even the flap of her asscheeks slinging and gliding together from sheer density and mass seemed to carry with them an implicit sound, an underlying note and melody.
A melody.
She was humming a melody. And her entire body was following it effortlessly. Each step from her feet was synchronized to her singing. A silken sweet voice that grew dimmer and softer the further out she got -- likely to be respectful of animals. The warmth that overtook the tiny was one without equal. The relief and release from all woken conditions was like that of being struck with the inescapable perils of a blanket wrapped all the way around a body, cocooned and snug. It was peerless, boundlessly comfortable, and irrepressible. And best of all, it was his...
His...
His head shorted out. His eyes drifted shut. And when they opened again, they tasted something sweet. Impossibly sweet. The farmhand's hair was sticking up, spiked in straight juts and spokes. Perhaps the farmhand was right. About her being dangerous. Because as his eyes shot open, the sight of a massive mouth widened open and upside down, was right in front of him. Lips were sealing shut and suckling a sticky yellow topping -- honey -- mounds full of it, with a satisfied smack just shy of nipping his head.
"Oh good! Yer awake just 'n time fer breakfast!" She commended. The worry that had struck him started to dissipate into mellowy feelings of inexistent stress. There was a breakfast. Massive pancakes, big enough to walk on -- which could be affirmed by experience when he was effortlessly pressed onto them. Overhead, a chunk was being chewed without utensil, mushy honeyed remains of breakfast partially eaten hung on the corners of the Giantess's face. "...Heh. Sorry. Got some on ya. Didn't want t'wake you none, and deny you yer grumpy bear rest! But...there's plenty t'eat, so dig in!"
Just one crumb was almost an entire faceful. And the honey was sticky enough to nearly seal a mouth shut for an hour of chewing. But with careful strategic little bites, the farmhand had one of the most delicious meals of his life. His eyes fluttered shut, not for sleep, but for a blessed rise. Saccharine sweetness greeted his lips. Fluttery puffiness of a delicious pancake crested over his mouth as he felt the ground -- the pancake rich ground -- shift. Honey trickled over him as he stumbled and struggled against the current of sweetness to wrench free another bite...
"Mmm...mgms...mf...GLP..." The giant woman audibly crooned, tracing the food down her throat with a pacing that seemed to drag on overlong. Her eyes lidded shut heftily, as she began to sprawl back a little, leaving the tinier man to his own devices. She seemed to sprawl on for miles, countlessly and impossible to measure in sheer magnitude and size. The indents she left
in the ground were lax, but immediate, it took a while for her to stop sinking at her sheer girth and magnitude. When she pinched an entire pancake and swirled it between her lips, the farmhand was tempted to stick on it, instead of hopping off out of politeness.
But decided against it.
"All good down there, love?" She cheekily asked. The giantess was munching on the teeth-mooshed remains of a pancake. It seemed to ooze out the honey-dripped corners of her mouth with a slow, steadied patience. She opened her mouth, rather curiously -- eyes shut, but somehow apparently knowing exactly the tiny little one's thought. "Try not to get all caught up in this, alright?" She explained, taking another rapacious bite out of the sweet, oversized pancakes. Little flowers around the corner seemed to call to mind that these were manmade. Perhaps there were others just like the farmhand. Who revered the Giantess, felt a special draw and attraction to her. There had to be, for her to be offered such an incredible meal.
Another flapjack was pinched, uplifted, and funneled into her mouth as though it were a cone. Curled beyond retrieval past her teeth, her thighs squished together in a quiet bout of fantastically framed beauty. She almost looked manmade herself. Were she not animated enough to consume, she would seem like a sculpture, a love-letter to the female form, and to woman of all sizes. Yet, as her stretch-mark speckled legs squished, her shorts were yanked down so as to obscure whatever faint glimpse of her genitals may have been gleaned, and she snacked on another soft, mellow-tasting, honey-mushed breakfast treat -- the farmhand grew more and more risky, slow, and belabored in his movements.
He wanted to see her closely. And was growing impatient.
It was impossible to miss without trying. He intercepted her hands, as she scooped him into a candied funnel shape of folded pancake, leveling him with her mouth in an instant. Down, down, down he went, as the audible sound of a prolonged 'ahhhh' seemed to foreshadow a plummet towards the cavernous maw and awaiting throat ahead. It was a deliriously hot and invigoratingly illicit experience, and one that carried with it all the onus and thorough intensity of being breathed down on, but from beneath. The updraft nearly sent him flying, but instead, sent him falling, plummeting -- caught only by pre-chewed bits of food, and the fresher flapjack surrounding him. This was a mistake. He could be broken down. Digested. Nothing but caloric intake.
Gulp. Not his. But hers.
"MHmgmmg...? Lihhtle ohne...?" She asked, briefly.
