In the course of conversation, my new giantess came up with another idea I wanted to play with.
Jan. 24, 2025: The idea of a giantess coming home from vacation and missing her little man ... with her mouth.
“When’s she getting back?”
No response.
“Come on, I left you alone for an hour. You have to tell me what’s up.”
Less of a response.
“You know I’m going to tell her about all this, right?”
A young woman slumped in the swayback chair and glaring at the TV as though it were in the process of telling her a lie so bad, it required her to be 30 IQ points south of where she sat. Swearing quietly, she dug in the front pocket of her thick charcoal hoodie, pulled out her phone, and unfolded it. “No messages. Her flight’s on time, so she’s getting back when I said she’s getting back all the fucking times you asked. Nothing’s changed.”
A tiny man paced around the ottoman where she rested her Chuck Taylors. “We’re ten minutes closer to ETA. That’s changed.” He looked up at her skinny legs in oversized, cuffed black jeans as he walked beneath them, like a natural bridge between furniture.
She scoffed and looked at the time. He seemed to be able to accurately clock the passage of time in his head; she refused to be impressed. “So you gonna quit buggin’ me?”
“I’m bored! Come on, why’re you treating me like this? I’m not a bad person.”
The young Asian woman rolled her eyes. “You’re fucking annoying.”
“I wouldn’t be annoying if you’d interact with me.”
Her face sagged under the heel of her palm, where she slumped heavily against an arm of the chair. “All I have to do is make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I just wanna watch the rest of this show.”
“You don’t even like it.”
“Better’n playing with you,” she muttered, rolling her eyes again when he said he heard that.
The tiny man, wearing a miniature black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves and a miniature pair of faded blue jeans, completed another two laps around the ottoman in silence. He timed his breathing with his footsteps—in for four steps, out for four steps—though he disliked sniffing this much of the carpet. Each time, he looked up at the skinny legs arching from the cushion upon his right to the ottoman on his left.
His Queen had been on vacation for quite a long time now. She had every right to take a vacation (“go on holiday” she called it), though it might have been more interesting if she’d brought him along. When he’d asked to accompany her, she waved her hands and said something about “business trip” and “hazards of travel” and a few other interchangeable phrases. He pointed out how little he ate, how little room he needed, but when even he felt himself becoming needy and clingy, he backed off and wished her a nice trip. He hadn’t even seen her go, only heard her calling his name, rolling her baggage out the front door before locking up.
Two days later, Maddison, a friend from the clubs, let herself into the house. He was pretty sure he could’ve lasted longer on his own, and once she showed up, he would’ve liked to try. Their little exchange now, her barking at him while watching television, was the most interaction they’d had in days. She refilled his little plate with nutritive kibble and refreshed his water each day, which was absolutely required in her instructions; the Queen had hinted that there may be cameras throughout her house.
The tiny man could clean himself, and he had his own restroom facilities. Maddison didn’t need to know anything about that. The Queen had requested that Maddison keep the tiny man entertained, which devolved from a limp “how’d you get so small” directly to her checking her phone, leaving him with nothing but her glass of water for company. He had been unable to find any question about herself that could elicit more than five words at a time. Clearly it took all of her spoons to meet the absolute baseline of her responsibilities: keep him fed and watered, and don’t let him get hurt.
That came up eight days ago. Bored shitless, the tiny man decided to perform a little physics trick in which four dinner knives support each other, resting on four glasses. It was a simple weave but it looked cool to people who hadn’t seen it before. The tiny man had used a salt shaker to climb up to the level of the knives, and he’d even developed a clever system to let them rest in a square and then draw them together, a feat that would’ve been much easier if he were twelve times larger.
Instead, the knives drew together incorrectly, a glass fell over and rolled off to shatter on the floor, and the young Asian woman blasted into the room to find him sprawled among four gleaming blades. They weren’t sharp, they could barely push through bread, but it was enough to piss off his ersatz babysitter. “I have to keep you safe,” she said, dropping him into a Mason jar and sealing the lid. “I guess this’ll keep you safe.” She rested the jar on a counter and ignored his frantic gesticulations as she swept up the glass, swearing about this crappy job.
