"Hey, ready to take a break?" Tana Hands asks, though there's no real possibliity to say o. She looks so happy there, long, thin body towering over me, that hideously giddy expression of delight stretched across her narrow skull. And once she asks that question, it's like she's frozen in ice until she gets my answer. Doesn't move a finger, doesn't sway to the side, not even a lock of that frizzy blonde hair tumbles around her face while she leers at me, eyebrows arched.

I'm in the middle of reconciling last quarter's budget, but she wouldn't understand it and she doesn't pick up on social cues. Not when she wants something, anyway. I stare at the screen in a (futile) attempt to burn it into my memory, sigh, let my tiny hands fall from the miniature keyboard and slump to the broad field of course-woven acrylic fibers everyone eles finds so comforting.

"Sure, Tana," I force a smile. "I'd love to get some lunch with you." Uselessly, I ask her when she's thinking about going.

With a giggle, she swiftly folds at the waist and throws her upper body at me with vengeance and some help from gravity. Now that clownish rictus is heaving steam right into my body. Her large, pale hands wheedle out the rim of her sweater vest's neck. Even as she stood, I could see those monstrous nipple standing, poking proudly through the brown wool. Now, bent over and sheltering me like the drive-in at an A&W, she hooked one bra cup away from one tremendous boob, from which stood a large mocha gumdrop. Laughing quietly, she wrenched her shoulder upward, tucked the sweater vest down, and swung that boob closer to my person. When that much mass swings at you through space, unimpeded, your instinct is to dodge or block it, but last time I did that Tana became embarrassed and I had to hammock in her hairy ass crack for lunch break. Better to preserve the gentle giantess' feelings.

I smiled up at her and reached out to her chest. When she held that prominent nipple to me, I dug my fingers into its knobbly sides and pulled myself in. My legs swung and slapped against her underboob (at normal perspective, she's not that endowed) and I hooked my chin upon her nipple. It's a cute little pose I know she loves. Tana sighed happily and stood up. The acrylic chair weave swept out from under my feet and my tiny body raced through the chill of office space, where breezes actually move, as opposed to the stagnation on my chair, around my miniaturized work station. Now I had to clutch onto her nipple for dear life (or at least to prevent any broken limbs from the fall), but what that means is the tighter, the dearer I hug and claw into her stumpy brown nipple, the more aroused it becomes. So it's a secure handhold, as the rest of her pale, silky smooth boob sways and heaves all around me, above my head and below my feet. This is the only constant in my world right now, this warty brown nipple. And she grins at me, so I grin back and nipple on the edge of that enormous breakfast sausage.

Something about that delights her—who knows the minds of women?—and then her shoulders start to erupt. They cantilever far off to the sides and above my head, alternating thrusts into space and... oh no, I get it. This is what she calls a "shimmy" and it's intended to make her boobies sway. Well, she's not that big, as I might have mentioned, so all it does on my end is elicit a series of rapid, tense tremors. I grip onto that wrinkly nipple with everything I've got, even curling my spine and trying to clamp it with my knees. This is only delightful to Tana, enormous, affectionate, consummately clueless Tana, and so she looks to me for praise and admiration as she makes my life difficult. She's convinced she's being seductive, and it's my best interests to perpetuate that delusion.

It's not all misery for me, mind. Her skin is warm and sweet, so if I close my eyes it's easy to picture me far from a data entry hive. I smell flowers, a hint of caramel, and in the distance the sharp musk of her armpit. It's not bad, it's just a momentary shock, and part of my mind wonders what it would be like to crawl around her medium-sized boob and tuck myself up into her armpit, you know, just for a day. Would that be so bad?

It could. Those thoughts usually flee my mind once I've had a good wank, so I hope I can get off soon and not entertain these ridiculous, life-threatening nuances. I simply buried my face in her nipple—never been able to find any of those tiny milk ducts I keep hearing about—and present the illusion I'm making love to her modest tit.

She giggles, as always, my slightly stupid Tana Hands, outclassing me by several dozen magnitudes. I really do have some affection for her, regardless of how I talk, and oh my God, I'd miss her if Tana ever got tired of me and left tiny little ol' me to my own designs. I have to be honest about that. Tana gives me a lot, and I wonder what I bring to the table.

Anyway, she laughed gently, cradled me in the soft pads of her inner fingers, and slipped me and her little boob into her snug bra cup for the time being. She settled that beneath her linen shirt, and then she smoothed her vest, and then she patted me affectionately (kind of like a large spanking but without vehemence).

And with that, we are off to lunch.

"Hey, ready to take a break?" she asked, grinning in anticipation of what she knows my answer must be. Now, let me remind you that what she "knows," things she takes for a "fact," often have little to do with reality or actual life events as they transpire. For example, as Tana Hands comes trotting into my cubicle, impossibly long legs striding almost entirely around my chair, and as I crane my head up from the tiny spot in the middle of the seat I occupy to see that long, shapely, nervously awkward frame rolling and twitching far above me, she "knows" that I'll says "yes" and we'll go off on our adventure. What would be more realistic would be me shrieking in horror, leaping off the seat, and hoping I could duck under the cube wall before Tana can snake her hands under the divider and seize me again.

So this time, the smart girl doesn't wait for a response. Grinning to test the corners of her mouth, she simply spools a gigantic, slim arm down, down, down to my chair. The flat of her palm looks like a piece of building that has come dislodged and is racing to splatter me where I sit, but her thumb and forefinger extend and with these she is very gentle indeed. She plucks me, and then I absorb their warmth for a moment, but she only hoists me up to the surface of my own desk.

Now I'm standing, a mighty 4" tall in well-fitting office wear, on a panel of wood-print paper glued more or less efficiently to a slap of particle board. That's what we contractors get: a shoddy desk-like surface and a cubemate. Tana is technically my cubemate but she's actually pretty important in the administration and is frequently away at meetings. That's well and good, but when she's out of those meetings, over the course of our brief interactions, she has shifted from seeing me as a coworker to seeing me as a personal toy the company issued her in some generous interpretation of jurisprudence.

