The air was cool and misty as the first rays of dawn filtered through the thatched canopy of the roundhouse. Roland was awake before his eyes even opened, his internal clock, fine-tuned by years at sea, alerting him that it was time to rise.
The roundhouse was silent. Roland lay there for a moment, trying to settle his racing mind. Today was not just another day -- it carried the weight of years, of long-standing questions and deeply buried feelings. Roland pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling the stiffness in his legs as he stretched.
The Indians were already assembled. A group of sturdy braves, about two dozen, bearing wooden sleds with leather pull-ropes. Strapped to these sleds were enormous clay vessels, empty and sealed with corks of woven reeds. They were immense, wider in diameter than his outstretched arms. It required two men to pull each one, and even then, they walked slowly, their muscles taut with effort.
He approached Kariwase, who was overseeing the arrangements. "What are these for?" he gestured towards the vessels.
Kariwase pursed his lips. "You will see," he said, his voice flat.
Intrigued, Roland could do nothing but nod. He rejoined his men, giving them a final once-over. "Remember, we're guests here. Keep your wits about you and follow my lead."
His men stood at attention, apprehension in their eyes. Roland could not fault them, he felt it too: a twisting mixture of exhilaration and tension knotting his stomach.
The procession embarked into the forest. The Indians led the way. Roland and his men followed suit, boots crunching softly on the dry needles.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, Roland felt the atmosphere thicken, the trees stretching taller and the shadows deepening, until the wilderness seemed to swallow them whole. This was an untamed land. Pines loomed overhead, their branches casting a latticework of shadows on the forest floor. Ferns and underbrush rustled beneath their feet. The air was still and silent, save for the occasional chirping of birds.
The Indians moved through the jungle with a grace born of lifelong familiarity. Their moccasins seemed to find all the right footholds, smoothly negotiating the maze of gnarled roots and jutting stones. The clay vessels they carried swayed gently but never toppled. Roland couldn't help but marvel at the spectacle: these containers were so large they could easily hold a man, yet the men maneuvered their burdens through the forest with ease. Glancing back, he saw his own men struggling to keep pace; their faces flushed, their eyes narrowed in concentration.
Some time after midday the procession emerged from the forest into an expansive clearing. Roland squinted in the sun. At first glance, it appeared as though a mighty storm had swept through the area. Where one might expect to find a soft meadow, tufted with grass, they were met with a desolate wasteland stretching for acres ahead of them. The earth was pounded flat, brush and foliage beaten down into a crushed carpet of green and brown. Saplings were twisted and uprooted, contorted into unnatural shapes, their jagged roots clawing up from the soil as if gasping for air.
The vegetation appeared as if it had been blown back, a gradient of destruction radiating outwards towards the boundary of the clearing. Grass and ferns were bent away, their stems distorted as though fleeing from some unseen point of impact at the center. Even the towering trees surrounding the clearing seemed to recoil, their branches shorn off on the side facing the open space. The soil here was compacted, so hard and unyielding that Roland doubted even a pickaxe could penetrate it. In places, it seemed like the ground had been laminated; the imprints of crushed grasses, shattered twigs, and fragmented leaves sealed permanently into the earth, like flower petals preserved between the pages of a book.
The very air in the clearing felt different, laden with a stillness that made the skin on Roland's arms prickle. It was as if the surrounding forest was retreating, running from some unknown cataclysm. Even the birds seemed to avoid this space, as if fearing some unseen danger.
Roland’s eyes widened. He knew what this was. He had seen something like it before, all those years ago. But not on this scale. It could not be possible.
The size of Anna’s footprint was staggering, overwhelming. From heel to toe, the print covered an unimaginable distance -- at least a dozen acres, maybe more. Roland stood frozen, swallowed by the enormity of what this meant. Anna had grown, grown beyond anything he could have imagined.
Roland surveyed the impossible landscape surrounding him with new eyes, tracing the contours of the footprint to what appeared to be the deepest part of the indentation. The ground there was excavated as though an asteroid had struck with enough force to burrow into the earth. The soil was not just compacted: it was practically fused. This, he realized, was where Anna's heel must have made contact, where the majority of her unimaginable weight had pressed down into the earth as she walked.
Kariwase clapped his hands and urged them onward. Roland and his men resumed walking, stunned. The Indians looked unmoved. If they felt anything at all, their expressions showed no hint of it.
