You know when somebody tells you something about another country or culture, something hyper-generalised, something that simply can’t be true, and then it is. You know that feeling?
Well, that was exactly the feeling Rachel had right now. With a sigh, she leaned forward and signed yet-another little form. It was all part of the pompous little bureaucracy these pompous little people had. So was used to big, bold Latin-style confidence at home. All this fuss and faff made her wrinkle her nose in frustration. What a tedious little culture.
Finally, after form after form, she was led away down a tall corridor into a long slow-slung room. It had fountains on its sides, complete with ornate figures gushing water from all sorts of ‘openings’. The room was scented. Little candles gave of the most delicate fragrances, each added to by years of activity in the room’s central hall. A table, long and study, like that of a banqueting king, ran along the centre. It was draped in soft pillows. A tasteful chandelier hung above its mid-point. It twinkled as moonlight shined in from tiny stone openings in the ceiling.
One of Rachel’s companions gestured for her to remove her robe. Which she did with a calculated movement, revealing all her naked glory as her robe pooled on the floor. It was then cleaned up laboriously by the staff. She raised her arms above her head and stretched like a big cat, purring, and letting the moonlight bounce off her curves.
With a little cough and a gesture from one of the astonished workers she lay down, on her front, on the long table. Gently she wiggled her toes and kicked her legs. Her body, so delicate yet soft and curvy, seemed to fill up all the available space.
The Madame cleared her throat. “Now. You have signed up for the Lower Tutorial, which requires both myself and two fellow instructors, Inga and Greta.”
Two girls, both with blonde pigtails and cute little button noses, curtsied and chirped their names at her, after which they stood abruptly to attention.
“Inga!” “Greta!” They bowed. Rachel tried not to laugh. These people were so formal. All the stereotypes were true, even in a place like this! She wouldn’t have even minded, but of the two holiday locations open for ‘this sort of thing’ this was the least stuffy, apparently. God only knew what the other little island getaway was like. A poor-girl’s Versailles, probably.
The Madame clapped her hands and the other staff filed out of the room. This left Rachel with only with three ladies for company. The Madame herself was maybe in her mid-thirties and wore a small silver toga over her buxom figure. It exposed some of her torso, and legs, and revealed her strict exercise regime. She appeared quite powerful. Instead of pigtails she had her own hair tied up in a Scandinavian plait. It crowned her head, making her a little tin-pot queen. The other two girls wore sliver slips of cloth. These covered them even less. It appeared that in this business you had to earn your modesty.
“Now, my dear, please lie flat.” Rachel shuffled uncomfortably. “I am! This is as flat as I get!” Truly her own ‘pillows’ were propping her up like a set of poolside inflatables. There was nothing fake about her body, nothing chiselled in stone. Just good, honest, homely curves, topped off with light brown hair scraped back into a long pony tail for the evening. Grumbling she rested her head on her chin and wiggled her mountainous tush. Coyly she shrugged her shoulders and fluttered her long eyelashes. “What?”
“Hum…” The Madame grumbled slightly. “Never mind. We will work with what we have.”
What the three erotic massage artists had was a canvas like no other. Rachel watched them demurely step off their little platform and then walk towards her. This is the point were perspective truly played its tricks. For, instead of growing as they got closer to her face, in fact, the three women almost appeared to shrink! By the time they were all stood in front of her it was revealed that each was indeed no taller than her nose. In fact, stood in their current location each mini-miss was only eye-level with her nostrils. This, fortunately, was the most appealing aspect of their national character.
Rachel exhaled slightly, ruffling their hair and their little dresses. Inga even caught her own pigtails, as they swung wildly. “Hello” She whispered. The two girls comically bowed again and chirped “Hello and pleased to serve you Ms Liddell” They bowed, again. “Not now girls.” Madame hissed gesturing for them to desist. Rachel couldn’t help but smile. A powerful, toothy, smile.
Setting her head down, to let the little ladies get on with the work she’d paid them for (Well, her girlfriend had paid them for).
Looking down she spotted a discarded Rachel-sized business card on the floor.
It read:
Groups welcome. Tutorials available. NO Lilliputians.
She smirked. You’d think if there was only one other nation on Earth whose citizens could get a complete workout from half an hour in a hamster wheel, you’d make at least some effort to get on with them. But no, tiny people were famously stubborn. And pompous, and proud and…ooowhh… they were walking their teeny tiny little feet down her back.
Rachel shivered and wiggled, making her bottom jiggle like a twin set of semi-deflated bouncy castles.
“Would you please be still!” The Madame scolded, from somewhere in the deep nape of her lower back. The jostling had bopped both Inga and Greta as they ran past her humongous side-boobs, each taller than they were.
“Sorry little people.” Rachel said, rolling her eyes slightly. She much preferred big things. Tiny stuff was all about the little ones, fussing over them, looking after them, watching where you stepped. Big stuff though, proper stuff, that was were the fun was at.