She's so tall that the desk, my playing surface, reaches a point at the top of her thighs but below the crotch of her polyester slacks. Her crotch rises just over my head, in fact. As I stand on the edge of the desk, to my left and right are a pair of mighty trunks, powerful thighs that spread pleasingly circular but contain potent propulsion, lifting, and crushing force. And these fleshy dynamoes are sheathed by navy blue polyester, ringing her thighs perfectly but getting all wrinkled and complex as they lower into the recesses of her crotch. The wall of blue fabric above me is creased in a series of radial lines that draw together, drawing down, and converge symbolically to Tana's vagina: a symbolic mural of where, for me, all roads must necessarily lead.

I can feel her heat from where I stand. I can feel the aroused and flaming heat of her cunt, moist and hot with the idea of another lunch with me. I'm overwhelmed by it, this wave of hot ardor that hits me like a wave and flows all around and over me. Already I'm awash in what her body's putting out, and we still have our clothes on. I look up at her, over her slight belly, up between her two prominent and proud breasts, up to where her double-chin forms because she has to look down at me at such a sharp angle. That double-chin seems to form its own creased grin, and coupled with her already hysterical rictus, combine to form an inhuman, otherwordly greeting of delight. Her huge, round eyes are glaring down at me, waiting for a response. Her head nods suggestively, rapidly, her golden brown ponytails shaking frenetically as they dispel the energy from her skull like severed power cables from a transformer.

In front of me, her left hip slowly rolls away from the table and her right hip gently rises. Tana is changing positions on her feet, and her sultry, curvy hips adjust to the new position. Watching her hips move, seeing this sexually pertinent region of flesh roll and lever like this... I can't help myself, there's something arousing about even this subtle gesture. I try to ignore the glassy, bright eyes beaming down on me from above and I take a step or two toward her hips. I just have to rest my hand on one side to feel the muscles tense and release, the shift of bone over bone, all beneath her pants. She shifts again and her hips slide far to the other side, leaving me face-to-face with her crotch. All the folds in her pants are swooping down to point at me, and I extend one small, slim arm forward. I take a step. Cautiously I reach out to place my palm upon her crotch while Tana's holding still. Another step, and my fingers touch the dense polyester weave. I press, and there is a quiet yet satisfying rustle as her slacks push back and nestle into the top region of her dense nest of pubic hair. It's like a crinkling effect, at my size, and I push harder.

Ms. Tana Hands interpret this as the "yes" she has been waiting for over a minute. She claps—in this office, she actually bounces in place and claps her goddamned hands—and spins away from me abruptly. I leap back to avoid being knocked over by one round hip or...

Oh, this is new. Tana perks her head up, like some gigantic meerkat, jerkily peeking at all aspects of the surrounding office. She doesn't appear to see anyone as her alert, curoius expression never changes. The coast is clear when she ducks again, hastily fuddles with the front of her slacks, and I see the beltline over her butt loosen and then slip down over the tremendous round curves of her buttocks. I take another step back.

Her pale skin, from the tuck of her butt at the top of her thighs to the small of her back, is clad in lacy pink panties. Dusty rose, I think they call it. There's a bow in the center of the back waistband and I'm quite sure there will be one in the front, right over her ons. But faced away from me, she slides her massive mitts up to her hips and hooks those meaty thumbs inside the waistband. It's nothing for her to tug the matrix over her butt, cinch it down over her hips, and then let them drop. I can hear them rush through the air, quietly, as the slide down her smooth, strong thighs, then over her shapely, toned calves, before crumpling to a heap around her ankles.

Confronted with her cute apple-bottom, I began to check it out, when she did that unnervingly rapid fold-at-the-hips move she seems fond of. She bent right over as though a heavy spring had folded her down like a jack knife. Did she grab her ankles? I couldn't know: I was confronted with those soft round peaches now straining to spread to either side, and a pristine tan-and-pink anus with the finest wrinkles radiating from its hole. Tana scooted back on her heels, and her massive spread ass rested against the edge of my desk, taking one deliciously deep bounce before resting. She even winked her anus at me, twice, rapidly, and I think she thought I would think it was saying "hello." I didn't wave back.

Just where it started to disappear below the desk, from the anus to the perineum to the first wrinkles of her pussy, I could see her labia were glistening in anticipation. This was to be the hardest core lunch break we'd taken to date. If we could have kept it just like this, I would have liked to knelt before her wall of sexuality and just... poked and probed... rubbed my hands here, nuzzled my face there... pressed my chest up against something. Played with her, you know, at my leisure. Sometimes to sate my curiousity, and sometimes to explore delighting and satisfying my giantess coworker.

But she bumped her butt impatiently against the edge of the desk, and her anus winked and flared furiously, as from down below the desk her sonorous demands rose: "Come on," she intoned, "all aboard." She meant it to be playful but it came off creepy as heck.

Sighing, I tore off my shirt and pants, kicked them behind the paperclip cup, and sprinted across the desk. My feet made ridiculous tiny little padding noises, but her ass grew wider and taller as I approached. From below the edge of the desk her fingernails crept up—they were aqua today but she'd already bitten off the edges and gnawed at her cuticles—and her fingernails dug into her flesh and spread her labia just a little bit wider. Wide enough to show off a narrow little hole of pink flesh turning orange and rosy within the hole.

In two more steps I leaped, threw my arms before me, hands together, and I dove into that tight little hole. Well-lubricated, as it turned out, and with a noticeable *SCHLORPP!* I was in, slid right in with a ring of hot flesh hugging me down from my elbows, over my shoulders, down my ribs and waist... and getting stuck there. My tiny, spindly legs kicked freely at the open air, as her labia relaxed and nestled around my butt.