They continued, marching like ants along the length of Anna’s footprint. Soon Roland lost sight of the forest behind him. The indentation caused by Anna’s bare sole stretched as far as his eye could see. He tried counting how many paces they had taken from her heel, but soon lost track.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the forest appeared again in the distance. As they neared the front of the footprint, the place where Anna’s massive toes had made landfall, Roland’s breath caught in his throat. The sight was nothing short of monumental.
If the heel had been a crater, these were canyons. The print of her big toe was a depression so wide that to Roland it resembled a natural amphitheater, where hundreds, if not thousands, could gather. The print was deep too, so deep that if a two-story home had been placed within it, the upper windows would still be well below ground level. It was as if a round, oblong quarry had been dug out of the earth, but with a precision and force that no human effort could ever achieve. Next to the big toe, the prints of the other four toes stretched out, each one smaller than the next, but still incomprehensibly large. In the distance Roland could make out the impression of Anna's pinky, the "smallest" of her giant toes. And yet even that made a mark in the earth so sizable that a cottage could fit comfortably inside.
The very thought that this landscape had been carved by Anna’s little toes -- a fraction of her foot, a minuscule part of her body -- left Roland with an overwhelming feeling of vulnerability. They were just toes, yet they had reshaped the world in their image, carving their form in the earth as if it was wet sand.
The group reached the edge of the clearing and clambered up the slope out of her footprint back into the treeline. The ground before them was sharply inclined, a butte leading up a large hill.
“Climb to the top, then we rest for the night.” Kariwase announced.
Roland looked at the Indians with admiration. They had been hauling those clay tankards for well over four hours now, without complaint. Roland knew that, had his own men been tasked with such a load, he would have been given more than an earful of griping.
Breathing heavily, the men began their ascent. The hill was blanketed in thickets of tall grass and sporadic clusters of scrubby trees, which gave way to bushes and brambles further up the slope. When they reached the summit, Roland’s men tossed their packs aside and collapsed onto the soft grass. The Indians followed suit, braking their sleds and settling down to rest.
Wanting a better view of what lay ahead, Roland clambered up a rock formation some distance ahead and stood, hands on hips, surveying the landscape.
The sight that met his eyes was nothing short of surreal. Forest stretched as far as his eyes could see, a carpet of green scarred by successive impressions on the earth -- each a titanic footprint like the one they had just traversed. The footprints seemed to churn the very fabric of the land, forming a trail that carved through mountains, split forests, and redefined the contours of valleys. Anna’s footsteps were geological events. Where her feet had fallen, towering trees had been reduced to splinters, and rocky outcroppings ground to dust.
As Roland's eyes traced the meandering trail of Anna's footprints, one particular impression caught his attention. A river -- a torrent of water that had etched its path through the landscape over millennia -- had been intersected by one of her gargantuan steps. The natural flow of water had been disrupted, rerouted by the sheer scale of the indentation left behind by her foot. The river's waters had pooled within the footprint, filling it like a bowl, and what had been a flowing waterway was now transformed into an expansive, foot-shaped lake. He could make out how her toes had created individual coves, miniature-lakes within a lake, separated by slender peninsulas that were actually the ridges formed by the spaces between her toes. Her big toe alone had generated a cove that looked deep and wide enough to host a flotilla of ships.
It was humbling, almost humiliating, to witness the extent to which Anna had sculpted the landscape just with the unconscious act of walking. Her simple footfalls were seismic events, altering rivers, forming accidental lakes, leaving behind an indelible mark of her overwhelming power. Her dainty foot had not merely impressed the earth, it had reshaped it entirely in a display of inadvertent casual power.
To think that something as trivial as the underside of a young woman’s slender foot could wield the power to level forests as she walked was deeply unsettling. As Roland’s gaze traveled along the path of destruction Anna had left in her wake, he felt dwarfed in a way he had never felt before.
And there in the distance, cloaked in mist and draped over the mountains, was a sight which made his heart skip a beat.
Anna.
But it wasn’t her. The godlike being he saw looming on the horizon was not the same young woman he once knew. She had become something else entirely.
Anna's colossal form sprawled languidly over leagues of hills, forests, and valleys as though they were simply undulations in a great green carpet. Her gargantuan body aligned with the curve of the Earth as if she were a natural extension of its surface. She was laying on her stomach, facing away from him, nestled against a range of mountains as if they were pillows. Her naked body stretched beyond the scope of what Roland’s eyes could fully encompass, so enormous that she seemed to merge with the earth and sky in a disorienting collision of perspective.
