Giantess World
If David still had a physical heart, it would’ve been beating straight through his chest. As his situation stood, his only option now was to cry and yell into the nothingness as though banging on the padded walls of an asylum cell, recognizing that Alex nor Claire could hear him now, but trying anyway, because the alternative was to settle quietly into his limp lifeless glove-form like a mortuary body bag forever.
“It’s just better this way,” Alex continued. “Things will go back to normal, just like I told her, and I meant that. Because the last thing I need is for my baby to feel bad about this for her whole life, when she can’t even do anything about jealous creepers like you coming in and trying to break up something beautiful. I’m sure, David, that if you could still talk, you’d agree with me that you don’t want Claire to have to feel sad or mad about this. It’s not like she could change it. Neither could I, even if I wanted to, because I don’t fuck around when I place a curse to protect the woman I love. But obviously I don’t want to change it, so everything works out! Well, for me and Claire, anyway. And like I told you before, you are still going to be of use to her. After she puts you back on in a minute, thinking you’re just her normal glove with nobody stuck inside it, you’re going to start your new life. A way more useful one, I think, since you’ll be spending it supporting Claire, instead of trying to lead her away from what’s good for her. You seem to understand the rules already, so it’s not like I need to really explain it all to you. If she takes you off, you’ll just go right into the next thing, but spoiler alert: you’re probably going to be her gloves and shoes all day at work, and then when she gets home to hang out with me, you’ll be her socks. Over and over, again and again. And maybe since you were such a whiny bitch-boy, coming at me with all those pathetic lies when you had the chance to confess, we’ll spice this up a little bit, and make it so the heat, the pain, and most of all the smell of Claire’s hard work with you gets double as bad. As in, every single day, that’s going to happen again. Just my parting gift to you, David, for being such a sketchy selfish asshole, going after someone’s girlfriend whenever you think no one is there to stop you, and then not even having the balls to tell me about it, when I’m literally holding your stupid life in the palm of my hand. And from now on, she’ll have you in hers. It’ll be a nice reminder for you to think about, to keep you from getting lonely. Speaking of which, this is the last time anyone is ever going to talk to you or treat you as anything except a glove or a shoe, because the minute Claire comes back through that door, you might as well never have been born, so… try to enjoy this conversation we’re having. Savor it. Because, by my count, she’s going to be done with that after-work cigarette and come back inside, in five… four… three… seriously, David, enjoy it while it lasts… one…”
Right on Alex’s impeccable count, the door swung open, and there stood Claire, looking happier than she had all day, unburdened by the clandestine madness taking place unknowingly before her. To David’s apocalyptic dismay, Claire’s eyeline only rose to meet her girlfriend’s.
“It’s so nice to be home,” she sighed, utterly contented: precisely the opposite of how her poor, magically forgotten, uselessly-screaming friend felt now. “Aww, Alex, did you just fix that snag in my favorite glove?”
“I sure did, babe. It’s good as new now. Better, even. Why don’t you give it a try?”
###
For twenty whole minutes, Claire kept David on her hand in order to test out the supposed mending job her girlfriend had so lovingly gifted to her favorite pair of work gloves. Objectively, he knew he should’ve been “grateful” that she kept her hand inside him even that long at all when the alternative would be much harsher, but the tidal wave of defeatist misery and sensory torture was crashing down upon him too hard now to find even the slightest silver lining, largely because there was no conceivable light at the end of this tunnel. It felt like David had become a ghost, floating among the still-living, yet all the screaming and flailing in the world couldn’t make him seen by someone he cared about so much; in fact, he’d have likely preferred literally dying and becoming a spectral entity, since such beings probably only felt emotional wounds, rather than the drowning flurry of elasticizing pains that also accosted every malleable inch of his corporeal form as Claire’s bulging fingers blithely clawed within him. David’s anonymous future as an inhuman sweat-sogged article of clothing for his gladly oblivious friend now stretched infinitely and abyssally before him, the hopelessness somehow even further emphasizing the skin-stretching salt-dripping limb-swelling antipathy of it all as though the doubling of his suffering had already commenced, simply by having learned that there would be no happy ending to this, or any ending at all for that matter.
Not that David didn’t try to believe that something still could be done, as he telepathically shouted himself hoarse, screaming Claire’s name in between every conceivable variation of a plea for clemency. To not even attempt this, after all, meant going silent and accepting a lifetime of suffering. Maybe there’d been a flaw in Alex’s spell that he might accidentally exploit like a chink in armor? Maybe the witch would hear his cries and eventually take unlikely pity? Hell, maybe the power of friendship itself would deliver him, like they were in some cheesy children’s cartoon? Who the fuck could say; early this same morning, he had no idea that such supernatural obscenity could exist, and now before the sun had even set, he’d been eternally imprisoned in a leathery husk slathered flesh-tight to Claire’s hand, tanking constant micro-hyperextensions to his tender makeup while full-body guzzling flaky palm perspiration and pitifully squealing into the unheard void like a barn animal pried from its mother for meat. Anything seemed possible, despite Alex having vowed to him that nothing was, least of all his escape. Then at last Claire removed her gloves again for the night, stripping the Velcro with a theatrical flourish and yanking the fingers to almost twice their normal length, and David instantly regretted not having better cherished that fleeting trial period as her Hardy mitt. Since she’d kicked off her shoes, too, his prickly consciousness was slugged straight back into her left sock and promptly bludgeoned without mercy into the creaking hardwood floor of their home, now lacking even the modest padding of that sweat-bled sneaker insole from earlier to cushion his fall.