“Who do you hate, Mr. Sparks?”
“Myself.”
Brenda always asks the same question and I always give the same response. “I know that.” Brenda says in a kind warm voice. I don't think she was capable of speaking to me in any other way. “Who else?”
“Michelle.” I throw out the name of my High School girlfriend. Maybe it'll work. Maybe I'll get what I need.
“No, you still love Michelle.” Brenda says with a thin smile on her lips. “We'll just pay a visit to Mr. Harris. Maybe tomorrow you can tell me someone else you hate.”
I have to tilt my head up to look at her. Through the windows on the slant edged side of the third floor of my dream house. I have lived here since I first met Brenda. I have lived here since I died.
Even on the third floor Brenda has to bend down low for me to see her face. Even then I can't see it all, just parts through the different windows. Her full red lips take up the majority of the largest, lowest window. The two smaller upper windows frame a patch of her impossibly long black hair on the left and one green eye on the right.
I hear the familiar sound of the roof being moved. Brenda is being gentle with it. As gentle as she can be given her size. But it still makes a grating noise as she flips the roof up like it was a dollhouse.
I can see all of Brenda's giant face now and most of her upper body. She is perfect in a way that defies reason. She is so much larger than me, I should be able to see every blemish, every pore of her olive cinnamon skin magnified to the point where she is hideous, but it is as smooth and flawless as the fantasy that she walked out of.
Brenda gets to her feet and I can no longer see her face. She's too close to the house. I can only see up to the undersides of her naked breasts, two gravity defying hills jutting out from the side of a mountain, each erect nipple larger than my entire body. I tilt my head downward along her body taking in every naked curve. Standing on the third floor I'm not even level with her knees.
Brenda displays herself for my entertainment. The first time I saw her like this I was terrified and aroused. My mind raced with possibilities. How easily she could hurt me. All the orifices and all the options a woman that size had for a man as insignificant as I am. I'm not proud to admit it, but I got myself off that first morning looking up at her and imagining what she was going to do to me.
I feel none of that now.
I know that Brenda is never going to harm me. Hell, she would go out of her way to keep me from harming myself. God knows she has had to. All the crazed thoughts about being eaten alive, stepped on, or rammed up the orifice of her choice were never going to happen. I wasn't scared of her anymore.
As the days turned into months her nudity became normalized. Her body was every bit the fantasy woman I had always wanted, but constant exposure to her exposure had desexualized her to me.
“Take your time, Mr. Sparks. We have all day.” Brenda's voice boomed from somewhere up there.
I may have stopped getting aroused at the sight of her, but that didn't mean I was allowed to stop our little masturbation ritual. Brenda insisted that I stroke off to her every morning before we went on with our day. At first I was worried that rebellion would lead to punishment. That this powerful giantess would destroy me for disobeying her, harm me in ways too bizarre to contemplate. It gave me a lot to think about while I pulled myself off.
Then I finally found the courage to say “no.” A giant fist didn't come crashing through the house. I wasn't tossed into her mouth or under her giant foot. Brenda just bent down until her green eyes were just hovering above me, licked the tip of her finger, then put that lubed finger between my legs and rubbed me off until I came. It didn't feel like the invasion that it was. It felt like she was giving me what she thought I wanted.
Now I just took care of myself.
“Maybe this will help.”
Brenda squats down in front of the house and pulls her legs apart just far enough that I can clearly see her spread lips at my eye level. Soft hairs frame her brown labia. I can see glistening pink just beyond.
I spit into my hand and do what I have to do.
When I'm done Brenda leans her face in close. She has to turn her head to the side to avoid her chin cracking the floor. She kisses me on my bare stomach with her sideways smile.
“Good boy.” Brenda says softly. Her words vibrate through me. “Now we can leave.”
Her face pulls away only to be replaced by her cupped hands. I'm not grabbed so much as I'm lifted. I feel no sense of restraint even though Brenda could casually pin me down or keep me covered in her warm soft hands. I climb her cradled fingers until I can see the street we are walking down. Brenda keeps her fingers leveled so I can't jump the hundred plus feet to the ground, but otherwise I'm unrestricted.
I hear the first scream ring out from below. Hear the first car come to a screeching halt. I look down and see people look up in horror at the woman who is lovingly carrying me. I see chaos forming on a suburban street. I know what is about to happen.
The screams and the screeches draw attention and people. They walk out of their houses into a nightmare. Panic drives them forward making them revert to herd mentality. It doesn't take much to start the stampede.
