Giantess World
This wasn’t the response David had expected, but then again nothing this morning was proceeding in any way ordinary. What could her girlfriend Alex possibly have to do with any of this? Was it just the understandable amazement of discovering what had happened to him? Was Claire losing her mind just as much as David feared he was too?
“Claire, I’m… your glove!” David numbly offered up, in case it hadn’t sunken in.
“I… I know, David,” Claire soothingly replied under her breath, while shouldering her way through the décor shop back door. She marched with a purpose, making her way to the most distant corner of the stock room, though was kind enough to keep her gloved hand steady in front of her as though her friend was made of glass now. He appreciated her caution, especially after that accidental demonstration of just how much cramping strain she could inflict on his whole body just by bending her fingers, patting her chest, or worst of all, balling him into a fist as though to throw a punch. Once isolated in the corner of the room behind a shelf, Claire removed her phone from her pocket with the other hand, and instinctually began tapping at the screen with her David-glove. These contacts between him and her phone were moderately gentle, but still perturbing, as the transformed man felt like he was having his face forcibly bopped against a window, while her other fingers curled inward just enough for better pointing posture, an arrangement that again distended and wrinkled varying portions of his heavy-duty body to a severely burdening degree.
“Ow!” David moaned. “CLAIRE!”
“Oh, G-God! I’m so sorry, David!” she yelped, almost dropping her phone in the process. There was still breathy unease in her voice, though she still seemed to know enough of whatever was going on here not to descend into total basket-case mode, which David could appreciate, even as fresh questions and worries wouldn’t stop plaguing his inexactly glove-planted mind. “I… I d-didn’t even think, I… don’t know why I did that to you. I know you’re in there. But don’t worry. I’m going to fix this, right now.”
“How? Claire, please tell me what’s going on.”
“I will, I promise, just as soon as I take care of this,” she vowed. “Here, I’m going to take you off my hand, all right? That way I won’t be able to hurt you anymore. I can’t use my phone with my gloves on, anyway. Don’t be scared, David. This’ll be over soon.”
Then Claire pinched the end of the Velcro strap, beginning to tug it free from around the wrist socket of David’s glove form, and right away the transformed creature experienced a sensation that rivaled his friend’s fist-making for borderline unbearable torment. The stiffer micro-hooked fastener side off the interlocking material was being stripped away from the fluffier looping to which it was normally secured to keep her work gloves steady on the job, accompanied by the usual krr-krr-krr as the textile elements were divided. The act of Claire removing this glove was something David had witnessed many times before, and even come to appreciate in a manner of Pavlovian pleasure, as it usually meant he’d have the chance to glimpse his friend’s hardworking bare hand while she texted or wedged a cigarette between her fingers. Yet now, in his awful new state, the doffing of her glove became synonymous with rippling agony. David had few points of useful comparison to comprehend the brutal discomfort of those Velcro sides coming apart by a simple pluck from Claire’s fingers, but it essentially felt like having all the hair on his body speedily waxed off Brazilian-style in a vicious series of skin-welting rips.
David would’ve cried out to her, told her to slow down if not stop altogether so he could get ahold of himself, even as this process seemed a necessary part of being liberated from the deeply-entrenched influence of her hand stuffed so authoritatively inside his five-pointed body. Unfortunately, the intensity of the unvelcroing was so raw, unexpected, and silencing that all he could do was telepathically emit a harrowing exhale for the gladly-brief duration of those hundreds of miniscule Velcro teeth yanking and scraping free from the fuzz of his body where they were previously buried.
Once the strap was loose, not painful but still unsettling to David in the way of a leg suddenly falling numb just as he lifted it to descend a staircase, Claire inevitably pulled her hand out of him. This too came with its own set of curious traumas. Though he counted his lucky stars her hand’s exit wasn’t anywhere near as painful as the Velcro undoing or being made into a fist, it nonetheless felt to David like he was having his guts scooped and drained out through his midsection, since the presence of her appendage had become like the phantom sensation of having any innards at all. Even if an anesthetic effect cancelled out what might’ve turned into more surprise torture, the actual emptying swish of Claire’s hand gliding out, leaving him feeling near-weightless and ungoverned to a degree rather like having a bike’s training wheels yanked off far too early, made for a freakishly brain-bending misadventure, and one that again David was too taken aback to complain about. Though at this point, he knew it was probably just for the best that Claire got it over with.
At least he believed this to be true, until the precise moment when David’s glove-body was left completely devoid of his friend’s hand, and instead gingerly cradled atop her palm in his flimsy deflated status, at which point that contradictory falling-flying acuteness of before returned with a vengeance. David’s being came swiftly untethered from the glove, which would’ve been a welcome change, if not for the fact that his human form didn’t retake shape in the next instant. Instead, Claire loomed mightily above him, far more than she had while he was small enough to wrap around her hand, and David was again sensing her immensity from the ground. Not just at her feet, however, but among and beneath them at once. He wasn’t merely filled in by palm mass and subject to minor finger muscle twitches, as when he’d become her glove, but palpably weighed down by the leaden cotton-swaddled slab of her socked foot, around which he was now worn, having become Claire’s blue-black New Balance sneaker.