Rachel was almost slightly annoyed that she had already taken the ‘Upper Body Tutorial’ as she’d have loved to have teased that little madame in her cleavage whilst Inga and Greta developed interesting and erotic new techniques of titillation on nipples that were big enough for them to use as stools.
There was no time to think about all that though as, The Madame, who had been stood on Rachel’s tail bone, had just stepped forward and was now walking purposefully down the crack of her arse!
A camera above caught the action, a tape for Rachel to use for review once she got home. It showed the miniature Northwoman simply dwarfed by the hills of her bottom as it rose up around her in soft majestic curves. The tiny bossy blonde had stopped over the giant’s clean, puckered, arsehole. Gently she sat on it. Her own bottom splayed out like a tiny jelly heat and she filled the crack with her frame.
Rachel moaned.
“First, you see that the area around your opening is very sensitive to the heat from a ‘miniature’ pussy.” She, like all tiny people, didn’t consider herself small. Rachel, on the other hand, had seen people her size trapped in jam jars or scuba diving in fish tanks, so therefore, did. “You needn’t enter the area to achieve the desired effect.” She started to gyrate her own tiny bottom on the opening of the larger one. “You see, on such a big organ, like the bottom, you need to focus on the small details. Or, start to portion off sections for attention.”
As she said that a tiny rope (Piece of string) flew over the entirety of Rachel bottom and landed on the other side, were it was anchored to a tiny clip. Then, another flew back from the side the first had landed. It too was anchored. In minutes, Rachel’s stupendous bottom had been tied down to the table by little cables! They’d formed an almost fishnet pattern on her tush and suddenly it was being climbed!
What was it with little people and tying people down with string?
From her position under a newly formed net of ropes The Madam was directing her little charges to walk their tiny feet along the wires. “You’ll notice just how much more sensitive your bottom is now.”
Rachel had.
Both Greta and Inga’s uniforms unclipped at the left shoulder and now they sat on their knees and lent over each individual section of bottom created by the new wire lattice work. Each slowly undid their top and let their bosoms join their hands in the massages. Despite being tiny, their breasts were large, with clearly defined nipples that sent Rachel wild. She could feel herself heating up downstairs something rotten.
After a full 10 minutes of erotic assault, The Madame stopped gyrating and flipped herself over. Now, she used her own tiny hands, and even mini-tongue, to assault Rachel’s tiny arsehole.
The giant lady started to buck. The strings could barely contain her bottom, and the girls could barely stay on top. Louder she moaned and more and more the sensation build. “She wanted to have her bottom spanked, slapped, played with by giant hands, not these altogether tiny ones! The thought that it was too big for three fully grown women did make her hot though and she was wriggling her long index finger down to her cave-like pussy, to do some exploring.
Once she was in she found herself flicking at a clitoris the girls could have played snooker with. The strings creaked again.
Madame chirped, in between licks. “Without helpers, you should focus first on the cheeks and then follow up with…this.” Her huge breast, the size of a marble, dipped into the ring of her bottom and then her little bullet-point nipple started to tickle her like mad.
Suddenly, with an almighty ripping sound the stings pinged away from their moorings. Inga and Greta swung wildly. Rachel curved her back and actually sat up, catching the swinging Nordic miniatures deftly in a single palm. The Madame fell backwards, finding herself landing on her own bottom. She stood, dusted off and looked up at a backside that towered six feet over her.
Annoyed, she walked around from the back of Rachel’s bottom out past her thighs, calves and then feet before walking into the ‘V’ between the giant’s legs. She stopped in front of a huge eight foot pussy. Both her charges were there. Now stark naked, with large wobbly bottoms facing her.
Rachel purred like a giant lioness. “I think I need a happy ending, don’t you girls?” She winked up at the camera that hung above.
Inga and Greta giggled excitedly. This was, after all, their first giant. Rachel waited for their Madame to join their line, before extending her index finger and rubbing the nail along the line of their bum cheeks, like she was tinkling a teeny tiny set of exquisite ivories. They all jumped. She grinned.
The Madame stamped her foot. “This is not in your package! Desist!”
Rachel wiggled her nose, menacingly. “You offered me ‘Lower Body’, well, here it is!” She gestured downwards. “Girls, what’s her name?” An accusing finger pointed at the mini-Madame.
Inga blushed but Greta said, coyly. “It’s Patricia.”
Patricia scowled at her. Rachel grinned.
Gently, Rachel dipped her finger into her dripping pussy and then extended it, rubbing it on Patricia’s face and then using it to grease up her boobs. “Well then, Puny-Patty, Tiny Trish, Ms Patricia Pocket, should we play a game I’m good at?” Her huge hand nudged all three towards her pussy. She held her pussy open, and clit out, with the other.
“First to rub me off with their tiny titties wins”
“What’s the prize?” Greta chirped.
“I do it back to you…” Rachel said, kneading her own mighty bosoms into a mega-cleavage.
Just before Greta sprinted forward and dived into her slick folds, Rachel had time to look up and wink at the huge camera one last time.