She was wrong about keeping him safe, as she discovered the next day. Not the next morning: letting herself in, she’d beelined for the living room to watch TV while checking her phone. It was only when she got up to sneak into the Queen’s liquor cabinet that she noticed the tiny man lying unconscious in the jar, a pool of mixed waste spreading under his legs. “Don’t be dramatic,” she’d said, unscrewing the air-tight lid and dumping him to the counter. When he didn’t move, she sighed dramatically and retrieved a nutritive kibble and crushed it, sprinkling it near his head. “There, you can smell it. Come and get it.”
Still nothing. Maddison suspected he was trying to teach her a lesson. Something stank. She sniffed the jar and it smelled of shit and urine; she screamed and rinsed it out in the sink, calling him disgusting. “I’m not going to touch you, so you need to wake up on your own.” Ironically, she used one of the knives from his physics demonstration to prod at him and flip him over. He rolled like a sack of sticks.
Even then, fear did not enter her heart. “You need water,” she said, and filled the freshly rinsed jar a quarter of the way with warm water, then dribbled this on his tiny body. Watching the drops, huge against his head, spatter his shirt and explode on his face was probably the only time she’d smiled during her job.
The tiny man woke up, sputtering and swearing. “The fuck did you do to me, idiot?” he yelled up at her. “You could’ve killed me! I still need to breathe!”
Maddison rolled her eyes and dropped the jar back in the sink. “I saved your stupid little life.” She returned to the living room to slump in the swayback chair and watch two screens at once, leaving him stranded on the high plateau of the counter with the kibble she’d ground between her fingertips.
The tiny man decided to stay out of her way for the rest of her time there. The fact that his plate was mostly empty each morning was all she needed to know that he was safe and active in the house. He’d hide under the couch and watch her huge sneakers or sandals come tromping in, disappearing when she threw herself into her chair. It was only today, being so close to getting rid of her, that he had the nerve to keep pestering her about the Queen’s return.
“I don’t even know if you’re lying to me, about her arrival.” He paused beside the ottoman, calling up to the bare ankles that stuck out of her cuffed jeans and disappeared into her Chucks. “Maybe you have no idea when she’s coming back, and you’re just telling me that.”
Her head poked over the arm of the chair. Her eyes were wide and flashing, an unusual amount of emotion from this woman, and her thick, glossy hair swung around her jaw. “And why would I do that? Why would I lie about her showing up earlier than she’s going to? What do I get out of that?”
He paused and rolled the idea around in his head. “Well, just to be mean,” he suggested, unable to imagine any other benefit.
“Or I could just stomp you, to stop you from nagging me.” One of her sneakers shifted to the edge of the ottoman, baring the diamond pattern on the soles. “Squish you flat. Tell her it was an accident.” Her dark eyes glanced around, looking for the cameras she was mostly sure was a ruse.
His eyes flickered to her foot. He licked his lips, just briefly. “Maybe you could.”
Maddison’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“What.”
“Are you into that? Is that what tiny people do?” The corners of her eyes crinkled in disgust.
“No, of course not. I mean, only when it’s safe.” He looked at her foot, rocking on the edge of the ottoman. “I know someone who’s into sneakers. Or I used to. I’m more of a bare foot kinda man.”
“You’re messing with me.”
“This has nothing to do with you. Why would you involve yourself in this?”
She stared at him for a moment, then looked at her own sneaker, then back at him. “What do you and her do together, then?”
A quiet light began to spread in his chest, but he kept his face carefully neutral. “That’s a private discussion. I don’t think you’d want to know.” When her eyes widened, he added, “You’re too young.”
“Fuck you! I’m in my third year at [regional university]!” Her leg swung off the ottoman and she brandished her sneaker at him, retracting only when he moaned loudly. “Fuck you,” she iterated, pulling her legs up under her and slumping in a different direction to focus on the TV.
When she looked down at him again, he was in the exact same position, staring up at her. “What?” she spat. The tiny man only shrugged. She glared at him a moment longer before sighing and reached down to grab him before he could sprint away. Clutching him in her fist—cool, soft, slightly damp, he noted—she retrieved a bottle of peach schnapps and poured herself a shot, with an ice cube, and carefully poured a little disk of the liqueur on the kitchen table for him to lap up. “Maybe that’ll loosen you up. Tell me about it.”