She seemed to have noticed his absence from the plate. She sucked on her pancake, searching, probing, droning with her tongue to try and isolate him, locate what he had done, where he had scurried off to, how he could have evaded her lashing tongue and longing slurps. She checked under a foot, against her thighs, even frisked just in case. He had to have scurried
off somewhere. Somehow, some way, he was still here, she could feel it, smell it. With a quiet belch, she pounded her chest. Something felt...off. She pounded at her throat. Something was stuck. No...
Judging by the wriggling, the shaking, the frantic dancing, and honeystuck adherence, someONE. She coughed, sputtered, and begin pounding into her chest more deliberately, as she felt something other than bile rise in her neck. Lolling her tongue out, the farmhand, miraculously clinging for dear life against the tip of her tongue, sputtered and whimpered weakly. She winced and tried to annunciate with the strain and handicap of the way he was situated in her mouth greatly impeding her words.
"Lihl critter...wot ahre yohou dhoing ihn thehere...? Dhid yha whan a thour...?" A tour?
Who would purposefully get themselves thrown in a mouth for a tour... Unless...
Maybe the rumors were true. Maybe she knew exactly where the little farmhand wanted to go. Where and what he came to see. It was her. Grasping at her abs and teasing along their sculpted surface, with a bit of pudgy cushioning audibly clapping at the press of her palms, the giantess grinned and curled her tongue back, sinking it into her mouth, and pinning him to the roof of her mouth. The hapless little candied treat of a tiny farmhand was now frisked and furrowed about, slid along the roof of her mouth as she began to croon and savor the honeylike thickness adhering to the whole of his measly body.
"...Hyeh...think about it lil guy...we've been wanderin' fer quite a while...maybe ya already found where you was headed th'first time y'found me...! I'm not gettin' tired of travelin'...but why not settle down fer a bit...? Get ourselves nice 'n situated, just in case we ain't gotta walk n'more..." Her mouth lit up. A spectral hazy color that was hard to tell if it was imagined or not. This Soul of the South may have been supernatural, alright. Something outside seemed to suggest movement, more than just her limbs. She was going for another pancake. Her teeth dug into it, slighted it with their carnivorous intent, miraculously keeping the traveler trespassing across her orally fixated fixtures unharmed. Repeated little digs and divets of her teeth clamped shut in bear-trap like furious repetition seemed to suggest the legendary rumors about her appetite were less hearsay and sayings heard, from the source.
"I mean I've scrounged up quite th'appetite lookin' after little 'ol you...why not look after my appetite too, eh?"
A somewhat fair point for such a frivolous legend. The sudden spurious squeals of sugary partially broken-down food splashed across the miniscule man's face, as the Giantess seemed to lazily recline against a tree that almost gave away under her buckling sheer enormity. The
intakes of oxygen flourished and flushed over the tinier man with a sort of frenzied pace that could only be matched by its gushing intensity, soaking everything worn, everything that was -- especially the farmhand. The rancher should have been headed. The flighty woman was a menace. Her danger was apparent. And her excitement was audible in wet little gushy clicks of spurting saliva that slid across the cheeks that were ping-pong danced between by a tongue that refused to give the farmhand even a moment of reprieve, no matter how slight or brief.
"Hhmgmg...glp...y'still in there...maybe we...make a lil game out of this...see how many rounds 'o food ya manage t'surpass before we go bottoms up...? Manage t'get past three courses...this 'ere's just the first...'n I may even let ya take me to dinner, lover boy!"
Lover boy?
That was terrifically terrifying.
The fact his feelings could be so easily summarized in a joke like that was frightening. Her keen insights into destinations were not limited to the body, but heart and mind as well. How many others wanted this, had longed for the Spirit of the South?
"Oh just one. Buuut...he had the grip of a butter-braced snake on an ice-rink!" She answered, to a question only thought, but never asked. She had to be some kind of spirit. Some sort of living legend. As the infinite impossibilities were pondered, a cold rush of orange juice, squeezed over countless instances of the fruit -- they had to be -- to total such incredible excess -- splashed past the farmhand. If only one person had ever coveted her heart, and didn't even manage to survive this challenge, perhaps the farmhand ought to put that klutz to shame. The first course was simple, nearly over. Easy, even.
Until it wasn't.
Sticky bunches of icing-rich treats were bunched together to make up a massive set of super-cinnamon rolls. Two fingers pinched what seemed to be a carton or parcel crate's worth of them. Baked to perfection and fit for a catapult. There was a low, deep, bouncing bout of laughter that rose out of the Giantess semi-tauntingly. Her lips contorted as the outside of them seemed to form a smile. Even looking out, the gesture was unmistakably apparent.
"Funny story, little guy...th'food we're sharin'? All from little lovestruck villages...but ain't none of 'em brave enough to climb onto my food to get where they're goin'! Bummer, isn't it? T'know so many people got th'hots for you, but t'be too scary to be touchable...eh?"
Untouchable.
