I am so glad you asked.

My favorite stories are of a cruel and sadistic giant. For some reason, him doing whatever he wants to the tinies, and enjoying their fear and terror, getting pleasure from destroying them and their world, is so incredibly hot to me. City destruction, nonconsensual, and living, aware, non-chewing vore. The giant coming all over the tiny, using them as a sex toy. The tiny losing their rights. I also like crush, but not as much as vore. I am just fine with the tiny dying.

I love the psychology of it. I love the moment that the tiny learns the giant’s true intentions. When the tiny’s hope that maybe the giant will be gentle gets smashed.

And now, for a confession, that I am a bit shy of admitting here, since it’s such a hard line for so many people:

I have been writing stories on Coiled Fist for a few years now, since I don’t particularly care if the tiny is a man or a woman. Since that site already existed, and already had some wildly sick fantasies on there, I was able to indulge in my grossest fantasy, in excruciating detail, there: I don’t know why. In real life, I totally hate it. But in giant stories, scat, and anal vore, and piss, just turn me on like they have no right to. I am repulsed by it in real life, but it’s in 2 of the 4 stories I’ve put up on CF. I am considering putting them here, but I wasn’t sure if they would be welcome here. I also have 2 stories without scat that I could also post instead.

@blehb that strong ick response is normal when someone asks or forces you into a kink position that you’re not comfortable with. I’ve been there, too.

This is by an artist, most active on DA, named GiantObsession.
Give this comic some love over there if you’re active!

Posting all the pages here with her blessing.

@tiny-ivy

Chapter 4

Sunday, June 22, 2025

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Jessi woke up to the smell of frying bacon. She hadn’t broken her fast in what felt like a week. She stood up, and threw her one spare clean outfit on, before she practically floated on the smell lines from the sizzling bacon, and went down the house’s sunlight-filled hallway, into its slick, modern-looking kitchen.

Adam was at the stove, dancing to a 90’s rock song while cooking. His back was to the hallway, but when Jessi came in, he turned around, and met her gaze with a start, like she had just caught him slacking off at work. He was wearing a tight-fitting white tanktop that hid very little of his broad figure, which looked like the body of an old-fashioned farmer: like a man who had to do manual labor for hours every day, but who also had access to all of the food that he needed, plus a little extra.

“Hope you eat bacon and eggs,” he said, as he placed two portions of thick bacon and bright-yellow-yolked eggs onto two plates. The toaster sprung up four slices of toasted, seedy, whole-grain bread.

“I’d eat anything hot right now. I haven’t had anything but tuna fish, protein bars, and dried fruit for the past 3 weeks.” She caught herself visibly salivating.

“Your boat trip was that long?” he asked.

“I was competing in the Cross-The-Pond,” she replied.

“I’m sorry, the what?” he asked, as they dug into breakfast together. Everything tasted like heaven. This man bought that thick, quality bacon, and he knew his way around a skillet.

“The Cross-The-Pond? The annual solo yacht race from Plymouth, England to Rhode Island, USA? It’s three to four weeks long, by yourself, on the ocean. Windpower only,” she ended. She sometimes forgot that not everyone followed her sport. She tried the coffee. It was rich and dark and hot and amazing.

“Four weeks by yourself? On just a yacht? Isn’t that dangerous?” he looked at her with an expression not unlike that of a little kid speaking to a firefighter.

“Eh, it depends-” she started selling herself short, telling him the lines about GPS phones and beacons that she tells her parents and friends to keep them from worrying about her.

“Now that I think about last night, yes, solo sailing is kind of dangerous. But, I’m a bit of a thrillseeker,” she admitted.

Adam’s eyebrows raised when she said this, like he had just heard someone say something either offensive, or exciting. It was hard to tell at first.

He looked away quickly, and drank a long chug of coffee. He was feigning indifference. She had stumbled onto something that he liked to hear.

If this kind-seeming man was secretly a monster, as her true crime podcasts had warned her about, then he would have been way better at hiding his emotions than this. This man’s every spare thought seemed to seep out onto his face, like he wasn’t aware that he was in the room with someone else.

“You like that I’m a thrillseeker?” Jessi teased.

He chuckled awkwardly before responding. “I guess it reminded me of my most recent girlfriend. She was the opposite. Even moths scared her,” he said, before changing the topic to practical matters.

“Now that I know you’re okay, and fed, what do you need next?”

“I need to tell the race referees what happened to me, and get to Newfoundland. No racers will want to pick me up, so I’ll have to charter my own way. Do you have a boat?”

“Just a kayak, right now. It’s a bit dodgy to take all the way to the mainland. And the motor on my real boat is out, a mechanic is coming out with a replacement part to fix it next week.”

“Do you have a satellite phone, or any internet out here?” She asked.

“No. There’s a stationary radio, in my workshop.”

“Does anyone else nearby have satellite?”

“I’m not just the only person in this house. I’m the only person on this island,” Adam said.

“Oh,” Jessi said. The psycho detector on her mental backburner started ticking again. “Why do you live entirely by yourself?” she finally asked, unable to hide her judgement, in front of such a clearly strange person.

“I am very afraid of being around people,” he said.

“But, you said that you have had a girlfriend.”

“That was before I moved here, years ago. But, this doesn’t matter right now. You need to get on the radio,” he said, standing up. He put both of their dishes in the sink, splashed them with water to soak, and finished his coffee.

She finished her cup, and followed him, through the sun-soaked living room, with a view of the rocky shore below, through another hallway, and into a large room, filled with electronics, power tools, art supplies, and vintage technology. It looked halfway between a mad scientist’s workshop and an artist’s studio.

“I want to clarify something,” Adam said, as he turned on a stationary radio on the edge of the room, and checked that it was working.

“I don’t live here because I dislike being around people. I love people. I miss them terribly. I live here because I am afraid of what happens when I’m around other people. I’m afraid of hurting them.”

Jessi crossed her arms, and stared at him hard. She didn’t even feel it in her feet, but she was inching backwards.

“No – I didn’t try to hurt anyone – it’s. There were two terrible accidents, that I blame myself for, even though cops and doctors and shrinks, and my family, have all assured me, that I didn’t do anything wrong,” he said.

“Nobody was killed – thank god – just a lot of property damage, and some minor injuries. But I can’t stop blaming myself, because I don’t know how to prevent an accident again. And it could be worse, next time.”

The radio had one office chair in front of it for the operator. Adam sat down on the ground next to the chair. He looked down at the corded radio microphone in his hand as he continued speaking.

“My family has enough money to fix lots of problems. They bought this island, and hired an architect to build this house. I’ve been living here for years, now. The only person I see regularly is the fisherman who does weekly supply runs for me, captain Jacques. There have also been a few tourist sailors who have landed and said hello throughout the years.”

“Four sailors, including you.” He looked up at her, with this line. Jessi uncrossed her arms, and sat down on the wall next to him.

She couldn’t imagine that level of solitude for that long. Just three or four weeks at sea left her feeling half-crazy. The only reason she could stand it was her focus on trying to place in the race. Competition kept her going out there.

But this prolonged solitude of his - It explained his rawness. By not spending time with people, he had clearly lost his skills in the subtle arts of acting normal.

“Adam. Nobody can control accidents. That’s why they’re called accidents. It’s not your fault,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He startled at her touch, like he had forgotten what anything other than a handshake could feel like. He moved her hand away, and smiled apologetically, while standing up. Jessi then sat in the radio chair.

“Thank you for saying that,” he said, clearly not believing it. “And sorry. I really said too much. I know I should have saved all that for a therapist,” he said. “I keep on getting distracted. Here. the radio works.” He handed the mic to her.

On the airwaves, Jessi reached the race organizers, who were relieved to hear that she was alive and well, and gave her condolences on the crash of her yacht. The organizers also said they’d contact her family to let them know what happened.

“True Crime Prevention To Do List: Let Outside World Know What Happened To Missing Woman: Completed,” Jessi thought to herself.