The tiny man had no problem whatsoever leaning down to fill his mouth with droplets of the liqueur. Goddess knew he needed a drink. “Tell you about what?”
“You know. What you two do together. How it … works.”
He sipped loudly. “Like I told you, that’s private and none of your business.”
“Come on!” She groaned, slumping on the table. Her arms, cloaked in oversized black sleeves, phlumphed on either side of him. “Like, you can’t have sex the normal way. She’d crush you.”
“She likes it when I’m on top.”
Maddison flinched at the idea, trying to picture it. “But your, like, dick’s too small to go in her …”
He shrugged. His tongue broke the surface tension of the schnapps and filled his mouth instantly.
“I guess you could kinda move it around in there, but you’re not gonna, like, make babies.”
“No, we’re definitely not going to make babies.”
“So, then, why do it?”
He grinned up at her, giving her time to hear herself ask a stupid question. “For fun. We like it. We make each other feel good, and we love each other. You’ll get there someday.”
“I’ve already—” she started, then sat bolt upright and turned away to blush. “I’m not telling you about that.” She picked up her shot glass, sniffed at it, and knocked it back at once. “But seriously, what’s it like with you two? How do you do it?”
“Come on, you’re not that dense. How do you think we do it?”
“Well, I guess you could crawl in her, but that would be creepy.” She carefully licked the sweet booze out of her shot glass, as far as her tongue could reach.
“Sometimes we do that.”
“What?”
He pointed up at her, catillating the shot glass. She blinked and looked down at her glass. “What, in her mouth? Oh, I guess that makes sense. She could still suck on your little dick.”
He shook his head. “No, all of me. In there.”
This idea unnerved her, and she had the vague sense she’d gone past the point of any return. “Your whole body? Aren’t you afraid she’s going to eat you?”
“That’s cannibalism, and my Queen would never do that. Well, maybe someday. But we were careful at first. It was scary, it was like Jurassic Park, watching the huge, wide jaws of some apex predator coming down on me.” The tiny man smiled as his eyes drifted in the memory. “But then it got really nice. We got bolder and more comfortable with each other. Sometimes she just holds me in there, lets me rest there. It’s very comforting.”
“For who?”
“For both of us.” Only then did he realize how much he’d had to drink, both of them, when he looked up and saw her face devoid of all expression. No contempt, no disgust, no irritation or barely concealed rage, just huge eyes and her lips beginning to part.
“Maddison, hold on a second. We have to be careful.”
“I just want to see.” Her face hovered over him like a ceiling, her hair fell in thick glossy curtains around him.
“How much have you had to drink? Just one shot? You’re a lightweight. This is a really bad idea.” He noticed he wasn’t backing up, however.
“What about your clothes,” she said. Her breath was warm, wet, and heavy with sugar and citrus.
Heart hammering in his chest, he unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his jeans, and shed his tiny socks and underwear. “Now they won’t get dirty,” he said, lamely.
Maddison leaned in closer. Her eyes crossed and he went out of focus. “So … what do I do?”
Her lips were soft and pink, just overhead. He reached up and stroked her bottom lip; it twitched slightly. “Stick out your tongue, like you’re going to lick, uh, a popsicle.” Her lips twitched again, and then her brightly red, glistening tongue flowed out of her mouth like syrup. It was perfectly round in front, a toy manufacturer’s idea of a tongue, and he’d never seen a tongue that red before. It was shiny with saliva, with tiny little papillae, and his hands went to its surface.
Her breathing rasped around his little body, and her head descended further, casting him in shadow. Her face was gone from view now, her puffy pink lips ringed his body like a large hula-hoop. He leaned forward into her tongue, plastering his face and chest in her sweet saliva. It was sweet: he licked her taste buds, and his heart pounded against her tongue.
“Uh?” she said, quietly.
“Oh, right. Well, you can close your lips around my legs, and just … sit up.” He rested against the young woman’s tongue, holding it in a loose embrace, and felt gravity shift from his feet to his chest. “Keep pinching my legs with your lips, don’t let go. I don’t want to trigger your gag reflex or something.” A foot ahead of him, the walls of her throat flexed with a soft chuckle, and his erection stabbed at her tongue.
“Mm!” she said, then chuckled again.
“And that’s how it goes. I make love to her tongue, and … are you into this at all?”