Maybe that's why so many failed. No one was willing to make the assumption of risk, and eventually got sucked past her teeth in her cheek. She seemed to like the sound of this possibility, her tongue slicking over her wet lips in delight, barely viewable between the spaces
of her teeth from the pouch of her cheek. It made the imagination wander as to what the other lover might have experienced in their final moments, being displaced, scared, confused, frustrated, perhaps even resentful of the Giantess. But not the farmhand. With a leap of faith, furthered by a few juts through chomping teeth and carefully timed precision, he was able to grope blindly and gleefully towards the tip of her tongue, causing her to cough. A few fragments of bitten and chewed up food splashed over the farmhand in shocked surprise.
"Whah...hehy! I thought I phut you somhewhere shafer!!!" Safety was not a priority. With a gushing whirl and spin of spittle and a maelstrom of wetness, the sloshing that spiral-followed and mirror-gushed to form from both cheeks almost grabbed hold of him, betraying him to the gut behind. The lurching fate and swimming in darkness of acidic pools of digestive juices almost seemed a premonition, lurking in the back of the mind and fueling the impossibility of self-doubt, cemented in his head. Written off entirely. The giant woman was either impressed or confused -- sinking her face forward and oozing a waterfall of gushy saliva out into her palm. With it, bits of busted pancake and crushed cushy warm sweets followed hard upon.
"Hhh..hey...ptttoooeyyy....get outta there! You win, you win...hahaha...I'm not gonna up 'n risk your livelihood like some sorta short-sighted major general shunting soldiers into an pit 'o nothin'!"
Her words were just barely persuasion enough. Sinking into a wide array of stringy saliva, and tumbling with a degree of hesitation and halted urgency, the tiny farmhand relinquished himself, tumbling, turning, falling, and finally landing with a heaving weight to the plummeting descent. A wet catapulted gush seemed to feel like a sore relief from the sweltering heat of a breath-rich mouth. A puddle of refreshing outside world, as opposed to an inside whirled shake and stir impossible to break free from. The Giantess was giggling. Laughing. The farmhand was almost guilty about how amused she seemed to be over the entire ordeal and affair. Struggling to prop himself up, she took two fingers and pinched at his waist and midsection, allowing him a prop to lean against and sink himself forward. She had a few sweet words stirring up in the chest he almost sunk past twice...
But seemed troubled.
"I dunno if you've noticed, sweet thing, but I ain't exactly been on the dating market for quite some time. I might embarass myself around ya, if ya up'n wrestle up the courage t'see me out. Like the first one t'impress me...failed to. Poor fellah got cold feet about the thing. It's why I don't...do much more than take people where they wants t'be. But nobody ever asked me where I wanted t'be."
The farmhand's steadied palms eased over a single finger of the giantess, rubbing, as if to say 'here'. She snorted. Didn't quite shake her head, but didn't quite agree either. She found herself unable to continue with her explanation, petering off as she stared with gentle, soft, but almost forebodingly huge eyes -- wrought with affection and warmth. She scooted her hands clasped
around the sides of the tiny and instrumentally vulnerable farmhand, guiding and goading him with direction.
She almost forgot about her problems entirely, washed away by the warm floods of feelings she felt, refreshingly swallowing the last little remnants of food as what she spat out sunk to the ground. Huffing with warmth, she thought for a short while. Storing the farmhand up against her left tit hard enough for her heartbeat to be audible. It was a soft, prolonged moment, ripe with feeling and intense visceral realization...she wasn't scary. Not too much for this one. She was worth being sought out, followed, and accompanied. Even through a somewhat silly and wacky little breakfast. With an inward sucking of air, and wrought with consequences grave enough to inspire a renewed interest in one's longevity, the Giantess cradled the tiny farmhand in her palms, seeming to let her bedroom eyes speak for themselves, as she tugged the thin sheets of fabric covering her intimate breasts back, snapping the overalls into place over one shoulder. She was...dressing up.
"Howsabout this, lil tiny..." She said through a thick, somewhat wilted voice. Was she growing tired? Or perhaps preparing for a weary journey ahead. Her fingers struggled to pinch around something just shy of the farmhand -- and then the farmhand himself. He was tilted, on one side, and then pressure bore down on the top of his head, sinking him past her cavernous cleavage. Her voice bounced cushily in the soundproofing plushness of both breasts. The weight and encroaching softness was enough to drown out all other sensation, signaling she wanted his fullest attention. "I'm gonna take a brief lil power nap...work on settling this food in my gut...then howsabout you and me hit th'road again and giddy up for somethin' a bit more distant? Find somewhere for both of us to get away from it all, take in a sunrise that I ain't blockin' all the way?"
She snickered. Covering her face, as a light blush overtook it.
"I saw you tryna take in the view earlier today...felt guilty as a whore in church that I was blockin' it from ya...unless..." The realization struck her with the subtlety of a canonball. "...Were you tryna take in me instead?" She blinked a few times, before she let the flattery settle in, and the farmhand, further into her chest, tucked out of sight by a flustered, sweaty, worked-up tomboyish Southern Belle, trying to process her date just might actually like her.
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!