Adam then used the radio. His friend Captain Jacque had a weekly run to his island scheduled, with supplies on Wednesdays. As long as Jessi could wait three more days, she could hitch a ride with him back to Newfoundland. Jacque and Jessi both agreed to this.

There was one more thing that Adam had to check before he was okay with this plan: if the two of them had enough drinking water to last until then. He insisted on showing Jessi the drinking water system while he checked the levels. Expecting a big ugly tank, Jessi reluctantly agreed. What else was there to do?

They walked out of the house’s back door, and into a lush, fertile garden, with bed after bed of vegetables, a row of berry bushes, and a flock of a dozen chickens pecking in a fenced-in yard. Next to that was a wetland-looking habitat, with tanks next to it, and a series of pipes connected to the house gutters.

Adam explained that he did all of the back-breaking work of setting up and maintaining this garden and utility area, and that it allowed him to live off the land as much as one person could. He got about half of his calories from the garden, which took year-long labor, including the eggs from the chickens.

The artificial wetland served double duty as a water filter and fish farm. Most of his drinking water came from filtered rainwater. Most of his electricity came from a combination of solar panels and a wave-powered generator that he had engineered himself, all with a diesel generator backup.

This is what the mad scientist workshop surrounding the radio was for: all of the technology and modifications he needed run his own private Public Works and food farm. He admitted that he had a PhD in physics, that he didn’t really use for much, unless you counted fish farming as a physics problem.

Jessi marveled at how Adam had used his clearly brilliant mind to build an entire life around relying on other people as little as possible. Her specialty was Emergency Medicine, not engineering or physics, but she had met enough wickedly smart people to recognize genius when it was in front of her. Unapplied genius, for some bizarre reason, maybe agoraphobia, she wasn’t experienced enough in psychology to really figure it out, but she had a feeling that he was capable of so much more.

Adam checked the water levels in the tanks. The storm had added plenty. Jessi took note of how many vegetables were currently growing. She had several friends with gardens in her home neighborhood in Massachusetts, but this put them all to shame. This was professional-looking.

“This is amazing," Jessi said.”

“Those are just tomatoes,” he said, and started checking the plants for pests.

“Not the tomatoes – everything. The power, the water, the sewer. It’s all by you.”

“You know, it’s just that sustainability trend I’m following. I want to step as lightly on the world as I can.” he said. He found a large caterpillar munching on his tomato plant, and tossed it into the chicken pen.

“This is beyond eco-friendly, Adam. You created your own, little world.”

Jessi took out her phone, which, when on land, she instinctively carried in her pocket at all times, and started framing a picture of the hens crowding around the caterpillar.

“Jessi! Please, don’t take pictures,” he said, with alarm.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to get into it, because I know it makes me sound crazy. But I have an insane online stalker. I have to keep everything about my life, including my garden, and my location, off the internet, to keep me safe. All right?”

Jessi put her phone away.

“I have some watercolors in the workshop, if you want to paint the farm. Just don’t mention what the painting is of online,” he added. When she declined his offer of the painting set, he walked over to the berry bushes, and checked on them.

In the morning sunlight, with his long, dark curly hair and well-trimmed beard, surrounded by berries and flowers that he had somehow grown by himself on this salty spit of rock he called home, offering her a painting set, he reminded her of a Romantic-era painting of a gentleman.

“Who are you,” Jessi said, full of curiosity, and stepped towards him, looking up at him invitingly. He was about a foot taller than her, and something on him smelled like rosemary and black pepper. He stepped away from the berries, and towards her, before meeting her lips with his, timidly kissing her on the mouth, unsure of what she wanted. She kissed him back, harder, and dug her hands into his hair.

He wrapped his arms around her back and placed his hands on the back of her head, kissing her back deeply.

“I ache for you. Will you have me?” he panted, before lifting her up, placing her against a tree trunk, and kissing her deeply again. He then planted kisses down her neck in an orderly line. He placed his hand under her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Please, take me,” she replied, pushing him off of her and moving off of the tree, so she could take off her shirt, and her pants. She had a fit, athletic body, her skin a few shades darker than Adam’s pale color, and a dark, fluffy bush. She grabbed a condom from her pants pocket, and laid down, beginning to touch herself, as she gestured to him with a “come here” motion.

He tossed his shirt to the side, and took his pants off around his impossible-to-ignore erection. As he did this, Jessi admired how the whole of him looked from below, before he bent down towards her pussy. He sucked her cunt masterfully - apparently in his solitude, he hadn’t forgotten how to make a woman cum.

Afterwards, with his thick cock, he fucked her kindly. He fucked her passionately. She fucked him back with fervor and joy. In the remote garden he had built over his years of solitude, the pair of them fucked like it was the only thing that could possibly matter.

I’ve had this urge since my sex drive came around in puberty to just lift or carry people whom I find attractive.

It’s this subconscious urge that doesn’t come around as a result of careful thoughts, it’s just instinctual.

I’ve never been an asshole about touching people, so I only actually do this after asking. I’m not very strong, with a female body type & few muscles, and this is a pretty weird ask, so I’ve only actually been able to do it to a couple of close women friends.

The last two dudes I’ve been with since I’ve started exploring my kinky side were both too heavy for me to carry them, which is frustrating. I was hanging out with a skinnier, shorter man the other day in a friend group, and this urge returned, but our friendship isn’t like that so I’d sooner die than ask him.

I’m asking about this on here because I wonder if other “giants” or switches have this urge, too - if you think it’s part of the domination thing, or part of your size kink.

And of course I love to be lifted, and I’ve asked for that several times from obliging male dates. But I also have this weird urge to lift.

@i-am-insane
Why do I want to shrink? Because I have a fascination with it, and a fetish for it.

I’d rather not psychoanalyze my own pull towards this fetish, because it runs the risk of me overthinking myself away from my sexuality. There is some sexual trauma in my past, but I don’t think it’s tied specifically to my macro/microphilia, because I experienced size fascination in a platonic way before I had anything like sexual or romantic desires.

What I like about shrinking, in general, is the same as what I love about giants: the feeling of being in direct contact with a being so much more powerful than myself. Being overwhelmed. Being outmatched. Feeling awe towards the giant. Big is beautiful, big is majestic, big is almost divine. Big barely has to put any effort towards actions that would take me all day.

Is the giant careful or careless? Kind or cruel? I love both for the same reason: the power of both is overwhelming, and it is a privilege to be able to commune with it in any way.

I do prefer giants compared to being shrunk, but shrinking has a secrecy and a quiet to it that fits more easily into stories , especially about the modern era. An undiscovered giant might live in the middle of the mountains in a medieval fantasy story. But only shrinking lets a giant / tiny interaction happen easily in anonymity in the modern world. Incredible things can happen behind closed doors. Your neighbor or your boss can become a god to you.

@tiny-ivy

Chapter 5

Monday, June 23, 2025:
Early Morning

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After a day full of lust, life story swapping, (mostly from her), being cooked for, and, at her own insistence, helping in the garden, Jessi took the most satisfying shower of her life, and fell asleep early. She woke up in Adam’s bed, right after sunrise. He was snoozing so peacefully, his body wrapped around her, but she knew she couldn’t fall back asleep. She was far too wired, from all the joy and sex and the cheating from yesterday. She decided to get up, and have a look around the rest of the island by herself.

Looking out of the living room’s wide glass window, the sandiest, softest beach of the island was on the left side of the view, while the rocky part of the shore that she crashed into was to the right. There was a short path that went from the front door with the tiki torch path, to this soft beach.

This sandy beach also had a modest boat dock, with a small motorboat, and a bright yellow two-seated ocean kayak stowed upside down, on top of the dock.