A woman runs the wrong way and ends up being in the spot that Brenda's left foot wants to land. Brenda's foot wins. I hear the woman's death scream cut off quickly followed by a wet crunching noise that isn't enough to be felt up here.
I look behind us and see a red and brown footprint repeated in the ground getting fainter and fainter as blood as viscera are wiped off on the asphalt.
I feel numb inside.
Mr. Harris lives on the other side of town. Brenda accidentally murders a dozen more victims getting there. The undersides of her feet are stained dark red by the time she places me on the roof of the house next to Mr. Harris.
“I'm doing this for you.” Brenda says, her face beatific.
Then she turns from me and rises to her full height. I see the sweet look on her face shift to barely suppressed rage just before I can no longer see her face.
“WHERE ARE YOU?!” Brenda yells at the house.
A balled up fist several times the size of my body crashes through the roof of Mr. Harris's house again and again until I see a familiar middle aged man run out and down the street.
I know Brenda sees him. This isn't the first time she's done this. She lets him run pretty far down the street before she chases him. I'm still not sure how much of that is to make Mr. Harris feel worse when she catches him and how much of it is to give me a better view of what she does to him.
Brenda only needs five steps to catch up with Mr. Harris. Her sixth lands in front of him and he crashes impotently against her. The six foot man doesn't even come up to Brenda's ankles.
At this angle I can see Brenda's expression. It's dark and condescending and triumphant. The way I've always wanted her to look at me. She reaches down and plucks Mr. Harris from the street between her thumb and forefinger. I hear ribs cracking under the pressure. He's crying. Whimpering.
Brenda holds him up in front of her eyes. Dangles him between her painted fingernails as she turns him around.
“Mr. Sparks hates you, Mr. Harris.” Brenda's says with a saccharine sweet voice. “Do you know why?”
Harris blubbers his response.
“You shot his Irish Setter. You shot Clovis. When Mr. Sparks was a little boy. Then you lied about it to the police. Now I'm going to give you the punishment you avoided. With interest, Mr. Harris.”
Brenda tosses the terrified man into the air and lets him drop to the ground. Harris is screaming to God by the time Brenda finally reaches out and grabs him, meters from street level. Then she lifts him up to her mouth and lays him flat on her tongue. I can see him trying to climb out of her mouth before her sharp teeth snap shut.
Brenda walks back to where I am standing on the roof and places her mouth two feet in front of my face. Her smile is longer than my entire body. She opens her mouth revealing a cavern filled with saliva and Harris. He reaches out an arm to me, but Brenda closes her mouth quickly and viciously.
Mr. Harris's hand plops down at my feet and writhes around like a beached mackerel until the last echoes of life drain out of it.
Brenda makes a show of swallowing before opening her mouth again to show it is empty.
“I can feel him, Mr. Sparks. Feel him going down my throat. Right here.” Brenda's voice and demeanor return to the sweetness they have always had when dealing with me.
Brenda places her fingers on her chest over the spot she claims to feel the writhing, still living pet killer. She moves her fingers slowly down her chest. Through the valley of her breasts. Past her navel. To her stomach.
“I haven't had any breakfast today, Mr. Sparks. There's nothing in my tummy except him. He's not dead. Not yet. That is going to take hours and hours.
“I think he wants to scream, Mr. Sparks. Only every time he opens his mouth my bile flows down his tiny little throat. He deserves that doesn't he, Mr. Sparks? Clovis was such a good dog and Mr. Harris shot him in the head in front of you.”
I stand there silently.
“My stomach acids have burned away his eyes by now. Not that there was any light for him to see with. Why don't I take you home and get you some lunch. You can think about other people you hate.”
It was the same thing every day. Only the victim and the means of execution changed. Sometimes it was the woman who stole my child. Sometimes Brenda ground the hated under her foot. But it was always the same ending.
Death then lunch.
At first I thought this was my fantasy come to afterlife. I was in the power of a giantess. One who didn't balk at violent sadistic punishments. That was my fantasy. To be beaten, humiliated, crushed, and devoured.
Heaven. At least my definition of it.
But Brenda never directed any of her rage against me or anybody that I loved. Only the people I truly hated. I wanted to be punished; she only gave me comfort. I watched as she ran my worst enemies through my fantasies. Watched as they were forced to do things that I wanted done to me. No matter how hard I rebelled I could never get Brenda to even raise her voice to me.
I was in Hell and Harris got what I deserved.