Good enough for her. I feel her panties slide back up over her butt, fabric dragging over my knees and shins, and as gravity shifts I know she's standing up again. I could be pussy-farted out of her, but for the pink lace netting. Next up are the navy slacks, racing up over her powerful thighs and sealing closed far above me. I've got two layers of fabric to stand on, as her vulva spasmodically clutches at my waist and my arms flail in the juicy darkness of her vaginal canal.

Fully dressed, I assume, she starts to walk out of the office to the lunchroom. She takes some time to rub my legs gently through her pants, let me know she hasn't forgotten about me. But I have to wonder, am I just going to reside in this twilight state in her pussy during her two slices of pizza and side salad? What does she get out of this?

I rub my arms aggressively around the lining of her vagina; in response, she clenches my waist until it's difficult to breathe. I kneel in her panties and wait to see where the hell we're going today, I guess.

There’s no communication for a long time. There can’t be, until she slips one of her earbuds down into her panties. How would that even work? She’d have to be mic’ed to speak into her phone, or muttering into one of those Bluetooth earpieces with a condensor mic, so her smartphone’s in her pocket, maybe the headphones are running up her blouse and down the back of her pants, thin white cords disappearing into the deep crack of her full, round ass. I wouldn’t need both headphones, so only one would be cradled in her panties… yes, in that strange little pouch sewn into every pair of women’s underwear. I’ve never asked what that’s for, I assume it’s just an extra layer for absorption or something, though it could totally hold a little man, as snug as though he were in a sleeping bag. So one earbud goes there, and the other one would be slipped up inside her vagina. It’s small and smooth, no pointy edges, so it should hardly be noticed as it rested several inches into her pussy. There it would wait for a little guy like me to be thrust up inside her, and from her earpiece she could issue me orders, make suggestions, warn me what’s about to happen, etc. That sounds like a pretty sweet arrangement, actually. I’ll have to suggest that to her. The only issue would be if the earbud got all goopy, because Tana is a gushy girl. Lots of fluid, when she’s aroused. I wouldn’t want it to short out inside her…

Christ, my mind. It’s a wonder I can focus on anything, you know? Case in point: here I am, being relentlessly hugged from the waist up by the silken, sodden, steaming vagina of a lovely—if charmingly dim—woman in her early 30s, serpentine and long-legged even when regarding her from a normal height. But I’m just slightly shorter than the depth of her vaginal canal, at best, and so everything on her is exaggerated. Every curve is perilous and swooping; every length of shin or forearm stretches on for a mile; each nipple juts out boldly with more than enough surface for me to grip with my minuscule fingertips or my tiny thighs. And even as I’m thrust up into the molten core of her femininity, all I can think about is installing a PA system. My goddamned mind, I tell you.

My legs are bent and kneeling in the crotch of her dusty rose panties, right on that mysterious pouch I was talking about. My hips are lovingly cushioned by folds of swollen labia, hot and wet and accommodating, and everything from my waist on up is embraced, crushed, and sucked at by her pussy. This could be claustrophobic for anyone else, but I’ve never had that instinct. And really, I could escape at any time I wanted: Tana’s so fucking wet, I’d slip right out like… a slice of avocado out the back of a California burger.

I suck at analogies. I’m much better at tracking department expenditures and reconciling our quarterly budget. So I guess I’d slip out like questionable per diem spending for a two-day professional development seminar in Miami. But who can relate to that? On the other hand, most of us have had messy goddamn burgers that resist being eaten, so there you go.

It would avail me nothing to struggle against the lovely Tana Hands right now. In the first place, even if I were to escape, where would I go? I’d slip down her polyester pantleg, and if I didn’t dry up and get plastered against her thigh (not a terrible predicament, all things considered), I’d tumble out onto the sidewalk of wherever the hell we are. I don’t even know where we’re going for lunch, so I’d have to dodge the army of rampaging, crushing business shoes to find shelter in some corner, then orient myself based on immediate geographical cues, only to laboriously navigate my way back to the office, and I’d never get back before lunch break was over, so… it’s just easier to reside in Tana’s delicious pussy for the time being.

Fighting against her wouldn’t gain me any ground, either. Her pussy is enormous and infinitely more powerful than the whole of my person. If I punched her interior walls, she wouldn’t even notice and my fists would just slide helplessly across her slickened tissues. I’d just exhaust myself. Again, might as well ride this one out. It’s much easier to just relax, control my breathing (don’t ask me how I can breathe in here), and try to guess at Tana’s actions by how her pussy clenches and shifts around me. My upper body rocks and ways to the time of her long, ponderous strides, and her vulvic rings clench gently around my torso in time to something else I can’t perceive. Maybe there is no pattern, it’s just feedback from things she’s seeing or thinking. Maybe she’s just clenching at me to let me know how much she likes me. I asked her before, but she denied knowing anything about it, so either it was embarrassing to talk about or it really is unconscious behavior. Either way, it’s to my benefit because I love it. I love resting my face in her lovely pussy walls, hearing the distant yet pervasive thum-thum-thum of her heels pounding into the sidewalk. I can scarcely imagine the power of the shockwaves traveling up from her feet through her legs to resound around my body. And I can stretch my arms up above my head, up into her sultry tunnel, and I can run my hands over her skin. It’s remarkable how frictionless it can be, between the smoothness of her vaginal tissues and the amazing lubrication she produces. Better than the best Slip ‘N Slide®, seriously.

Then the thunderous drum beats stop. Tana’s vagina ceases squirming and clutching me. Everything in my limited perceptual world halts. All the activity, anyway: her hot blood still threads through the tender tissues all around my body, her juices continue to seep and they’re endlessly slick. But I have to wonder what’s going on outside of Tana’s hips.