Roland's mind struggled to reconcile the scene before him. It was as if he were looking at the world from the opposite end of a telescope. His eyes were first drawn to her feet, the closest part of her body to him, gargantuan edifices in their own right. The soles faced the heavens like two colossal cliffsides, their texture of delicate whorls writ large on a canvas of flesh. The smooth skin on the bottoms of each foot was subtly darkened by dirt and dust, the consequence of a lifetime walking barefoot. Her round heels rose into the sky higher than any cliff face, and her toes -- each one an individual monolith -- dug into the earth, bulldozing acres of forest as she idly jostled her foot in her sleep, forming heaping mounds of broken trees and soil around each toe.
His eyes traveled up her legs, endless white columns that seemed to stretch for miles, porcelain skin glistening in the sunlight. The round muscles of her calves bulged and undulated with a geography of their own. Her thighs -- huge, wide, and soft -- lay ponderously against the earth, towering above it like two plateaus. Each heavy thigh had rolled over acres of forests, erasing them from existence beneath their unimaginable weight.
Where those monumental legs met, Roland's eyes beheld a spectacle that seemed to compete with the sky itself. Anna’s plump rear, two gigantic white globes that seemed as though they could fully encompass smaller mountains in their curves. Her ass seemed to possess its own gravitational pull, drawing his eyes and holding them captive. Each round buttock, big as the moon itself, dwarfed any geological formation Roland had ever seen or read about, rising higher into the sky than the peaks she lay across. Her ass blotted out the sun, and the shadow cast across the land by the enormity of its round form was a twilight zone, a region where day was perpetually dimmed. The creases under each heavy cheek were deep ravines, dark places where light struggled to reach. Hiking just one of her buttocks would be a day long excursion pushing him to his physical limit. Her ass was not merely large; it was an awe-inspiring marvel of creation rendered in flesh, towering over the world like a dual-peaked Olympus.
Anna had the biggest, roundest ass Roland had ever seen on a woman. Each huge firm cheek would require multiple handfuls to properly hold -- had Anna been normal sized, of course. At her current scale Anna’s massive rump was a continent unto itself, its twin curves horizon-defining, redrawing the very outline of the planet and obscuring the rest of her body from view.
Roland exhaled, the sound scarcely a whisper.
“There she is.”
Kariwase had appeared, silently, beside him. He stood with hands clasped behind his back.
“I don’t understand. How is this possible? How is she… How is she like this?” Roland stuttered. He rubbed his temples, as if it would dispel the mirage which lay before them.
“There is much in the world we do not understand.” Kariwase replied. “The land has charmed her to grow all her life.”
The Indian faced him and cocked his head to the side. “Finally, you see her. Are you satisfied?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t what I imagined.” Roland admitted. He scoffed, taking in the absurdity of the moment. “Not at all what I imagined.”
Kariwase nodded. “We are setting up camp. You must get a good night’s rest.” He put a hand on Roland’s shoulder. “Tomorrow we finish the journey.”
…
Roland returned to the campsite, where the men had already pitched tents and begun to stoke a fire. The embers glowed like miniature stars in the twilight, casting shadows that danced along the treeline. The cozy scene seemed almost whimsical in comparison to the unreality that awaited them just over the hill.
Though sleep seemed an impossible task, Roland knew he had to try. Another difficult hike awaited him on the morrow. He unrolled a mat inside his tent and lay down.
As he drifted off, Anna loomed in his mind’s eye. Giant or not, she was an incredible specimen of a woman. Roland could not help but be smitten by her physical beauty; after all, he was a red-blooded man himself. It was only natural. Roland rolled over on his side, trying to get comfortable. Lost in the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, his mind wandered into the realm of capricious fantasy.
He envisioned them wed, sharing a cottage on the outskirts of the village. A snug bedroom loft above a homey kitchen and glowing hearth. He imagined Anna getting settled for bed, the silky fabric of her white cotton chemise clinging to each ample curve of her womanly body. She was at the nightstand, brushing her flowing tresses in front of their silver mirror, the gentle features of her face looking angelic in the mellow firelight.
He came up behind her and stooped to kiss her neck. She giggled as he nipped at her ear, then she turned to return the kiss, long, warm, and hard. He ran his hands across her body, feeling her softness. He cupped the bottoms of her enormous breasts and lifted them, their warmth radiating through the fabric of her nightgown, as dense and heavy as sacks of flour. He let them slip from his hands and watched them tumble back down, jiggling as they slapped against her tummy with an audible plop, so wide and round that in her seated position they practically filled her lap.
