"But, Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted....He lived happily ever after."
--Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
I tell you, it's a sickness.
Oh, I rationalize it. I tell myself that I can control it, that I don't need it, that I can just ignore it, but I can't. I just can't.
My shrink tells me I have "voyeuristic tendencies," whatever that means. All I know is that I've been wanting to spy on women ever since I was a kid.
My shrink goes through reasons why I want to do it, things like feelings of shame or inadequacy. Fuck him. I just want to watch women going about their daily business. I wouldn't hurt 'em. I just want to be a fly on the wall.
Oh, I hear what you're saying, and yes, the X10 pop-ups are tempting...but I don't want to do it like that. First of all, you can go to jail if they find 'em, and second...well, I don't want to watch it on a computer monitor. I want to see it live and in person.
Really, I was okay until I moved next door to the Andersons.
The Andersons live in the house next to mine. Julie Anderson is a forty-year-old knockout, still in great shape thanks to her morning jogs. Even though she's ten years my senior, I've thought about asking her out some day, but it's proably too soon. She's a widow. Her husband died last year of cancer.
Julie has two daughters, Gretchen and Patty. Gretchen is nineteen, and drop dead gorgeous. She wears her blonde hair short, which makes her look sporty when she runs with her mom. She has a body that's been sculpted by years of soccer and track and running. She lives at home to help out her mom, but she's going to the local community college. That will probably change when Patty graduates.
Ah, Patty. I know it's not polite for men to ogle seventeen-year-olds, but I'm sure nobody could blame me. She has long, straight blonde hair that she coiffs and teases to dizzying effect. She is in thrall to the Britney Spears look--bare midriffs, off-the-shoulder tops--and she has the natural curves to pull it off.
Three beautiful women under one roof. All of them adults or near to it. Right--next--door.
I haven't felt urges like this since I was a fresman in college, living right next to the women's dorm.
But alas, there was no way for me to accomplish my dream short of breaking and entering--and again, I had no desire to see a jail cell.
I would have been screwed had I not noticed an ad in the paper.
* * *
GTS Enterprises is located on a stretch of road in Saint Paul that is singularly ugly. Decrepit, 1920's era storefronts line a road that is too busy to shop on. But I got the sense that they didn't want to be noticed--at least not by your average joe.
The receptionist was an attractive woman in a very unusual way. You don't see many punks anymore, but she obviously was into the lifestyle. "I'm here about the ad," I said.
"Which one?" she said, clearly bored.
"The one for--um--" I stumbled over the words, before giving up and handing her the ad.
It said:
Voyeur?
Do you want to spy on others without
getting caught? Contact GTS Enterprises
for novel method. No cameras, guaranteed
not to get caught. 651-555-3939
"Ah, yes, the voyeur package. We can certainly help you, would you mind waiting for Mr. Chelgren to assist you?"
"Of course," I said, taking a seat.
There were no magazines, just a series of binders with printed stories. I flipped through one idly. It was an adult story about a man captured by giant women. Strange--but then again, I was here trying to get information on how to be a voyeur.
A blandly handsome man emerged, and said, "Hi there, Scott Chelgren. I'm one of the associates here. I understand you're interested in voyeurism."
Two minutes later, we were in a private office in the back. It was a small office, and I was wondering if this was going to lead to me being robbed, or worse, simply taken to a strip club where they would "perform my fantasy."
And I said as much.
The man laughed, and said, "Sir, I can assure you this is on the up and up. No strippers, no prostitutes, no scams. In fact, there's no cost up front. If you like the way our product works, we simply ask for $400 each time you use it thereafter."
"Yeah, but I bet I'm locked in for ten 'uses.'"
"No contracts. But I tell you what...I think you'll come back again and again. I think you're going to love it. Now tell me...who are you looking to spy on?"
* * *
He must have been a good salesperson, because I left with a little device the size of a lighter. "You'll have to get into the house on your own, and then activate the device. You can activate it in your own home, but I don't advise it. You get one free experience. To activate and deactivate, click the button. It won't work after that first time until you pay us, so be sure you're finished when you're done."
I had signed about 30 pages of paper--releases, indemnifications, and so forth. And Scott signed one that guaranteed I would not be caught, or I would receive $10,000 and free legal representation. Well, it was something.
I took Friday off of work, and walked over to the Anderson's house. They had a deck door that they generally forgot to lock--I'd never gone in, mind you, but a couple of times I'd been close--and I thought I'd sneak into the house and see what this thing did. If it worked--well, I wouldn't leave. But if it didn't, I'd get out of there, and they'd be none the wiser.
I had my cover story--saw the door open, wanted to lock it, being good neighbor--as I walked in the door. The house was empty.
Even this gave me a bit of a rush. Here I was, in the living room of these women, looking at their personal things, and they were unaware....
If this worked, I would be so happy.
I pulled out the device, and pressed the button.
* * *
I came to, my heart pounding. What happened? I couldn't be found here! How long--
I stood up, and gasped.
I was standing in--how to even describe it? It looked like the biggest warehouse ever. But there was fabric looming up out of the ground--a couch? Was that even possible?
Were the fabric trees around me...carpet?
It took a moment or two, but I realized slowly that I had shrunk. And not like a few inches. I was tiny. The size of a flea. Well, to hell with that. I didn't want to be shrunk. I started to pick up the device....
Suddenly, the largest sound I ever heard filled the room.