Her footsteps resume. Were we waiting in line for something? Was someone blocking a doorway? She pauses again for a longer time, then two gentle footsteps, then another pause and her pussy twists around me as she shifts from foot to foot. We’re in line for something, probably her lunch.

Thanks for asking if I’m hungry, Tana. Guess I’ll have what you’re having.

More footsteps, and then even I can hear the piercing whine of the legs of an aluminum chair being dragged over tile. When my waist is forced to bend and my legs start to rise up before me, around the same time all her meaty tissues compress upon me, I realize she’s seated herself at a table. I try to squirm within her, wrenching all the greater muscles in my entire body to register a complaint, and that actually works: my body straightens out and I hear her footsteps quicken as—presumably—she sprints off to the bathroom.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Tana babbles as daylight explodes around me and I slip into her waiting palm. “I totally forgot you were in there! Can you believe it?” I absolutely can, as a matter of fact, though I don’t share this with her. She giggles and pulls up her panties and slacks with her free hand. Her eyes are so merry and her grin so psychotic, I just don’t have it in me to rain on her parade.

“What’s for lunch?” I shout up at her. She lifts me up to her face, an enormous billboard of girlish delight, her clean, white teeth flashing dangerously before my feet.

“Oh, you’ll love it! If you love Mexican.” Her jaws open broadly and her thick, rolling tongue springs from her mouth to lap me up. I practically adhere to her tastebuds, and she draws her tongue back in and locks her puffy lips around my waist, and between some overwhelming suction and her overly eager tongue, all the pussy juices coating me are replaced with saliva. Tana spits me back into her palm, declares me clean, and closes her fist around my entire person. I rattle and rock in her grip as she returns to her seat in the Mexican fast food joint, you can guess which one.

Tana has always been far too trusting, from my perspective: at her table her food and beverage are laid out in the open (for anyone to dose with whatever insidious powder the kids are using these days), and her e-reader is standing upright and unfolded beside her plate (just waiting for anyone to walk away with). But then I try to remind myself this is a nice part of the city, and no one would be so bold right out in the open, with hundreds of witnesses and several cameras around. Anyway, nothing bad has ever happened to Tana, that I’m aware of, so I shouldn’t worry about fixing what’s not broken.

Her huge hand tilts and dumps me behind her e-reader, a more than sufficient screen to hide me from everyone around us, even people next to us, yet leaving me quite out in the open with room to stretch. I do, and she stares at me with that huge, goofy grin of hers.

“I love watching your tiny arms and legs work like that!” She strokes me gently with one fat fingertip. No calluses or scabs or anything, just perfectly smooth, soft skin. Believe me, I notice these things. “You look like a tiny wind-up toy or something, just much more complex. You know?”

“I promise you I’m meat and bones, baby.” I flex for her and she cracks up, slapping her palm over her mouth, huge round eyes rolling around the room in surprise. I could have been in that palm, and she could’ve popped me into her gaping maw without effort. The thought of this provokes a sudden and powerful boner, right in my pants. Yes, I’d much rather be naked inside Tana’s pussy or wrestling her tongue, but it never occurs to her to pull my clothes off. She’d just lose them anyway, and how could I go back to the office like that?

I ask Tana Hands, my titanic coworker, what’s for lunch, again. She’s gotten a burrito bowl, and I know what’s coming next. She picks up one of those new corn-plastic spoons that can be composted, and she shoves all the burrito ingredients out of one end of the recycled paper bowl. It amuses her to pluck me up by the shirt collar, between her thumb and forefinger. She would lift me to her face and dangle me threateningly over her open mouth, of course, but we’re out in public and she is denied this one single pleasure. Fine with me, because one time she lost her grip and I caused her a violent choking fit for which she wouldn’t forgive me for weeks, even though this was explicitly literally out of my control.

Instead, she deposits me in the corner of her bowl, and she commences to digging in. Now my shirt and dress slacks are stained with pussy juices, saliva, and guacamole. She can scrub me up in the bathroom sink, I guess, but I’m glad there aren’t any meetings this afternoon. Her spoon descends from the heavens like a meteorite and strikes not far from my thin and tiny legs, scraping across the coarse paper to shovel up a load of beans, rice, salsa, and shredded cheese. Tana’s eyes light up, from far above, and she slowly heaves the payload of Mexican mess toward my head.

“Eat up, little Archie,” she purrs, “so you can grow up to be big and strong.” She laughs inordinately at her own joke, like always. “Big and strong to give your Tana the love she needs…” Uh-oh. Her voice falters and the spoon slowly dips into my lap. I look up at her expression, and her eyes are growing distant and misting over. Her mood’s starting to slip from a peak into a valley, and if it plunges too deeply, too quickly, my safety truly is in question. Of course I’m concerned about my hurting giantess, of course, but she has no such consideration for me when she’s in one of her moods.

Thinking quickly, I holler up in protest. “Tana! You dumped your lunch all over me!” It’s true: her slackening grip on the compostable spoon let slip all her food onto my shirt front and slacks. “I’m a mess, look at me!”

She does, thankfully. Her eyes clear up and grow round again, and her puffy pink lips form a near-perfect O. Even her nostrils flare, and for some reason I find even this sexy, as though she could snort me up into her head… which doesn’t sound sexy, out loud, but le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.

“You’re a mess,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry, I dumped that all over you. You’re a mess!” She laughs behind her massive hand once more.

 “What are you going to do about this?” I gesture sweepingly, indicating the entirety of my disaster.

One of her dark eyebrows arches mischievously.

I make a show of pretending to hide a smile. “I guess there’s only one thing to do, huh?”

She nods, her hair bouncing ridiculously around her tremendous skull. It bounces with an energy I find irresistible. Why are the crazy ones always the hottest? With all the warning flags that go off in my head every time Tana calls my name, I am nevertheless entirely under her spell. Her bright and shiny teeth glint in the fast food joint’s fluorescent lighting, and her compostable spoon slips expertly beneath my bottom. My shoulder blades rest around the stem of her flatware, my spindly legs dangle over the edge of the scoop, and I slowly gain altitude.