Jessi walked past the sandy beach, to the rocks, and sighed at the sight of her ruined yacht. She kept going, up a path that veered uphill and to the right, which lead to a dense forest of evergreen trees. It was a narrow path through the trees, but she found her way, and noticed how cool and peaceful it was up here, with just the sounds of birds and the distant sea shore.

The forest path veered to the left, and she noticed now that it intersected with a row of downed trees. She looked all around her as she went down the path, and realized that there were also patches of flattened ground, also in a straight line about 30 feet wide, going from the house, for hundreds of feet until the end of the path. The path came to a dead end, at a sheer rocky cliff that went straight down into open water. Jessi thought that this line of destruction looked like tornado damage, but she was puzzled, since those really never formed on coastlines. She put it in a mental list of things to ask her host about.

After touring more of the island, Jessi built an appetite for breakfast, and headed back. As she did, she saw the house from the southern side in the daylight for the first time, and noticed a prominent, modern satellite dish, behind an array of solar panels that hid it from the garden side.

“Of course he has Satellite internet,” she thought to herself.

How could a physics nerd live without the Internet? How else could he learn how to garden and farm and run solar panels all by himself? How did she not notice that glaring lie?

And if her host was lying about this. What else was he lying about? Her internal monologue did not give herself a rest. An acidic ball of shame, mistrust, and suspicion formed inside her. Anyone involved who was unlucky enough to speak to her right now was not going to walk away unscathed.

She walked into the house to confront Adam, at the same time that he entered with a wire basket of eggs from the coop. He was grinning when he first came through the garden door, as he saw her moving form in shadow, but as his eyes adjusted to the indoor light, and he took in the expression of anger on her face, the joy drained from his. He put the basket of eggs down on the living room table, next to her charging cell phone, and stood next to the back door.

“I saw the satellite dish,” she said.

“Oh.”

“You remember what you told me yesterday? Do we need to rehash that?”

“I remember.”

“So, you do have Internet here?”

“I do. But it’s not for guests,” he responded. He cleared his throat, and moved to the living room couch to sit down. “Come sit with me, let’s talk this out calmly.”

“I’m staying over here ‘til I want to move elsewhere, thank you very much,” she replied, venom in her voice. She would not let the promise of more attention from this unfairly hot man distract her from the fact that he’s also a shady-as-hell liar.

“Why isn’t your Internet for guests, Adam?”

“Once it comes in from the satellite, a hard line connects it to my computer. I don’t have a WiFi adapter.”

“You could have let me use your computer.”

He let out a short groan, and closed his eyes for several beats.

“I don’t know how to put this in a way that won’t make you angrier,” he finally said, with a carefully even tone of voice.

“Try.”

“I already told you about the online stalkers. They’re real. They’re dangerous. Only I know how to safely use the Internet here without giving them more clues about my location.”

“So you don’t trust me to use the Internet on this island?”

“I study privacy methods like it’s my job. No, I don’t trust someone I barely know with something this vital to my continued freedom and life.”

“Why are you so obsessed with secrecy? Why are you so convinced you’re the target of some insane stalker, with enough resources to track you down to this middle of nowhere island, based on an Instagram photo of a chicken?” She was holding nothing back.

“Other than me, there is one person in the world who knows the answer to that question, and the fact that she does is why my life is now this self-kept prison sentence.” His voice was raising in intensity and anger, and he heard it. He closed his eyes again, and counted to ten. He knew that getting angry never helped an attempt at a discussion. He brought his voice down to an even tone.

“I know I lied to you, but I need you to trust me, when I tell you the following: the value that that piece of information would hold for you, is not even on the same scale – it’s several degrees of magnitude less than - the value of that information staying secret holds, to me.”

The arrogance of him assuming that he knew her mind better than she did, rubbed Jessi the completely wrong way. The shine of infatuation fell off. This man is paranoid. He is conceited. He is out of touch with reality. Given the wrong stimulus, someone with a mental health condition like that could even get dangerous.

“I am sorry I lied about the Internet access. I hate lying, and I’m not good at it, as you see. Just, if you care for me at all, don’t tell anyone about me. I implore you. Forget any of this happened after you leave on Wednesday. And keep this all off the Internet.”

“Or you’ll do what?”

Jessi’s phone was sitting on the living room table, in between them. He stared at it, and hated its electronic guts. He wished that the gadget didn’t exist, wished that the Internet wasn’t so all-powerful, wished it wasn’t so toxic to his continued freedom. She saw him staring at her phone, and she snatched it up.

“Oh NO you don’t!” Jessi yelled. “This is MINE!” She lifted it up, and opened the camera. Adam shielded his face with his arms, but she snapped several photos of him cowering, of his living room, and of the kitchen next to it.

“I wasn’t going to touch your phone,” he said, voice muffled by his arms.

“Sure you weren’t,” she said, and continued taking picture after picture of the inside of his house. She grabbed all of her things in a whirlwind of activity, and put them in her go bag. She ran to the sandy beach, aiming for his kayak, taking pictures behind her as she went.

Him going after her phone was the last straw. If his delusion was all about his existence not getting out, then a predictable conclusion for it would be: kill any witnesses. She wondered if those other sailors who met him even survived their visits.

She was a strong enough kayaker, well-rested enough, and the waves were low enough, she was comfortable rowing a few miles to Newfoundland.

He ran outside, several paces behind her, and desperately shouted after her, “I’m begging you! My life is in your hands!”

He got on his knees, and held his hands in supplication to her.

She turned around, looked at him head-on, and took a zoomed-in photo of him begging, with a perfect view of his face. She then turned back, and got the kayak ready.

The thought of the face photo that Jessi snapped going onto to the Internet sent the blood rushing to Adam’s ears, more than anything else. After years of learning to process his emotions, he could deal with disappointment, rejection, or anger, he could even deal, apparently, with being close to a beautiful, intelligent, and courageous woman without fearing the worst for her. They had slept all night together in his bed, peacefully.

But he couldn’t mentally tolerate the thought of the government agencies and cryptozoology nerds that had been stalking the Jersey Shore Giant since 2006 catching up to him because of an Instagram post with a geotagged photo. He couldn’t handle the thought of becoming a caged freak in some governmental lab. The sound in his ears ramped up to a klaxon volume as his panic built.

He ran with all his strength down the beach, past Jessi and the kayak, up the sandy hill beyond, and into the half-trampled forest path, towards the southern cliff. The terrible growth would happen any second now.

Jessi didn’t like the look of his intense speed, even after she noticed he was heading towards the forest path. She got into the awkwardly long two-seater kayak, and pushed off. She looked back over her shoulder, and was relieved that she didn’t see him anywhere.

She had looked at a printed nautical map on Adam’s desk yesterday, and started rowing north, towards where she remembered as the best current to get to the mainland.

The sound of falling trees came from the south, followed by the loudest splash Jessi had ever heard. She looked behind her, and saw birds flying away from the forest.

All of the natural waves came from the east here, but after a few seconds, a freak wave came from the source of the sound, looking like a tsunami. Jessi paddled into it, and it carried her a few hundred feet north. She watched as the wave broke against the shore, going over the dock, almost capsizing the moored motorboat.

What the hell was that, she thought to herself.

It’s possible that in my single days, I once hooked up with a very tall guy largely because of his size. We met at a music festival so we also had that and art-making in common. But the physical attraction seemed to be more long-lasting on my side than on his, I can tell when I’m not genuinely wanted. So, I didn’t try to force it to last too long.

I mentioned loving his size to him the first night, and he responded coldly. I guess he wasn’t happy with his own body for some reason, I don’t know why.

He was more than a foot taller than I, he dwarfed me in the bedroom. His frame was like hairy steelwork.

His was the face and body I imagined on skyscraper-tall giants in my fantasies for years. Still is sometimes.

The Giant Taxi

(A Sizegate Story)

CW: Vore, MC Death, NSFW, Ownership

Credit to Olo for bringing up the idea of spring break vacationers after I brought up the idea of the Sizegate. Got my brain going just in time for Vore day, 8/8.