They pulled each other into bed, kissing and laughing. He retrieved the bottle of lavender oil from the nightstand and propped her up on some pillows. His queen. She watched him with tender eyes as he massaged her bare legs with oil, kneading her plush thighs, her calves, the soles of her feet, melting away any tension he found. He lifted a leg over his shoulder and planted kisses along its length, relishing the feeling of her soft skin against his lips, nibbling the inside of her thighs. As he came to the end he suddenly grabbed her ankle and bit her toes, eliciting a peal of laughter and a playful kick.
The temptation had grown too strong to resist. He climbed on top of her, pinning her soft body against the mattress. Anna gave a little cry of surprise and raised her arms, enormous tits sloshing beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown as they settled into this new position. Her juicy nipples poked through the lace.With an almost pious reverence he pulled her huge breasts out of her top, one massive teat at a time, fingers sinking into what felt like acres of pliant white flesh. Anna’s tits were so enormous that instead of sitting separately, like most women, they jostled for space on her chest, slapping against each other, and creating a shifting line of cleavage that took up almost her entire torso. Hanging loose and free, her tits settled into a bulbous teardrop shape against her stomach. He stroked them, marveling at their size, their volume, the spattering of light freckles across the cleavage, the way the milky white bottoms and undersides -- ever so slightly damp with her sweet sweat -- radiated heat.
Her areola were smooth and light pink, big as tea plates. Roland pinched her big nipples, making her gasp. He cupped her breasts from below, their sweet softness overflowing his hands and spilling between his fingers, and jiggled. She smiled, shimmying her shoulders back and forth, causing her giant juggs to wobble even harder for him. He mashed them together with both hands, finding some difficulty in wrangling their soft bulk as they rolled about, and buried his face in her warm cleavage. His vision darkened as her bosom eclipsed the light. Each tit was bigger than his entire head -- by a significant margin. She overwhelmed him entirely. Her cleavage was intoxicating, so soft and warm, filling his senses with the scent of her lavender perfume. He smothered himself between them as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him even deeper into the endless depths of her bosom.
Roland surfaced from the ocean of titflesh only when he could not bear to hold his breath for another second. He pulled her massive right tit towards his mouth, handling it with some difficulty. It was tremendously heavy and took both hands to lift. Anna moaned as his mouth found her engorged nipple. Her hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed him directly into her breast, beseeching him to suck harder. Her boob bulged out on all sides, surrounding his face as he pressed deeper and deeper into its soft mass. He let go, and the huge tit slid back onto her belly. He reached over and pulled her left tit towards him, hoisting it like a sack of flour. She cried out in pleasure as he tended to her other nipple, sucking, licking, pulling, making it grow thick and hard with pleasure.
His manhood was inflamed with desire. He practically tore the nightgown off her, spreading her legs wide. Roland rubbed her pussy, already sopping wet and willing, getting her ready to take his cock. Anna sighed in pleasure, resting her hands on top of her wobbling flesh mountains, grasping onto her nipples, mashing her fingers into her own overflowing flesh. Laying on her back her breasts still bulged over a foot into the air, even as they were flattened under their own weight. He penetrated her slowly, gasping as he felt her velvety womanhood embrace his cock. She moaned as he plowed deeper and deeper inside her, letting her feel every throbbing inch.
Anna’s beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, was lost in the flowing mess of her long hair. He watched her ponderous grumdrop teats slosh back and forth as he pumped harder and harder. She let go of a breast, and its fatty mass surged upwards, hitting her on the chin before flopping down onto the mattress where it lay heavily, wobbling with every thrust. She wrapped her big strong thighs around him, pushing him even deeper inside her. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head, bracing himself against her body, and began to pump harder. Her boobs sloshed about freely, waves of flesh traveling from bellybutton to chin. On the upbeat of his motion they flopped over her neck, obscuring the bottom half of her face. The sight made him even harder. He leaned forward and buried his head in her bosom once more, feeling her giant titties slap against his face to the rhythm of their lovemaking.
He pulled out, and flipped her over onto her stomach. Anna positioned herself on all fours and arched her back, eagerly offering her enormous round ass to him. Without hesitation he mounted her from behind, hands sinking into her ample hips. Her ass pressed up against him, overflowing across his torso as he pounded her pussy. Her huge full cheeks, perfectly round, clapped audibly, jiggling and shaking like mad. He slapped her massive ass like a drum, the meaty impact echoing through the cottage and leaving red marks on the endless expanse of curving womanhood. Overcome with desire he grabbed her ass hard, two big handfuls, feeling her soft flesh bulging between his fingers and overflowing his palms. Even with fingers outstretched, each hand barely covered a quarter of the surface of her cheeks.