“Just try to stay calm, David. Please,” she compassionately murmured to the glove, apparently not realizing her friend’s transference below, while feverishly tapping away on the phone with her now-free hand. Frowning, then, she spoke with desperation and sorrow: “BUSY? Goddammit, Alex, goddammit… where are you?”
“Cl… aire…” David bleakly thought toward her, overcome as he was by the experience of becoming her shoe, but couldn’t voice anything else, because even without physical nostrils or a throat, it felt like his were being stood upon. While the eeriness of having his empty form filled in by one of his friend’s more-human body parts wasn’t quite as creepily specific as when each of her individual fingers was inserted down a different extending tunnel of his glove-body and independently manipulated, that separation was made up for by the brute-force encumbrance of Claire’s socked foot weighing down on the foamy insole tongue of his interior, with her toes idly flaring and scrunching inside the sock as she impatiently tried and failed to get Alex to answer her phone. For the first time since transforming, too, David truly took notice of his nigh-enhanced olfactory senses while mysteriously swapping his consciousness between articles of Claire’s clothing. Though it was still early in the morning, the giantess was dressed more for stability and comfort than climate control, which meant that her socks were already glazed heel-to-toe with a misty sheen of salty sole pore viscosity, not to mention an older, bitterer, more-ingrained musk that was permanently branded along the lining of David’s shoe-body itself from every previous grueling 8-5 weekday use.
“She’s not answering,” Claire apologetically whispered, still in disbelief, right after leaving an urgent callback message to her girlfriend, before returning attention to her glove. “David, believe me, we can fix this, just as soon as Alex answers. I texted her, I called her. I’m even emailing her. I’d send a goddamn owl with a letter, too, if I could. God, I’m so sorry. This is all such a horrible mistake, but you have to trust me, it can all be undone. I know it. Just speak to me, please. Tell me you’re okay.”
While David was mildly comforted to hear the confidence in Claire’s voice that this madness could be reversed, he couldn’t exactly celebrate either, let alone answer her yet, for close to a minute while still attempting to get his bearings as his friend’s work-worn New Balance. Freshly inspired now that she wasn’t looking at her phone, however, he telepathically cried out again:
“Claire… I’m… not… the glove. I’m… down… here. Around… your… f-”
“WHAT?” she practically shrieked, immediately standing on one leg. This did help alleviate some of the pressure from her superiorly gigantic stature, as David’s body was no longer supporting half the giantess’s body weight, but he was still subject to the aromatic mustiness and balmier heat foisted on his insides by Claire’s dangled foot. “I’m so STUPID! I… should’ve remembered that would happen. Why didn’t I just… goddammit, it doesn’t matter now. David, I’m sorry to have to do this, but… I think it’s better than being my shoe, right?”
With that, Claire slipped her hand back inside the glove, yanking until her fingers were fully embedded and the Velcro strap was tightly reapplied, at which point David’s being again metaphysically leapfrogged up from around his friend’s foot back to her glove. Compared to that brief stint as her shoe, David did indeed prefer a form where she wouldn’t have to literally walk on him, but given that Claire seemed to know precisely what kind of magical reality-breaking mumbo-jumbo was going on here while still having not spilled a word of explanation, it was difficult for him to find peace as her Hardy glove.
“Claire! You have to tell me what’s going ON!” David thought to her, distracted as he was again by once again having her fingers fully penetrating each of the rubbery finger-slots which made up the hilly ridges of his retaken glove form. Not only that, but the heat seal created around her hand by the impenetrable material only exacerbated the muggy sponged-out palm sweat now dampening most of David’s insides, thanks to Claire’s anxiety over this catastrophe, ensuring that he felt even the most minor adjustments of her flesh beneath his flexible shape, especially whenever her smoke-zested perspiration momentarily glued his off-leathery terrain into the spaces between her fingers.
“I know,” Claire sighed, hanging her head in shame. “It’s… all going to sound insane, but… it’s the truth, David. It’s Alex. She’s just always been so crazy jealous over me, and a few years ago, she told me she had a way to make sure no one ever took me from her. Goddammit, I actually thought it was romantic at the time. And she said the way to do it was to put a curse… well, not on me, but around me, that would “protect” me from anybody else going after me. Which obviously I thought was just a bunch of bullshit meant to make her feel better, so I let her do it. When she was done, she… told me… that if someone, you know, showed they had some kind of “intentions” with me, that they’d become… something for me to use. To wear, always, even if I took them off, because they’d just become something else on my body. I didn’t understand then why she went so deep into it, but the last thing she told me was that it would only take a day for me to… forget. You know, for whoever had flirted with me to be wiped out of my memory, and just become this thing forever. Which is fucked-up, I know, like something out of a shitty horror movie, but she also promised me that I’d never be hurt by it, and I know that since Alex obviously wasn’t goddamn JOKING about this thing, that she must also have a way to fix you, David. I swear to you, on my life, that you will change back.”