Sizegate backstory:

For as long as anyone can remember, a stable portal between a giant and a tiny version of earth has existed in an area of the earth you and I know as London, England. The scale between the two worlds is 18:1.

The portal has only ever been large enough for the tiny people to go through. In ancient days, it was the source of the myths of Gods on the tiny side, and Faeries on the giant side.

In the modern era of science and commerce, it is a bustling port, allowing trade in both directions, and tourists to visit from the small side.

This portal, and the neighborhood it’s in on both sides, is now known as Sizegate.

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Chapter 1:

The train platform in London’s glass-covered Paddington Station was sweltering hot, and crowded. A pack of five fit American women in their mid-20’s were standing in the line for a circular, low-ceilinged train. Vanessa, Georgia, Crystal, Mercedes, and Maria weren’t dressed like business commuters, or even like normal American tourists: they were instead decked out in their finest, sequin-covered, club-wear, including spaghetti-strap dresses which could be mistaken for long t-shirts, that barely covered the bottom of their ass-cheeks.

Every man traveling with his wife who glanced their way tried to avert his eyes from the sight.

They had had a good night’s rest in London, and a few drinks already, and were overall, ready to party down, but one of them couldn’t help but bring up a topic that the four bridesmaids had been wondering about their bride, the whole trip over from their home state of Ohio.

“Vanessa, we could have gone anywhere for your bachelorette. You know we’re good for the travel. Why did you pick Bigside?” Georgia asked.

“You can’t say it’s the weather. England is rainy all the time,” Crystal chimed in.

“You’re just getting cold feet because you’ve never been,” Vanessa responded.

“None of us have, including you! Because none of us have a deathwish!” Georgia said.

“Girls. Who is the bride-to-be here?” Vanessa raised her voice, and smacked her high heel on the train station floor. “You all need to get a grip on yourselves. You are such suburban wusses. I lived in New York City for three years. I am not afraid of anything.”

“You were in a luxury apartment,” Mercedes responded, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, you have to have had a special reason to want to go here,” Maria said, pouring the suggestion on thick.

“All aboard, Bigside,” the conductor called out. The girls piled onto the tightly-packed train.

“What do you mean, Maria?” Vanessa responded, icily.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed that Dave has a whole foot on you,” she responded.

The other three bridesmaids giggled. Vanessa turned scarlet. The normally-confident, smooth-talking, blonde Real Estate Agent started stumbling over her words.

“I’ve just always thought it was – okay so – I just really liked Jack and the Beanstalk as a kid, okay? So it’s been a lifetime dream to meet a giant,” she said.

The bridesmaids started giggling, before Maria guffawed.

“Oh you just want to meet a giant? Like have a little chit-chat?” she teased.

“Yeah, it’s just like, an intellectual interest, okay? It’s no big thing!”

 “I don’t know, Vanessa, I’ve heard it’s a pretty huge thing,” Georgia said, holding her hands out in a gesture like she was giving head to a giant dick.

The bridal party absolutely lost it. Maria started crying. Their laughter was so loud, the passengers around them plugged their ears. Vanessa joined in. Her giant fetish being out in the open for the first time was a relief. Just in time for their train ride to take them to meet the real thing.

Once the train passed through the glowing, crackling Sizegate, it entered Bigside. The scenery was a letdown, since the train tracks go straight from the portal into a covered tunnel. But when the women exited the train, they immediately noticed that the floor was shaking. There were constant rumbling sounds coming from above them. The conductor, and most of the tourists, didn’t react.

“First timers?” a chubby Australian tourist asked them, laughing. “Those are giants,” he added. “You get used to it. Sort of.”

“Remember to avoid mixed-size areas except in controlled and certified settings. Please proceed directly to the Giant Taxi Pickup for transport to your next destination. The historic Tiny Tunnels are unmaintained, and mixed street surfaces are not suitable for tinies,” a loudspeaker announcement crackled. “Do your part to make your vacation safer!”

The announcement repeated in 5 more languages, as the bachelorette party walked through more airport-terminal-like tiny-only tunnels, following signs for the Giant Taxi Pickup area.

They came to a long stretch of the Port’s Tiny Tunnel that was constructed out of giant-made bulletproof glass. There was a plaque at the start of it.

“Giant Acclimation Viewing Area

Please take a moment to observe the local inhabitants of Bigside before you proceed to the street.

If this view is too unnerving, return trips on the Sizegate Limited are free of charge, pending proof of a recently-arrived incoming trip. Remember: Do your part to make your vacation safer!

- Sizegate Port Authority”

The five women looked up and gathered sights to mentally connect to the constant rumbling they had been hearing. They had almost convinced their instincts that it was construction noise or The London Underground beneath their feet, but no, the ceaseless earthquakes were from the footsteps of hundreds of giants who were walking to and fro in what looked like a gargantuan version of Paddington Station.

Each of the random passersby giants was the size of a seven-to-ten-story building back home. Any one of them could crush any of them under their feet and not even notice it.  Georgia started shaking.

A family of three giants stopped their movement, and looked into the glass tunnel. The son pointed at the group, and said, “Fairies!”

The father and school-aged son moved forward, crouching down.

“No, son, those are tinies,” he corrected. “Fairies are just in the storybooks.”

“But they’re so sparkly,” the kid added.

“Well, they’re pretty tinies,” the dad explained.

The billboard-sized faces of the two giants stared at the women. They stood still out of instinct.

Except for Vanessa, who waved, and stepped forward.

“Aww, he’s just a kid,” she said, singsong.

Out of nowhere, the son slammed on the top of the tunnel. It was so loud, the women were convinced they were about to die, and all of them were knocked to the ground by the vibrations. The thick, giant-made-glass held tight.

“Steven! What are they teaching you at school? It’s seven years bad luck to hurt a Tiny,” the father scolded, and dragged the kid back to the mother. The father looked behind him one last time, and winked at the tiny women, “Especially the pretty ones,”  before the family moved on.

Georgia stood up, and vomited. She then gingerly wiped her mouth with a makeup remover wipe, and turned around. She took off her heels and ran as fast as she could towards the return trains to Smallside.

“Love you girls, but fuck this! I’m out!”

(To be continued…)

@tiny-ivy

Chapter 2

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Not deterred by the vibe-killing party-foul of the most anxious of the bridesmaids, the rest of the bridal party continued their march to the street exit, arm in arm, steps in sync. As soon as the Tiny-sized automatic doors opened, hot, loud air hit the four women, and they staggered back into the quiet of the Tiny Tunnel to put in their earplugs.

“Good thinking with these, Vanessa,” Crystal said.

“This is going to be really intense, but I’m excited,” Mercedes added.

They all hooked their arms once more, and marched forward. The automated doors opened for them again, and the eerie, oversized shapes moving all around them that they had seen in the glass tunnel indoors were now all around them, but louder, darker, and bigger, as unfathomably huge cars and busses were now behind the layers of stomping, giant people. One shoe with a stiletto heel as tall as they were stomped right in front of the women, and they unhooked their arms, scurrying backwards.

“Sorry I missed you, loves!” A giant woman in a navy blue Sizeport uniform and boots said, before shouting to the giants around her, “Mind the slight visitors!” She was holding a bright red stop sign the size of her head, covered in blinking red lights, that she held above the women like a high-up umbrella, marking them as a moral hazard to any giants who were passing by this Tiny Tunnel exit.

“The Certified Giant Taxis are just this way, girls,” she added, and just a few of her steps away, there was a wide, sturdy steel tower that went up to her-chest-level, also covered in blinking red lights. The women ran to the tower under her stop sign, and got in the queue behind dozens of other tiny people of all genders, visiting from around the world. They picked their preferred type of taxi on a kiosk, waited a few more minutes, and then got in an elevator that took them 6 stories up.

“Male taxi, ready,” the giantess with the stop sign announced.