Roland could see the sides of both giant tits hanging from her chest like udders, swinging pendulously as he fucked her. He reached down and grabbed at them, feeling their doughy impact against his hands. Anna backed up against him and arched her back even more, dropping onto her elbows, long hair cascading down her back, her giant tits pooling onto the bed, and he plunged even deeper, the force of his thrusts rippling across her plump rear like waves crashing onto the shore.
In a flood of ecstasy he climaxed inside her, filling her with his passion, his love. His burning seed was a manifestation of reverence for the goddess of lust who lay before him. Her body was built for pleasure, and she was all his to enjoy. To worship.
A sound from outside the tent startled Roland from his reverie. He flipped over on his back, pulling his hand from his trousers, ready to feign sleep. But it was only an owl.
Roland lay silently, pulse racing, as the warmth of his fantasy gently faded away.
What a delusional fairy tale. He felt sheepish. The notion of him pleasuring Anna was absurd. He could no more satisfy her than a dust mite could service a woman. Her breasts were mountains, her womanhood an abyss that would swallow him whole. She was as out of reach to him as the sun and stars, and he was a fool to want her.
Roland's mind wandered. What if Anna, at her current immense size, were to venture back to Little Standish?
Her slightest movements were earthquakes. The entire village would fit beneath the sole of her foot. Houses, livestock, and people would all be in constant danger of being inadvertently trampled. No wonder she had exiled herself to the wilderness.
He imagined Anna looming over the village, her sweet face inscrutable as she peered down at the microscopic settlement at her feet, watching crowds of tiny people fleeing from her toes like ants.
How the townspeople would gasp and scream as they watched her approach, the shadow of her form blotting out the sun, darkening the town into a premature twilight. His mind conjured visions of her colossal foot descending towards the town, each round toe bigger than any of their buildings. The villagers would see it first as a shadow, stretching across the ground like a fast-approaching storm cloud. Then the foot itself would appear, filling the sky, her toes eclipsing the sun, her sole a textured landscape of hills and valleys formed from skin and calluses. Mothers would clutch their babes, tears streaming down their faces, as fathers either fell to their knees in prayer or took up arms, as if they could rally the slightest amount of resistance against the whims of the approaching colossus.
The church steeple, which used to reach nearly to Anna’s waist, wouldn’t even clear the top of her smallest toe now. The mere act of placing her foot down would be devastating, flattening houses and smashing cobblestones into rubble. Even were she to tiptoe -- a notion as ludicrous as it was impossible -- the mere air displaced by her movement would rush through the streets like a hurricane, leveling what structures remained and sweeping villagers away as if they were autumn leaves.
He envisioned Anna's hand descending toward Little Standish, palm open, fingers splayed. From the villager's viewpoint her palm would become the sky, a canvas of skin so expansive it defies comprehension.
As her hand met the ground, it would engulf the entire village, encapsulating it in her titanic grasp. The sensation of the earth leaving their feet would be the villagers' first indication of motion. Panic would be instantaneous. Men, women, and children would scatter in every direction, running frantically over the soft, warm terrain of her palm. Some would lose their footing and tumble into the abyss between her fingers, plummeting through the air before spattering around her feet. Slowly, her hand would rise, lifting the entire community skyward as her arm curled back towards her body. Buildings, uprooted from their foundations, would teeter and collapse, livestock would scatter, bleating and lowing in terror, people would clutch their loved ones, huddling together as they rose higher and higher.
Then they would be level with Anna's face, her eyes glittering celestial bodies, each iris a swirling universe of color. For the villagers, the sensation would be vertiginous, the sudden shift in perspective nauseating. Anna would inspect them, her gaze sweeping over the panicking mass of humanity cradled in her hand. Roland imagined the profound helplessness they would all feel, handled like trinkets, their lives completely beholden to the innocent curiosity of a goddess.
How many would die in such a meeting, not out of any ill will on her part, but merely as an incidental consequence of her very existence? Roland knew Anna’s gentle heart would perceive every lost life, every cry of despair -- even if she did not feel or hear them.
Anna had become too large for the world she loved, a world that could no longer house her, could no longer even comprehend her. She was an exile not just from the place of her birth, but from the entire world of mortals. Her self-imposed banishment was a mercy to them all.
Roland shuddered. Why was he here? Why was he seeking her? This entire journey was madness. His thoughts swirled, a vortex of awe and apprehension, until finally exhaustion took him, dragging him into sleep.