Tana’s huge eyes dart left and right, and then the corners of her lips spread in a smile, and her jaw spreads open as she ushers me into the darkness. Me, a tiny little businessman with a small hill of burrito stuffings atop me, my thighs spread open to her sharp, perfect teeth, to her thick, writhing tongue, and to the sphincter at the top of her throat that opens and twitches shut spasmodically. All of this is terrifying and hopelessly alluring to me, all at once, and I’d do anything for Tana to keep her happy and to remain in her possession. I know this, I’m convinced of it, as my feet drag roughly over her molars and darkness surrounds me. My head bumps against her upper lip, where it wipes the corn-plastic down and pulls all the food and all the tiny little businessman free of the spoon.

I lie in the sultry darkness, feeling Tana’s tongue twitch unconsciously beneath my dampened shirt. I tuck in my arms and legs as her rows of powerful, unstoppable teeth click and clamp into place. I’m locked in, absolutely, that’s her message to me. I couldn’t punch my way through her wall of pearly whites, and there’s only one exit open to me. I wouldn’t take it, myself, but she feels the need to remind me it’s there if I feel like causing her trouble.

Yet I’m unsure what comes next. Tana’s just sitting there, her tongue relatively motionless under me. I hear her roaring breath through the roof of her mouth, her sexy-ass nostrils sucking in air and blasting it back out, but the air in this cavern is humid and still.

I reach up and run my fingertips along the roof of her mouth, along that little ridge that starts from the node just behind her two front incisors and runs back to that bony mound right before her epiglottis. This is a mistake: she’s incredibly ticklish there, and she powerfully mashes me against the roof of her mouth, squashing me with the amazing muscles in her tongue. I can’t fight against that, so I have to patiently wait until she’s done flattening me, until the ticklishness in the roof of her mouth has died down. Worse, her throat opened up extra-wide to permit some deafening laughter into my little chamber. She won’t open her mouth, so it would sound like bursts of low humming to anyone else, but to me it’s a very physical vibration, an assault of sound. I clamp my hands over my tiny ears, for all the good that does: Tana’s laughter pulses through every blood-damp muscle and tissue in my body. I feel as though my limbs could explode, but then it passes and I pause to catch my breath.

On a whim, I grip the tips of the premolars on my right, bracing myself with slim fingers on sharp and polished bone, and I slowly roll over on her tongue. All the food is now plastered over her papillae, which should please them, and I can wrap my arms around the broad, pink bedding of her tongue. I can latch my knees just north of the base of her tongue, and I can hug her with all of my limbs, no errant limbs dangling above the void of her esophagus. I’m more or less secure here, and once secure, I nuzzle my face into the soft, squirming tip of her tongue.

Tana responds well to this. The tip of her tongue caresses my cheeks, running over my eyes and forehead, rubbing bluntly into the side of my skull in her attempt to tease my ear. It’s cute, in a way. Her tongue narrows and becomes firm, and I clench it as hard as I can; it widens and flattens and becomes much softer, and through the sour cream and guac I thrust my hips into it. I don’t know how sensitive her feeling is there, if she can tell the difference between my tiny erection and an al dente black bean. Yet her tongue arches and tenses right beneath my hips, and it grinds against my hips, making up for in massive force and pliant tissue what it lacks in fine dexterity, perhaps. It’s delightful, is what I’m trying to say, and I hug her tongue gratefully, sour cream and puréed beans gooshing out from under my abs and chest.

Now she’s purring. That’s what I call it, that low, rumbling hum that would sound childish and sweet outside of her head. In here, in this moist, soft, smelly chamber, it reverberates everywhere and sets my skin in goosebumps… in a good way. If I’m going to be completely honest, I like the way the deep noise in her throat rattles up my butt. It’s a little invasive, but it’s coming from someone I adore so I tolerate it through the initial surprising moment, and then I welcome it. It’s a kind of paradox, that this beautiful giantess can still reach up inside me, so slight and delicate, and tease me from the inside out.

I’m done apologizing for how my mind wanders, by the way. Caveat lector.

That deep-inside purring/rattling is intensely arousing, and my cock is just getting harder and harder inside my pants. Hugging Tana’s wriggling tongue with my strong right arm, I snake my left hand down below my belly and unlatch my belt, unbutton my fly, and cinch my pants down over my hips to mid-thigh, exposing my throbbing cock to the rippling surface of my giantess’ tongue. And then I just go crazy, digging my fingers into the soft tendons beneath her tongue, dragging and grinding my penis into her tastebuds, which is just an amazing sensation at my size, let me tell you. All those thousands of soft little nubs racing up and down against the most sensitive underside of my cock, it’s just insane.

I have no idea what she’s doing outside of her head right now. Maybe her hands are resting on the table, maybe she’s pretending to read her e-reader, or maybe she’s frozen in the middle of lifting one more spoonful of food into her mouth, eyes half-lidded, lazily grinning as though truly savoring that last bite of burrito insides. Exquisite, the interplay of seasoned rice and tender chicken, that’s what she’s trying to transmit to the rest of the restaurant while a crazed and microscopic businessman just goes to town on her tongue, behind those tender pink lips. Whatever she’s doing, she’s going to have to keep doing it until I’m done.

Which is coming up soon. I cry out, not caring who can possibly hear me, and I drive my bare face into her taste buds. The tip of her tongue curls and cups around my head, hugging me in its way, and her moaning goes straight up my butt and up my spine, electrifying my brain. My thighs flex powerfully, even for a tiny guy like me, and I clamp down hard on her tongue as the tension builds up in my hips. My butt clenches, my arms throttle her struggling tongue, and I run my own tongue through her tastebuds as the spasms start, my hips buck, and my orgasm explodes.