The women left the elevator, and walked a few feet from its door to a second set of sliding doors, which lead to a cushy, carpeted cabin with two rows of four chairs that looked like roller coaster seats covered with leather. The back wall had a black light shining on geometric patterns, but if you counted the open glass doors, the other three walls were all see-through.

“Welcome to your Certified Giant Taxi!” An overly perky woman explained on a video screen on the back wall. “Please buckle up, and stay seated for the whole journey! The red lights you see above you are video cameras, for your safety! The giant you’re riding on today is also equipped with body cameras on their person, so there’s nothing to worry about!”

The women buckled themselves in, with chest and lap harnesses. As soon as they did so, the clear doors in front of them shut, and more machinery whirred around them. Air conditioning blasted, and loud pop music started playing. After a loud thunk, the room they were in lurched backwards, and a loud, live voice boomed at them from above and behind them.

“Evening ladies, where are you off to tonight?”

The voice vibrated the amped-up women better than any battery-powered gadget ever could. A sun roof opened up above their chairs, and the bridesmaids could now see the huge, cheerful face of a blonde, clean-shaven, giant man, who seemed to be about their age. The giant then stepped sideways, out of the way of the busy loading tower, rocking and bouncing the passenger cabin strapped to his chest with each movement.

“We’re going to ‘Jack’s Escape!’” Vanessa shouted, thrilled.

 “Good taste, friends,” the giant responded, and started walking that way.

The other women were still getting over their surprise at learning that they had willingly stepped into an inviting-looking room whose back wall was actually padded fabric covering an enormous man’s chest.

“Do you think the taxis on the giantesses have no back wall so the guys can see their cleavage?” Maria mused.

“Oh, yeah, some of the Uncertified ones do. Gets a little sweaty in those, I hear,” the giant replied. The bridal party giggled, the ice finally broken, and enjoyed how smooth his pace became once he got into his stride.

They rode on for a few minutes, staring out the clear walls at the huge urban night. Distant skyscrapers broke their brains if they tried to fathom them, but the closeby sights of the giant crowds bustling past their ride were much more interesting to watch.

When they got to the nightclub, after they paid the taxi fare, the cabin they were in jerked roughly, as their giant driver unlatched it from his chest, grabbed onto handles, and moved it down onto the ground. He then let them out directly in front of the two-sided nightclub’s Tiny entrance.

He was being careful, but it took an incredible amount of skill, that he didn’t have, to match the mechanical smoothness needed to make the descent totally comfortable for his passengers.

“Have fun, girls!” he said with a lilt, and walked away.

“The loading tower makes that last part more comfy, but it’s only at the Port,” Vanessa apologized to her friends, as they gathered up their sense of balance outside of the club.

“Whatever! Vanessa, I am not complaining, this is your night. Let’s get some thimble drinks!” Mercedes said, and the four women walked into the Tiny side of the 20-tiny-story tall nightclub, going straight for the bar.

The bottom floor of the nightclub was like every other nightclub the girls had been in, with scads of normal-sized patrons, a normal-height ceiling, loud music, and a VIP lounge in the back. The girls got a deeply underpriced sangria that was served in a giant thimble, the size of a punch bowl to them. There were thick-skinned pieces of orange pulp the length of their hands floating in the drink, but the friends were too busy dancing, getting trashed, taking group selfies, and singing along to their favorite tracks to get caught up in these details.

“Girls, you gotta check this out,” Maria said after returning from a bathroom trip. The four followed her to a blue-lit elevator bank, and read the mega-Club’s directory.

“Techno floor, hip-hop floor, 80’s floor, so?” Vanessa said.

Maria pointed to the sign for the 6th floor.

“Mixed Size Balcony!”

Vanessa’s eyes opened wide with excitement.

“We’re so doing that!”

The women got into a crowded elevator, which stopped at every floor, blasting them with a different type of music at each stop. They were the only ones who got off at the Mixed Size Balcony, and they immediately saw how this floor was different.

There was no sound system blasting on this floor, rendering it eerily quiet compared to the rest of the club. This room was three stories tall, with a tremendous glass panel covering the entire half-mile length and 3-story height of the wall that separated the small and big sides of the club. The Balcony was at the height of the middle of the giants’ bodies, the same convenient grabbing height as the giant bar counters nearby.

The women walked forward, mesmerized at what they saw through the glass.

The movements of the giants while they were walking on the street, as wild as it had been to watch from the comfort of their Giant Taxi, was nothing compared to their view of giants tearing it up on the dance floor. The crowd was a mix of younger and middle aged people, but they were all clearly having a great time. There was a glare of light from the balcony that washed out their view of the dark room from this far back, hiding some details.

The music from the giant side was coming through the glass, at a lower volume, low enough for the girls to speak to one another.

“They shouldn’t be able to shake their huge bodies that fast. They have all the strength on us, but they also have all the speed?” Mercedes said with tipsy logic.

Vanessa giggled. “Yeah those stories about giant slayers where the giant is a slow idiot, and the hero just runs around them… we wrote those to make us feel better about ourselves. It’s really no contest.” She hiccupped.

The sound of the giant dance music got louder for a moment as a small door in the glass opened up, and a group of ten college-aged men walked onto the balcony. The last man held it open for them, but Crystal shook her head no.

“Wow.” Crystal said. “I think I need tequila to actually go out there. Shots!”

“Shots!” the other three agreed, and they went to this floor’s crowded, carpeted bar. After the round, they walked out onto the balcony themselves.

The women were immediately bathed in extremely loud dance music, and orange light, from bright retail-lighting lamps installed right above their open-air, steel and wood balcony, which went on for hundreds of feet. On the giant dance floor below them, there was a giant velvet rope around the balcony, keeping the giants from accidentally knocking into it while dancing.

Every other space and experience so far had been so carefully controlled, only allowing Certified Giants to interact with them, but this was different. This was a space where the women could choose how close to get to the giants.

A beautiful, middle-aged giant woman dressed in tight jeans and a tube top showing off her ample cleavage walked through the velvet rope area, and looked over all the tinies. None of the bridesmaids were particularly bisexual, so they stood still, trying to draw as little attention as possible, and stared, as the giantess plucked one of the college boys off of the balcony as casually as she was picking a flower.

The boy screamed from being moved so quickly, but as soon as the giant woman stuffed him into her cleavage, he cheered, his dream come true. As the giantess walked away, the college boys rooted for him, as loud as a crowd at a football match.

“They look lively,” a giant, fit man dressed in a mesh tank top said as soon as the giantess left. His left arm was around the shoulder of another giant, fit man with sparkling earrings and a white crop top that showed off his six-pack abs.

“Sure,” the crop top partner said with a bored tone, and the mesh shirt giant reached for the crowd of straight college boys. They screamed and scattered, running to the left and right, bumping into the bridal party, but there was, as Vanessa said, no contest between giants and tinies. The giant man easily grabbed two of the boys in one hand, and walked away. The captured college boys were screaming the entire time until they went out of earshot from the bridal party.

“Maybe we should leave,” Crystal said.

“Maybe the next one will be a hot, straight guy,” Vanessa said, looking into the crowd, trying to get the attention of anyone who looked right. Her tiny, sparkling, well-lit movements caught the eye of a cute, bearded, straight-looking man in a football team fan uniform and tight jeans. He walked into the velvet rope area, and waved flirtily at the tiny ladies, before turning around and bringing his high-heeled, plain-looking wife into the velvet rope area with him.

The bridal party did not want to get any closer to any giant wife, and ran indoors, right as the huge couple made it over to the balcony.

The girls regrouped over a round of club sodas, trying to sober up a little, realizing they still needed to keep their wits about them. This was very different than flirting at the same sized club. It was literally impossible to say, “no thanks.”

They were close to the college boys, who were talking about the fate of their fallen comrades, very loudly.

“I’ve been here before. They ain’t allowed to take them out of the club,” one of the college boys said, with a heavy Scottish accent. “Bouncer’s got a tiny detector at the door and everything.”