Her voice made a wavy “mm-mm-mm” and he could picture her shrugging.
“Well, do you mind if I … show you what I do?” Her grunt was sufficient and he tried to relax. Maddison’s hold on his legs was nice and tight, and if she kept it like that, there’d be no problem. On the other hand, her oral cavity was a little smaller, her throat was closer than he was used to. He braced his arms against her molars and tried shifting his hips.
Her tongue was smooth. Her taste buds were really small, it was like he was grinding his cock into buttered leather or something. And she was so sweet. He dipped his head and licked and kissed her fine taste buds. Why had this never occurred to him and the Queen before?
Shit, when was her flight getting in?
What was he doing?
Despite lying on his babysitter’s tongue, locked inside her mouth, a chill spread throughout his body. “I can’t make love to your tongue, Maddison,” he murmured. “Hold onto my legs, I’m turning over.” If he just jacked himself off, then arguably she was less involved than if he’d actually had sex with her tongue. She opened her mouth just slightly, to let his shins shift over each other, and his heart tugged.
“Open your mouth carefully, Maddison, just a little. I need to see something.”
The big woman did so, and he reached up to touch her palate. The rugae were all wrong. The Queen’s were kind of bunched up behind her incisors in slight, gentle waves. Maddison’s were more rippled, running along her canine and fading around her premolars. As individual as a fingerprint.
“I’m sorry. You have to let me out.”
The way his body rolled back and forth over her tongue, he knew she was shaking her head.
“Come on, you can’t even see anything. This can’t be interesting to you. Are you really into this?”
Her finger curled around his ankles and she yanked him inexpertly from her lips, grazing his chest with her incisors. He collapsed into her damp palm. “I just want to see,” she said breathily. “I just want to see what it’s like when you come in my mouth.”
The combination of her lovely face, her sweet smell, and those words coming out of those lips were devastating. His whole body wanted to break down into tears. Part of his mind began formulating excuses—lazy, unconvincing excuses, born of desperation.
The tiny man saw his reflection, curved and stark naked, in one of her dark eyes. “I’m sorry, I really can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
Her brow furrowed again. He had the sense no one had placed her in a position of being rejected before. “I could make you, you know. You couldn’t do anything about it.” Her index and ring fingers curled over his chest, pinning him in her palm and exposing his lower body. She puckered her lips.
“We have a word for that,” he called up at her, “even when a woman does it to a man.”
Amazingly, that got her. Her fingers uncurled and her hand trembled slightly around him. Her huge, dark eyes flickered left and right, each trying to focus on him. “Well, can I at least watch?”
He let her watch. He stared into her parted lips, saw the tip of her tongue twitch and emerge occasionally. He stared up into her huge dark eyes, her softly rounded nostrils, and he stroked. At first she just said “wow” and “oh my god,” but then she said “come on, little man” and “do it for me, I need it” and he spurted up his stomach and chest.
There was nothing he could do when she lifted him to her lips, when her glossy red tongue with the tiny taste buds lapped once, twice, thrice up his body, licking him clean. Her hand lowered to rest on the table and she slowly sat up, swishing saliva around in her mouth. “I don’t think I liked that,” she said quietly.
She got a glass of water and a washcloth and helped him clean and dry himself. He dressed back into his clothes; she mopped up the schnapps he didn’t dare finish. Maddison carried the tiny man in her warm and damp palms into the living room, took up her usual slouch, and rested him upon her chest, in the countryside of her oversized black hoodie. They watched a movie together, saying nothing.
Her heart didn’t beat as fast as his did, but it pounded into his back as hard as his own was going.
There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, maybe to ask her help in rationalizing what happened, maybe to think of a way to get away with it. He didn’t know if he could trust her; life had shown him never to trust a woman under 30. There had been exceptions, of course.
But they never spoke. Maddison rested her fingers loosely over his body, holding him gently on her chest, and they watched the movie. When the movie was over, she put the TV on mute and let another movie play silently. Her thick, numb fingertips stroked his tiny body and she recited a mindless account of her studies at the university, the drama between her friends, her favorite meals at the cafeteria, movies she’d wanted to see before they left the theaters, some of her favorite bands. They didn’t look at each other: she watched the black-and-white movie with the stilted action that had come up, and he studied her index finger every time her hand came up to renew a caress.