I hold my breath through it all. I’m not a screamer, I’m dead silent when I come. I don’t know why. I have my arms double-locked around the narrow part of Tana’s tongue, clenching my jaw and screwing up my eyes as I lock two lungfuls of air in my chest. My legs are kicking, still clutching the thick base of her tongue, but kicking and bucking as the semen just spurts and spurts all over her papillae. She must taste this, through the sour cream and guac and everything else, I must be producing so much semen that she has to taste it. There’s no way she can’t.

I’m hugging Tana’s tongue, and it massages my little body into the roof of her mouth. I’m hugging her tongue and it flattens and spreads over me, covering me like an eiderdown. I’m hugging her tongue, coming so hard and spraying all over her tongue, all over my shirt, just everywhere, and she starts sucking on me.

My orgasm’s not done and Tana’s sucking me into the back of her throat. Now I’m clinging for dear life, which only kicks up the intensity of my orgasm, and I’m coming harder and struggling to stay in her mouth, but my arms are getting tired. Her tongue is working me now, slowly rippling over my body, working me as though I were a penis and not her diminutive coworker. Her tongue strokes my face and chest, and it pulses around my sides, wiping everything off my shirt and belly, and it flexes and ripples and drags me back.

Now my legs are finally dangling in her throat, having gone over the last ridge of her tongue. My arms are expended, only my fingertips can desperately claw at the tip of her tongue or her lower row of incisors, tucked neatly behind her upper row, but there’s no room for grip, and then my fingers are too weak from trying. And my cock is coming all over the last ridge at the base of her tongue, before it drops off into her throat. My cock is starting to spurt down her throat, I’m sure of it.

My head is dizzy, I’ve forgotten to breathe. The carbon dioxide explodes from my lungs and I gulp fresh lungfuls of air… but it’s only Tana’s exhaled breath. She hasn’t parted her puffy lips to let any air in, I’m only breathing her leftovers, heavy with Mexican spices and meat. There’s not enough to nourish my own lungs, so I begin to hyperventilate, trying to get enough oxygen, and her tongue is working me into her throat, her goddamned throat.

I can’t go down there. Tana, you can’t eat me. You can’t, I have to go back to work. They’ll miss me, Tana, and you were the last person seen with me. What will you tell them, Tana? How will you tell them I disappeared? When they pull the security recordings, and they see you bending down and shoving your full, round ass at me, and they see me disappear inside your pussy, mostly, how will you explain that?

Is the scant nutrition I could provide you worth losing your job, Tana? Is it worth murder charges?

She can’t possibly hear my thoughts, but Tana starts to laugh. It rumbles gently around me, making my skin shiver. My damp pants bunch up around my ankles and I think my wallet falls out of them, tumbling into her insatiable throat. Goddamn it. She’s not going to look for that in her poop, not as a special favor to me. Goddamn it, Tana, and now my weakening arms slip around the thickest part of her tongue, the base, as my abs and my chest slide down over the ridge and my legs dangle and my feet feel… I can’t think about it, I won’t… my feet bump up against…

Light floods Tana’s mouth, her lips and teeth part, and one thick finger with one glossy, painted nail races into my little cavern. Tana coughs, her throat seizes around me and pushes my legs upward, and I do my best to wrap my arms around her index finger. She scrapes her nail over the bumpy papillae to make sure I don’t slip off, and my tiny body comes sliding over her tongue into the cold, fresh air. She quickly cups her hand around her lips and I tumble into her palm. She slips me surreptitiously into her recycled paper bowl, as though I’m so much unwanted gristle.

I collapse in the coagulating chicken juices and sour cream, panting desperately, my tiny chest rising and falling as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings, surely. I look up to see Tana regarding me in her barely contained amusement, as she does. She’s smiling, her eyes are glittering. She doesn’t have any idea that she nearly killed me. Or else she does, and that’s just the punchline for her.

Well, I knew she was simple and crazy when I got into this with her. Should I someday find myself dissolving in her stomach, I’ll have no one to blame but myself. Warning flags, and all that.

Tana finishes her lunch, grinning at my distress, cooing over my complaints and insistence she not kill me. Literally cooing, like an affectionate and monstrous pigeon. What the hell’s up with that?

“Tana, you really nearly killed me this time!” I shout, knowing full well the ambient noise of the fast food joint will drown me out. “You nearly swallowed me for real! Do you know that?”

“Ooh, coo-coo-coo,” she says. What the fuck.

She finishes her lunch, scoops me into her tender palm and trots off to the ladies room. She blocks the drain with paper towels, fills up a basin of warm water and spurts liquid soap all over my fully clothed body and legs. (I did lose my wallet, by the way, down Tana’s uncomprehending gullet. I have to call my credit card companies when I get back to the desk. Again.) Couching me gently between her palms, she rubs her hands back and forth and gets me all frothy, and I have to hold my breath as the artificial lavender suds rise up and overpower me. A flood of warm water carries it all away, and Tana tumbles me from palm to palm to rinse all the soap, food, spittle, and girl-juices off. I can’t describe what I see, not just because I’ll get soap in my eyes but because the action is so violently spinny I’ll get sick if I watch. Tana’s hands are warm and soft, however.

And then she wraps me up in a paper towel and wicks off most of the moisture, and I cup my palms over my ears as she holds me beneath the largely ineffectual hot air dryer. Tana does a good job of it, however, and by the time she sets me back at my desk, I’m as lightly damp as I’d be if I’d gone out for a hard walk in summer. She takes care of me, I have to admit.

“You have to be more careful with me, Tana,” I tell her before she leaves my cubicle. “I really love our time together, but I don’t want to die.”

She kneels on the floor before my chair and rests her head close to me, her huge round eyes leering at me, her sensual lips split in a crazy grin. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to you, Archie,” she whispers, “and you’ll like it.” Her body shoots up to the heavens like a rocket, she spins on her heel and gives me a flash of her plump butt before striding off to her desk.