“Okay but have you never talked to a gay guy? You have any idea the sort of stuff they get up to in the club bathroom?”

“May lord have mercy on James and Mohammad,” another boy said, and they all made the sign of the cross on themselves.

“Amen,” the rest said.

“And may I have the same fate as Richie next time,” another boy said, and the group got back to jovial nonsense.

The bridesmaids moved to a quieter table, and continued their own conversation.

“Girls, I know what to do. It’s expensive, but I’ll get the bill. There’s this club called ‘The Huge Embrace.’ They’re all 100% Certified and trained giants, men and women, but it’s so expensive because they’ve got a paper trail, and this special equipment so you can have all kinds of fun, safely. And you pick who you want to be with.”

The other women just looked at Vanessa, unsure.

“…You want to hire a giant gigolo?” Maria asked.

“I looked this next place up, they have a 100% safety rating, and amazing reviews,” Vanessa said, right on the edge of whining.

“This is my last chance to do something like this,” she finally brought out the Bride card.

“All right, Vanessa. Let’s get in a Giant Taxi and head on over,” Mercedes relented. “I didn’t know until this trip, Van, I never watch this kind of stuff, but I think I might be into this, too,” she added.

The other two in the group were still making up their minds.

“Come on girls, it will be a spectacle, if nothing else,” Mercedes added, until Crystal and Maria agreed.

“Okay, but all of you, don’t tell anyone that I went with you to a giant whorehouse,” Maria said.

“It’s not really about the sex. It’s based on this thing in Japan called a Hostess Club…” Vanessa started, and didn’t stop until the end of the elevator ride.

The four of them paid their tab, and headed to the Giant Taxi pickup area outside of this club.

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(Author’s Note: I gotta cite my sources - the idea of a giant Host Club was yoinked from a @Jitensha comic! One of my favorite things!)

@i-am-insane oh, dude. Cuddling would be the best. Hands down!

Being lifted in his iron-strong yet gentle hands, put on a shoulder, kept in a chest pocket. Snuggling against his ear, or just resting on his chest as we’re falling asleep, his heart beat hammering beneath me, like absolutely nothing else - as loud and as strong a vibration as a huge animal pushing against the edges of its enclosure, but as comforting and ambient as the sound of an old house settling.
His breathing, a sound like wind but with the rhythm Nd movement of a sea shore crashing.
His warmth, no heater needed for me on the coldest nights.
I write wild, sexy and evil stories on here, but the average fantasy I think of in my day to day is more about this.

@giant-me
This definitely isn’t true for me.
My kinks and my romantic side are mostly separate. The part of me that likes real-life romance and romance fantasies is just a different part of me than the part that is into nonconsent fantasies.
It’s like one’s my libido and one’s my heart.
I have absolutely no idea why I’m into cruel giant scenarios. Maybe it’s some twisted part of my brain where the age-old, amoeba-deep don’t-get-eaten instinct is turned into a get-eaten impulse?
Where my kinks come from don’t HAVE to make sense. I don’t really have faith in Freud at all, he had a lot of dumb ideas about the subconscious that have no basis in science, so the idea that anyone with violent ideas secretly wants to be violent just does NOT ring true to me.
I come more from the cognitive behavioral therapy side of self-care: if it isn’t causing me problems, I don’t care, and where the thoughts come from doesn’t really matter, as long as they aren’t damaging me or others.
I know I’m talking more from the sub side, so I’m speaking from a more morally ‘defensible’ position, but the idea that this isn’t a hidden real desire is as true for doms as it is for subs.

For example, my nonsonsent fantasties in this space often include the main character dying, or being trapped. In real life, I would fight tooth and nail, with every fiber of my being, with inner strength I am not even aware of, to stay alive and to avoid being trapped / imprisoned.

I think that if you’re a dom, you have to let go of the guilt that comes with that. Part of that is by not trying to tie your dom fantasies to real-life justifications - don’t psychonalyze this part of yourself, because it’s unscientific and just a detailed form of self-hatred.
We don’t really know why we’re kinky in this bizarre, fantasy way. As long as you only play with this fantasy with consenting adults who are also into it, it truly doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s not some glimmering id sitting at the base of your brain wishing it could lash out based on previous ego injury. That’s just a lingering fear of yourself.
You’re good. Yes, you’ve experienced rejection, we all have. That isn’t why you have this kink.

Synopsis:
Arturo is a manager at a Wendy’s. He needs a hobby, with how stressful customer service can be. (Especially with the way certain types of customers act.) So, he took up making magic curses in his free time.

Tags, for mobile users who can’t see the tag menu:
vore, torture, tiny, snuff, shrunken woman, shrinking, non-con, handheld, giant, entrapment