I turned towards to the sound, and waited. Something that loud should....
The floor started to shake. A little at first, then more, and more, and MORE. And then it appeared.
I saw the sock first. It was at my height. It was a simple white sock, which led into a pair of form-fitting jeans. I followed the massive field of blue up nearly a quarter-mile to a bare tummy, and beyond that her enormous breasts.
Patty....
She was thousands of feet tall. She didn't tarry. She simply turned and disappeared down a hallway, heading towards her room, or something.
My heart was racing. This wasn't what I'd bargained for.
This was even better.
* * *
I was leaning against the leg of the couch, trying to figure out what my plan of attack should be.
I knew the second I saw the two thousand foot tall teen that this was going to be fun. First of all, there was no chance I'd be seen. I was maybe half a centimeter tall--unless I sought out the women's attention, they'd never notice me.
As for the scale difference--it was as if I'd been dropped off in Olympus. In the women's locker room.
If my shrink is right, and my feelings of inadequacy are what make me want to spy...well, how better to feel inadequate than to look at goddesses? I could ponder this all later, though. I needed to plan. Julie and Gretchen would undoubtedly be getting home soon. I would have my pick of any of the three. I just had to pick.
Then again, Patty was already here, hanging out in her room or something.
I looked at my watch. Four-thirty. Hmm.
I thought about going to Patty now, but I realized I wanted a chance to survey my options completely.
That noise again! I realized it was the door slamming--a three million square foot door slamming.
No wonder it was loud.
This time, it was Gretchen. She was wearing jeans-and-a-sweatshirt that hid her assets. I was a little disappointed, but it isn't voyeurism if you tell your subject what to wear. She disappeared down the same hall as Patty, and for a few minutes, I thought about following her.
Then, she reappeared.
I know I've mentioned that Gretchen is an avid runner, but I don't think I've sufficiently mentioned what it is that drew my attention in the first place.
Gretchen returned to the living room in hot pink shorts and a black sportsbra. She also wore socks.
And then she sat down to stretch.
The floor shook as she lowered her weight onto the floor. Her first stretch was a butterfly, that she did facing the couch. Her mamoth thighs spread indian-style, I traced the muscles of her leg as they entered her shorts. Then up her washboard stomach to her firm, small breasts. Actually, they were quite big at this scale.
I began to play with myself at this point. I'm not ashamed to say it. This was un-fucking-believable. There she was, stretching out, and SHE DIDN'T KNOW I WAS THERE.
And then a thought entered my head, which made me stop playing with myself for a second.
I wonder how close I can get.
It was against the voyeur code to touch. After all, a touch gives you away.
But what if the touch is so light it can't be felt?
I walked warily through the carpet, ready to run for cover at the slightest provocation. But she was sitting close, even on my scale. It wasn't long before I'd reached the edge of her shorts. I stepped up onto them, and started to reach for her skin....
I realized my mistake almost immediately. Gretchen finished her stretching, and without a second thought, rose.
I saw the ground race away, and grasped frantically for the hem of her shorts. I looked down at a quarter-mile drop, and shuddered. And then we were walking.
With each step she took, The fabric around me rippled and swayed like a giant flag. I was battered into the back of her thigh more than once as she strode towards God-knows-where.
We made some quick, odd motions, and then things got really bad.
She was running.
Now I was being smacked hard into her thigh with every step. Amazingly, it didn't hurt--but it wasn't fun, either. I couldn't stay here.
Her shorts were mesh, with tiny holes everywhere. They made perfect handholds. I started to get to a rythm--Climb--THWACK!--Climb--THWACK!--that worked okay. I was scared as hell about what would happen if I should mistime it, but more scared about what would happen if my arms gave out and I fell.
About ten minutes of climbing got me to my destination--the border of her white cotton panties. I had decided that if I could get inside them, I'd be relatively safe. So timing well--THWACK!--I grabbed the elastic and hung there. With all my might, I forced myself through the gap between elastic and Gretchen. Then, with one final push, I went sliding down the inside of what seemed to be an enormous, inverted tent.
I came to rest at the border between Gretchen's asshole and pussy. It was raining here--Gretchen was not one to work out lightly. But it was a stunning view. She kept her bush neatly trimmed, apparenty--the blonde trees above me were in a narrow band, with tiny trunks around them. Relatively safe now, I damn well did jerk off. Here was a woman's twat, one hundred feet long--I was starting at it at a distance of a few inches and she didn't have any idea.
I wasn't sure I was ever going back.
* * *
Forty minutes later, the rippling slowed, and then stopped. The run was over.
I was bathed in Gretchen's sweat, and I couldn't have felt fresher. About the only thing that would've made me happier was to see Gretchen start masturbating--and I didn't need it.
Suddenly, I felt the floor drop out from in under me. I knew instantly and instinctively what was happening. Gretchen was getting undressed.
Well, if I'd just run for an hour, I would've too.
She kicked her shorts and panties off. We skidded together a few hundred meters, and I stared up at the immense athlete.
She was completely naked.
As close as I had been to her womanhood, this was almost better. To see her, nude, unaware...my throat was dry. I was the happiest man alive.
Presently, she turned, and entered the shower. I climbed out of the panties, and moved to a hiding place by the sink. The bathroom seemed like a good option--the other women would come. I'd have my opportunity to see them very, very soon.
Giantess World