I wish she weren’t right.

I'm cruising along pretty good. All the other departments have turned in their claims, almost all were valid, and I'm chunking through the fiscal quarter's returns, when those magic words lance through my back like a dinner fork.

"Hey, ready to take a break?"

Every single time, all my nerves get set on edge. I know Tana means well, she's friendly and light-hearted, playful in her uncoordinated and short-sighted way, but I've developed an association with that phrase. Kinda like if you heard a pleasant three-note bell chime right before a speeding car T-boned another in an intersection. The music is still pleasant, but your body flinches and expects something horrible. I take a deep breath and turn to greet her with a smile. It can be a pinched smile or a tight smile, she can't see from her immense height.

And she doesn't really care, either.

The long, tall, slender woman leans against my cube partition, heedless of how she rocks it nearly out of frame. I don't care, I don't stick anything up on the walls, but my neighbor has complained about this bull-in-a-china-store before, as though I have any way over the force of nature that is Tana Hands. She folds her long arms, wraps her long, shapely fingers around each elbow in a butterscotch jacket, and stretches her bright, sunny grin at me. I have to admit, that smile does tend to take the edge off.

"I thought we'd go for a smoke break. Wanna come?"

Every time I think I've heard every stupid thing come out of her mouth, she surprises me. "Neither of us smoke, Tana."

"Yeah, but don't you think it's unfair that smokers get all that paid time off and we don't?" She waggled her dark eyebrows at me over her classic, all-business frames.

I can only stare at her, feeling something like an idiot myself. She has a really good point. I trot over to the pen cup, where my blazer's hanging from the eraser of a mechanical pencil, and put my tethered business smartphone to sleep. I raise up my arms, my signal to this goofy giantess that I'm ready for her; she extends her wide palms around me like a narrow valley of smooth, healthy flesh and gently scoops me up into her grasp. No one else is as gentle and attentive as she is, to give credit where it's due.

She prefers taking the stairs down to the ground floor, even though we're eight floors up. Tana prefers her exercise, values her health. "Sitting's the new smoking," she told me once, so it's kind of ironic that we're... no, it's not.

Perched on her shoulder, I wrap one fist in her glossy honey-and-cocoa hair and grasp her hoop earring in the other. She wears jewelry just for me, I realize, and I feel a little worse for judging her so dimly. I holler up into her ear, "I don't know why I never thought about this smoke break thing. I guess I'm too busy keeping my nose to the grindstone, you know, what with everyone already thinking so badly of Anthropoles as it is."

"Huh," she sings, her voice bouncing off the stairwell walls. "I've never seen itty-bitty cigarettes, come to think of it! Do any of your Tiny friends smoke?"

"Anthropoles." I've called her out on this before; she doesn't care. "No, it's not really common. For some reason Big Tobacco doesn't consider us a viable market. I've seen mixers where a Normie unravels a cigarette and burns a little heap of tobacco, and some guys huddled around it like they were trying to inhale a campfire."

Tana giggled and hopped down the stairs. "I would've liked to have seen that!"

"It was pretty sad, actually. They looked desperate. I'd just rather get drunk."

She grunted and shoved the bar of a large service door. Daylight flooded us and we walked out to the designated smoker's area: a dumpster next to Arlington Trust's loading docks. "I read an article," she chirped, unaffected by the squalor, "about how some Japanese businesses were going to offer nonsmokers three vacation days to compensate for all the breaks smokers take."

I frowned at the dumpster, the detritus drifting about far, far below me. Tana's huge foot, way off in the distance, booted a paper soda cup. "You were serious about taking a smoke break. I thought we'd go out for a snack or something."

Her laughter rang out. Her head canted back to let it out, and the earring I grasped lurched back. I had to yank hard on her hair in order to not wrench her lobe. "Oh, I'm gonna get a cookie, don't worry about that. Would you like a cookie?"

Aw, fuck. Seriously? Here? The answers to those questions were both YES, as the colossal woman strode around the immense steel waste receptacle. Tall as she was, it nearly hid her from easy view, if anyone should happen upon us back here. I hoped to Goddess they wouldn't, as her huge, glistening fingernails plucked at my belt and zipper—her subtle signal to me to undo these things myself—and yanked my poor trousers right over my socks and shoes. I yelled at her to hold up: I untied my laces, tucked my socks into my shoes, pulled off my miniature boxers, wrapped it all up in my pants, and tossed them into her other waiting palm. She deposited my bundle in the chest pocket of her blazer and grotesquely licked her lips at me. From a distance, it was amusing what she thought was sexy. Up close, however, it was the stuff of nightmares.

Tana couched me in her hand and seemingly unhinged her jaw before me. The rear of her glistening pink cavern twitched as she giggled at me; overhead, her long nostrils flared and drilled up into darkness. She tilted her palm and I gently slid into her waiting mouth. My skin rippled with the thrill of my bare ass landing on her hot, moist tongue. With practiced skill she rolled me over to a prone position, so I was left gazing down the incredible length of her long, lean body. Perilously far below me, I watched her elongated fingers work at the button and zipper of her own slacks, tugging these down just enough to slip her hand inside her panties and start grinding. I parked my palms on her chin, resting my clothed chest upon her fat bottom lip, and stared at her activity.

Then she started working the tip of her tongue between my thighs and I lost my breath. Oh, my Goddess, what Tana could do with her tongue. I lay there panting between her lips, letting myself go limp in her grasp (and I probably would have tumbled out, had she not kept my midsection locked in a permanent kiss), feeling that huge, thick mass of muscle squirming all around my thighs and calves. She fished my feet up and rasped over my belly; she let my legs rest along her molars and dragged a hundred ripply taste buds over my cock and balls; I guffawed as she attempted to worm the tip of her tongue between my butt cheeks. Of course she made no progress, but it was so ridiculous to think of and such a stunning sensation as she did it, I let myself lose control and went along with whatever she wanted, whatever she could think of.