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            Arturo looked at the line of customers in front of him, and his heart sank. The line looked like it would never end. It even reached to the door. The lunch rush is why he drinks at night.
            “How can I help you?” he said, again and again. The customers told him what they wanted. He punched the orders into the register. He took their payment and he made change. Again and again.
            Office worker: Spicy chicken sandwich. Construction worker: Pretzel bun burger meal #3. College student: #7, hold the mayo. Retail worker, wearing a uniform from the Home Depot down the road: Strawberry pecan salad.
            The masses of customers blurred together in his minds’ eye. Arturo didn’t have the mental space to even tell one apart from another, and he didn’t care. He focused on the performance of the busy fry cooks and food preparers behind him, and the line of orders neatly coming into and out of the kitchen. He wasn’t just a cashier, he was the shift manager, so it was his responsibility to make sure everything ran smoothly.
            Arturo started to see the stream of customers and orders fall into place on the register screen and in his minds’ eye. He could handle this. He was on top of things.
            Right as he thought this, she walked up to his register.
            She was a middle aged, slightly chubby woman with a blonde haircut that almost covered her forehead, but was buzzed in the back. She was wearing high-waisted jeans and a frilly pink blouse, with a matching pink crystal earring and necklace set. She had a pair of Oakley sunglasses on, even indoors. She smelled like essential oils, even from several feet away at the cash register. She already had a sour look on her face before she started saying the order.
            “Hello there, sir. Can I please get a #6, medium, with a diet Dr. Pepper. And could you sub a side salad for the fries? I know it’s extra, don’t you start that with me.”
            “All right,” Arturo said, carefully typing her order in. He could already tell that she was itching to complain about anything he did even slightly wrong, so he made sure to enter everything exactly as she said. He repeated it back to her to confirm, something he didn’t do with most customers.
            “Yes, that’s right, hon. Thank you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping with false sweetness.
            When she left to the side to wait for her order, Arturo breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. He got back to the rest of the still-long line. He could see the end of it now. It ended five feet from the front of the door.
            Someone dressed like a lawyer, baked potato with bacon. A pair of cops, a pair of #5’s with cokes. A little kid and their doctor parent, a chicken finger kid’s meal, and a Caesar salad, diet sweet tea.
            A few minutes passed, and then a food preparer from the back put the problem woman’s order onto the pickup counter. To be sure everything was right, Arturo double checked the ticket, before calling out her order number.
            “136?” he called.
            She didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to have the receipt in her hand. She was staring at her phone.
            “Excuse me, ma’am?”
            No response.
            “Excuse me, ma’am,” he tried getting her attention again. “Order with #6 medium, Diet Dr. Pepper, Salad subbed for fries?”
            She looked up from her phone, and quickly grabbed the paper bag. She opened it up, and started dissecting the bacon ranch chicken sandwich, blocking the way for other customers to get to their ready orders.
            “Excuse me? Can I speak to the manager?” she said.
            “How can I help you?” Arturo replied.
            “No, the manager,” she responded. “There’s a problem with my order, and I need whoever is in charge of this location to fix it, and to educate whoever is responsible.”
            Arturo’s face flushed. Who does she think she is? The lady of a manor talking down to her butler?
            “Ma’am, I am the manager -”
            “Don’t MA’AM me!” she yelled now, aghast. “Your disrespectful attitude right there has to face consequences. I will call corporate and report you, boy.”
            “Boy”? Did she really call him the word that racist white people use against black people when they are afraid of being caught on video saying the “n” word? Only one of Arturo’s four grandparents was black, two were Honduran, one was white, but did she really care about such details? He didn’t look white, so he was caught in her stream of slightly racist verbal venom.
            Arturo breathed out. Irate customers like this are part of the job. It is his job to keep his cool.
            “What seems to be the specific problem, miss?” Arturo said, forcing calm into his voice. Boiling inside.
            “I specifically asked for no ranch on the sandwich. And it’s covered in ranch,” she complained.
            Arturo rewound the action in his head. This was not true. She mentioned no substitutions or requests other than the salad when she ordered.
            “I’m so sorry for that mistake. Allow me to get you a new sandwich,” he said, and took the old one from her hand. He threw it away, and went to the sandwich assembly area, quickly grabbing a new base.
            “THANK you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping poison.
            “Now, I don’t tip, but here’s a free lesson, kid,” she continued, very loudly.
            Arturo was 28.
            “Dumb mistakes like this are why you’ll be stuck in a dump like this, frying chicken and baking potatoes, for the rest of your life. If you don’t learn to fix your listening problem, and your awful attitude towards me, you’ll wish that I got you fired from here. Because I can do that. I’ve done it before. I just have to call corporate and tell them what happened here.”
            Arturo was originally planning on just making a new bacon ranch chicken sandwich, (hold the ranch) for her, and moving on, but, that latest tirade sent a flash of anger straight through his body. It reminded him of the curse potion that he kept in his pocket. The one that he made on a full moon a few weeks ago.
            As Arturo sprinkled the thin, clear liquid onto the new chicken sandwich, he mumbled the curse that goes with casting the spell. He wrapped the piping hot sandwich in foiled paper and handed it back to the problem woman.
            “Here you go,” he offered to her, with his best customer service grin on his face.
            “Thank you,” she replied curtly, and checked the sandwich for the dreaded ranch dressing again. “This will do. Try harder next time,” she was compelled to add.
            Even though the line was still long, Arturo spent a precious half-minute watching her, to keep track of where she was going. She walked across the street to a small park and sat down at a bench. Arturo noted the exact bench.
            Thanks to his coworkers picking up the slack after one got back from their break, the remaining line only took another 15 minutes to get through.
            “I’m going to take my lunch now, Grace. Can you cover me a little early?”
            “Of course,” his youngest and most capable employee responded.
            Arturo washed his hands, tapped his code into the timecard system for a lunch break, and left through the employee exit in the back. He walked past the dumpsters and grease trap, and made his way to the front of the store’s parking lot. He couldn’t wait to see what was waiting for him at the park across the street. He jaywalked, and jogged to the back of the bench that he had seen the problem woman sit down at.
            He slowed his pace, and looked carefully at each place he put down his greaseproof Doc Marten workboots. He didn’t want to crush her like a bug under his shoes, unexpectedly.
            He saw what looked like the remnants of a strange disappearance on the bench. There was a frilly pink blouse lumped on top of jeans, and a purse and smartphone sprawled to the left and right. A pink crystal earring set and necklace were neatly placed on top of the blouse.Behind the purse, there was a crumpled bag from the fast food restaurant that Arturo managed. There were empty leather wedge heels beneath the bench, standing empty.
            He stepped closer, and a subtle spark of movement caught his eye. It was the problem customer, now a tiny woman, just two inches tall, waving her arms and shouting for help, jumping up and down on the top layer of the blouse. She had shrunk out of her clothing - she was stark naked.
            Once she noticed that his gaze was on her, she stopped shouting, and made shade with her hand as she looked up at him. His body was backlit by the sun, so she couldn’t see his face at first. But she could smell the familiar grease of the restaurant that made the meal she was just eating a few moments ago.
            Arturo shifted slightly, and his frame cast a shadow that surrounded her body. She could see him clearly. Once she recognized his face and uniform, she stood frozen, terrified. After a moment, she shouted, meekly.
            “Listen-”
            Her voice sounded like a tiny squeak to him. He slowly bent down to get closer, and smoothly turned his ear towards her. She could smell his braided hair’s moisturizing product from this close. His ear was taller than her.
            “I’m sorry about our disagreements before. Please, young man, can you help me find a doctor to fix this?”
            Arturo said nothing. He turned his head back towards her, he smiled his best customer service smile, and with the speed and precision of a snake bite, his hand plucked her off of the clothing pile. He brought her to his eyes and took in the sight of her for a moment, chuckling slightly.
            She looked into his dark brown eyes, and saw nothing but malice in his expression. She felt dizzy from the momentum of being moved around so quickly. He enjoyed the feeling of her nude little peach-colored body, which instinctively grasped onto his brown thumb like a huge roller coaster safety bar, as his index and middle fingers supported her in the back. He could feel each of her tiny squirms against the sensitive flesh of his fingertips.
            In one smooth motion, Arturo placed her in his white, button-up, manager uniform shirt’s embroidered chest pocket. The fast food company’s logo decorated the front of the square of fabric, and it now looked slightly lumpy.
            “Now, stay hidden. Pop your head out of there, and I drop you into the deep fryer,” Arturo said, and felt a rush of excitement course throughout his body.
            The tiny woman could feel his heartbeat’s fast rhythm, as she tried to adjust to her cloth prison. She could get somewhat comfortable if she leaned against the bottom front of the pocket, but his enormous body’s heat was overwhelming on this summer day, and all she could see from her vantage point, through the straight, starched fabric at the top of the pocket, was the bottom of his chin, and sometimes, his nostrils.
            She breathed deep, trying to calm a panic attack, and noticed with disgust that his shirt smelled like a combination of fabric softener, and the permeating stink of fryer grease.
            Arturo gathered her old, normal-sized clothing, and shoved it into his backpack. It barely fit on top of his other things. He took her phone, smashed it underneath his boots, and threw it away in a park trash can. He put her wallet into his bag, wanting to not leave any evidence of her identity, and dropped the rest of her purse into a drainage ditch. He walked back across the street, through the parking lot, past the dumpster and grease trap, and back into the restaurant.
            He was grinning like he had just had an amazing first date.
            “What’s going on, Arturo?” his coworker Jesse said, smirking.
            “What?”
            “That grin on your face, bro. You got a nice pic from some new girl on your lunch break?” he held out a “congratulations” high five, teasing him on his lack of prowess.
            Arturo laughed, and met the high five. He followed it up with a brief secret handshake and smirked back.
            “Nah, I did meet this cute little chica in the park, though. Think we might be able to get real close, after my shift.”
            “Ooh woow, boss bro getting laid tonight! Ha!” Jesse laughed, sure that Arturo was just making this up.
            “Yeah, yeah. Back to the fryer, Jesse,” Arturo said, and took his place back at the register.
            “Sir, yes sir,” Jesse responded, clearly stoned out of his gourd.
            Throughout this whole conversation, the tiny woman felt like she was going to go deaf from how loud Arturo and the giant Jesse were to her miniscule ears. Every time he spoke, the chest she was resting on resonated like the loudest jet engine. She covered her ears, until they began ringing. She tried to think of how to escape, but her thoughts were clouded by her suffering. This was already unbearable. She let out a tiny whimper.
            Arturo’s shift lasted for another 10 hours. He went from the cash register line, where the tiny woman was deafened by his constant, repetitive talking, to supervising the workers in the kitchen during the dinner rush. He shouted directions at his employees from across the kitchen, and the tiny woman’s ears would ring. Arturo even got up to the grill and frying stations himself for several periods.
            The heat from the cooking elements emanated to Arturo’s chest, and combined with his body heat, it made the tiny woman in his shirt pocket drift in and out of consciousness. She felt like she was slowly roasting in a very loud oven. Sometimes, everything would go tunnel-like, and then black. And then he’d shout again, and she would startle awake, resentful of the sound again.
            This entire time, Arturo was walking with a light step, and laughing at more of his young employees’ dirty jokes than normal. He was giddy, just from how thrilled he was at knowing that he had this fucked up little secret in his shirt pocket.
            She was right on top of his left pectoral, the whole time he was working, without anybody suspecting a thing. When he’d move in certain ways, he’d feel the slight tug on his chest from the weight in his pocket, and he’d be again reminded of her: helpless, trapped, completely at his mercy.
            It did feel like an evil sort of first date, but it was with someone who had such haughty contempt for him when they met earlier in the day.
            After the dinner customers trickled out, it was Arturo’s job to close up the shop. A few employees stayed for about an hour, closing up the kitchen for the night, throwing away unused food, turning off the griddles and fryers, wiping all the metal surfaces with bleach-soaked rags. Arturo locked shut the drive through window and the front entrance doors, and flipped on the neon “closed” sign over the driveway. He turned out all of the lights, leaving only a couple of emergency fire safety bulbs on.
            He counted the register and filled out his daily digital report, and emailed it into his regional manager.
            With all the customers and other employees gone, the tiny woman’s captor had finally stopped talking. She was lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, and by his repetitive, gentle motions as he finished his computer work and cleaned a few of the surfaces in the front of the store. He always did one last pass with the cleaning rag in the dining room after he had the place all to himself.
            He put the cloth away, and washed his hands, again. He picked up an extra large soda cup from next to the soda machine and reached into his chest pocket.
            The tiny woman was woken from a nightmare by the feeling of a gigantic pair of fingers gripping her gently, and before she knew she was even awake, she had been deposited at the bottom of the wax-lined paper cup.
            She looked at the round, bright white sides of this new trap. Reality set in, and she cried out in anguish.
            “This is really happening,” she yelled, and sat down at the edge of the cup. Her legs reached the center of the cup when she sat at the edge, but the top was impossibly far away for her to climb to. As she looked at this, she saw that enormous brown face looking down at her. His expression was hard to read - she couldn’t tell if he was excited or angry.
            “Please. Let me go. Please, make me big again.”
            “So you can treat me and everyone else who works at a job like mine like garbage, again?” Arturo said.
            “I’ve learned my lesson, sir,” she shouted.
            “Maybe I should throw you in the garbage. You might survive in there, eating unwanted and rotten food, until the commercial trash truck comes 3 days from now, and crushes the entire block. If you’re clever enough, you might even escape the slippery-walled dumpster. If you made it down to the ground from there, you could then be eaten by the crows that live in the parking lot. I saw one eat a rat, once.”
            “What do you want?” she cried out.
            “I want one less entitled, stuck up, sadistic asshole like you in the world,” Arturo said. “You Karens are like time traveling slave masters - trying to treat everyone who works a worse job than yours like your personal servants. It’s the modern world, chica, we’re all in a broken, late capitalist system, and my job has nothing to do with my intelligence, my skill, or my worth as a human being. It’s just fucking economics. Your hateful mindset doesn’t fit in anymore. Read the damn room.”
            “Here, your favorite,” he added, as he moved the cup to the spout of the machine. He tapped a button, and a jet of fizzy brown liquid fell into the cup, with industrial speed. It knocked the tiny woman down, and it quickly became deeper than her reduced height. She held her breath, and tried to swim towards the ever-raising surface, but the current from the jet was too strong. It was like swimming against a fire-hose the size of a river rapid. As she struggled under the current, she could taste the familiar flavor of Diet Dr. Pepper.
            Even though she was still under the surface of the giant soda cup, the woman could hear Arturo’s voice vibrate through her skull, as the vibrations of his voice traveled through his chest to his arm, to his hand that held the vertical pool of sticky liquid.
            “There is just one place your backwards mentality CAN fit,” he said.
            She could see some brown-tinted light near the surface of the beverage. Just a bit further to swim.
            Arturo lifted the cup to his mouth, and opened his jaws wide. He opened his throat, the same technique he used to quickly chug full cups of beer at parties. He tilted the cup slightly, and chugged the Diet Dr. Pepper down.
            The liquid became shallower, as the position of her new prison shifted, and the woman now had the sensation of a stream of shallow liquid carrying her towards a warm cave in front of her. She took a breath in the air, and was struck by the horror of being in the fast food manager’s mouth. The room was dimly lit, but she could see the shine of his white teeth above her, and the blackness of the back of his monstrous throat directly in front of her.
            Arturo felt a large object in his mouth, like when you come across an ice cube while chugging soda. He pinned her to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and tilted the cup back to idle in his hand, only half-empty.
            The woman screamed for mercy. She kicked her legs desperately, and slammed her arms against the sensitive roof of his mouth. She prayed he would change his mind before he did the last, irreversible thing.
            Arturo savored her body’s taste. He could feel every thrash of her tiny limbs trying to save herself. The fact that her body’s strongest motions were so pathetically overpowered by just his tongue filled him with pleasure. Her terrified screams thrilled him.
            “I don’t want to die!” she screamed, as Arturo dropped his tongue down, and tilted the soda cup back one final time. A rush of Diet Dr. Pepper carried the problem customer down his held-open esophagus, all the way down to his waiting stomach.
            Arturo burped. It was a pleasant sensation, since the spicy, effervescent taste of Dr. Pepper bubbles came right back, a result of his stomach shifting around some swallowed carbonation, among other things.