Her phone pinged. Moving carefully to leave him in place, her other hand fished her phone out of her front pocket. “She’s just caught an Uber. She’ll be here in 20.” He felt her heart accelerate against his spine.
“We should get something to eat,” he said. She grunted, cupped him against her sternum, and rolled out of the chair to stumble into the kitchen. With one hand she warmed up a drumstick of leftover rotisserie chicken and returned to the table of their attempted tryst. She finally set him down next to her plate.
“How do I feed you? Like …” She peeled back the seasoned skin and bared a dark current of meat, pried this away, blew on it, and set it near the edge of her plate. She stared at him as he picked the muscle up in his tiny hands and began gnawing on one end of it. “That’s so cool.”
The tiny man laughed for a moment. “We could’ve been doing this for the past two weeks.” He looked up at her. “I thought you hated me. I already feel like a burden for the Queen.”
"I don't hate you. You just kinda … freak me out." She viewed him askance, then picked out the next best bite. “Why do you call her that?” She opened wide and sank her teeth into the thickest part of the drumstick, and he stared at her, completely rapt, as she did so.
“That’s the only way I can see her. Goddess sounds too cheesy, and giantess doesn’t quite work because you’re all the same size. I’m the tiny one.” He shrugged. “She’s my Queen. It works.”
Her jaw worked in slowly grinding circles and he stared at that too. “You could call her by her name.”
He winced. “That feels presumptuous. We love each other, we’re partners, but … that just feels like too much, you know? Like it’s too arrogant of me.”
“I call my mom by her name,” she said, and he refused to comment on that.
They ate on in silence. She pinched a piece of seasoned skin, and he nibbled it from her fingertips, and she was surprised at the response this engendered in a certain part of her body. She worried the last pieces of meat off the bone, and when she found him staring slack-jawed at her, she grinned and made a little show of it for him, growling like a wolf tearing its prey apart.
“What are we going to tell her?” the tiny man said at last.
Maddison tilted her head, her raven locks falling to one side. “What’s to tell her? I didn’t suffocate you in a jar, and you didn’t come in my mouth.”
He stared at her very hard. She was under 30. Betrayal could still be hilarious to her. “Zero-sum, then?”
She nodded slowly. Her hair swung around her jaw. “It breaks even. Besides, she might not ever let me … babysit you again.” She pursed her lips and traced the tip of her finger around where he sat, on the table.
The glasses and plate were washed and rinsed before the front door burst open and the gritty wheels of luggage grumbled up the hall. “I’m ho-o-o-ome!” the Queen yelled, her voice like trumpets ringing throughout the house. “Oh, Maddison, you’re still here! Good, here, take this.” She dug out her wallet from a carryon and jerked out a wad of bills, handing them to the young woman rising from her seat. “I think that’s what we agreed on. If he gave you any trouble, let me know and I’ll help you out.” She winked at the tiny man sitting in the center of the kitchen table.
“No, he was great,” Maddison cut in quickly. “We just kinda hung out. Watched a movie. Movies. Ate chicken, nothing big.”
The Queen hugged her tightly. “I bet it was so boring for you, though, huh? It takes a lot of imagination to keep this little guy entertained. I love that he’s so smart and clever, but it just never stops somedays.” Maddison agreed, gathered her things, and let the Queen escort her to the door. “Thanks so much again! We’ll be in touch,” the Queen called out before shutting the door and locking it.
“And now, my little guy, I’ve missed you so much!” She stepped over the bags, grabbed the tiny man, joyously tore his clothes off his little body and, heading for her bedroom, popped him into her mouth. “Oh, gods, I’ve been waiting for this! My mouth’s felt so empty without you around! I think I ate more than I usually do, just to feel something in there.” She threw herself upon her bed and rubbed his tiny body against her palate, sucking on him gently, fitting him into place, savoring his warmth.
She paused for a moment, holding him in place with her tongue, and then the tip of her tongue dragged in a slow wipe around his perimeter, up his sides, around his limbs. She stared through the ceiling in concentration, slowly rubbing her taste buds back and forth over his chest and abdomen. Slowly she pushed him out of her mouth, he tumbled into her palm, and she sat up on the edge of the bed, looking down at him. He shivered in her hand.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”