Wondering if anyone else has had a moment where sizey thoughts were summoned in you and you thought, if you only knew…

I have this emotionally open friend who’s also unusually tall, tall enough for that to be the main thing people notice about him. (But there’s absolutely nothing domm-y about his personality, so it’s easy to kinda forget his height. He stoops when he walks. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.)

Anyway the other day as a greeting his bear hug included playfully picking me up and I kinda wanted to die for five minutes. If he only knew. So glad he doesn’t know because I value his friendship too much to ruin a platonic (AND DOUBLY MONOGAMOUS AND PAIRED) thing.

Anyway. Any similar stories. Share them here.

I only really enjoy unwilling-prey “soft” vore (by that I mean that the prey is swallowed alive, no chewing. It doesn’t mean the prey survives the giant’s body.)

It’s one of my favorite things.

I love that it’s an inescapable act of total domination. The prey has no hope. I love mouth play because I love the moments when the tiny still wonders about escape, tries to plan a way to get out, before the giant expresses his complete superiority by triggering a swallowing reflex that’s as basic to him as breathing. That tension and release, the loss of hope, is the center of the fantasy for me.

I love that an entire human being is reduced from someone with a full internal life - hopes, dreams, opinions, money - to just a few calories. To something as insignificant as a spoonful of food.

I love that just the tongue is more powerful than any movement the tiny can make. I love that the esophagus is a tight, long passage that can not be climbed up again by the tiny. I love that the stomach can kill without the giant having to do anything at all - the giant can fall asleep, and his own body will take care of the rest.

It’s the ultimate example of the effortlessness that I love so much about giant domination. The hard part is catching the prey, because tinies can be wiley, but once that fist is around the little snack, their fate is sealed - and all the giant has to do is eat his lunch and wait to feel sated.

I can’t logically explain it in a way that would turn someone on who isn’t already into the fetish. It’s such an out-of-left field one that I understand why there are macrophiles out there who consider it a no-go. I’ve loved it since I was a kid. Trying to explain it to someone who’s not into it does feel a bit like trying to explain a foot fetish. (There’s one I do not have.)

It makes no sense, really, we’re all descendants of squirrel-like-mammals, we really should not be sexually excited by this when our distant ancestors actually had to worry about being swallowed by snakes, but it’s just an attraction I have. Maybe the human brain is just so overstuffed with an over-abundance of neurons that we’re all a little defective in some way.