It was disappointing, to be awash in so much erotic pleasure, to be ensconced at the pinnacle of a vast, stretching edifice of sincere, unpolished sexuality like Tana Hands presented, in the middle of this wasteland of trash that missed the dumpster and grime that built up as a byproduct. We should be in a bedroom, dammit, or a hotel...

Her balmy mouth sucks on me, increases the suction, begins drawing me within. Her lips creep up over my spine and shoulder blades, pinioning my arms to stick up over my head. Something's going on: I peer over her chin and down the plains of her rumpled dress shirt, and I see her hand working furiously in the fly of her slacks. Over the roar of traffic just around the corner of the building, I hear very urgent slurping down there. She's getting close, so I'd better brace myself. It's always at this point where I could cum if I tried hard, we could cum together, but she gets kind of carried away and−

Her incisors bear down on me. Her lips had me hugged tightly, but now her upper and lower rows of teeth begin to squeeze my shoulders and chest, and then they begin to dig in. They're not sharp, not from my perspective, but it's also no problem for a person at her immense size to simply force two rows of blunt objects straight into a little body like mine. Worse, I'm told we taste like lemon-pepper chicken to Normies, and that the proteins of Anthropoles may have slightly addictive properties. I have no idea if Tana has read anything about this. I hope she's not about to find out on her own.

When she gasps—her lovely voice thundering around me, her sweet breath flowing over me in a flood—it's my chance to right myself. I kick against her molars and turn myself supine upon her tongue. Now I'm staring straight up those endless nostrils, her huge front teeth arcing directly over my neck. My body shudders, no longer excited about being in here. When her mouth closes again, and reliably it does, her broad lips cinch around my upper body and hold me securely. Sadly, her tongue no longer ravishes the front of my body, instead writhing and rolling beneath my back.

And her teeth dig into my chest again. Her upper lip actually snarls and exposes her incisors up to the gums. Lovely gums, healthy gums, but those teeth are an irresistible force. Banging my little fists against them wouldn't do anything, but you know what does? With a grunt, I sit up a little and thrust my hand straight up into one of her nostrils, and I seize upon a handful of long, coarse hairs. I twist these in my fist and yank hard.

"Fuck!" She swears all around me, sounding like she has a mouthful of food. It pisses her off but it has the desired effect: an unhappy apology burbles around my half-nude body. She's more careful, this time, about hugging my torso in her lips and keeping her teeth away, and she wasn't far from orgasm so she finishes up quickly. Despite the sweet whimpers and gasps that thrum over my skin, I'm feeling less aroused and I just ride out her pleasure.

She pops me out after a minute and grins at me, a crooked and unhinged grin, just like the rest of her. "Break's over, I guess," she purrs. "Did you get your cookie?" I explain that no, I did not, I was in mortal terror of being snapped in half by her big stupid teeth. She laughs at me, right at me, couching me in her palm right before her gaping mouth. "I'd never eat you, silly!" And maybe she believes that, but I wonder if it's a matter of time before she breaks my skin and decides I'm delicious.

She drops me in her blazer pocket and I struggle to dress myself, while she finishes mashing her pussy with fingers like pillars, then assembles her outfit. When we walk around the dumpster I see two people I know having a legitimate smoke break. They notice us, too, and I duck inside her pocket, leaving her to grin like an idiot in their faces. "Nice day for it!" she calls out cheerily, and I hear them grunt in acknowledgment, before we enter the building and, rather than ascend eight flights of stairs, walk straight on into the shopping area on the ground floor of Arlington Trust.

"What're you in the mood for?" she stage-whispers into her pocket. I look up at her leering eyes, her writhing lips and flashing teeth. I wave her off and try to will myself back into my cubicle.

"Not those," she says louder, as though thinking to herself. "Not a candy bar, today. Chocolate, though? Nah, that'd be messy." It's clear she thinks she's fooling those around her with her intellectual process, but she hasn't considered how the fuck she sounds. "We don't want sugar, do we? Could cause an infection, and it takes forever to lick out. Let's go for something crispy and savory!" With much ostentation she purchases a bag of BBQ chips and off we go.

I hear her shoes clack against the tiled floor of the shopping arena, then the ding and sliding doors of an elevator. It sounds like we're alone in there, and before I can thank Goddess for small mercies, Tana's hand wedges itself forcefully into her tiny chest pocket, her big, clumsy fingertips clenching me and extracting me from my hidey-hole, only to plunk me into her bag of chips.

Goddamn it! Now my suit's all covered in paprika!

Up, up we go, and Tana's fingers merrily thrust at me in the chip bag. Her shellacked fingernails bang against me as she seizes chip after chip, and I watch them rise out of the foil sack and disappear into that enormous, goofy mouth of hers. She chews with her mouth open, too, perhaps for my benefit: two rows of glistening white stones gnashing brittle potato chips into fragments, without the least effort on her part, of course. It sickens me, it makes me intensely nervous, and Goddess only knows what she thinks she's doing by it.

And then her fingertips pinch my leg and hoist me out of the bag. I watch the foil interior wheeling away in space as I rise past her blouse, her sharp chin, and then I'm dangling above her yawning maw.

Tana pauses and lowers me, smiling winningly at me. "Oops! I almost ate you that time! That would've been horrible!" She laughs like a little freakin' girl.

"Yeah, you sound really broken up over it," I grouse. "Glad you're so invested in my safety."

She warns me not to be a sourpuss, and my heart skips a beat at the enormous tongue she pokes out at me. I could use it for a bed, seriously. I had no idea it was so huge. Once more she drops me into the bag and I collide with a bed of potato chips, even cracking a few. I'm surprised at how powerful this makes me feel. Experimentally, I raise a fist and bring it down upon a broad chip: it cracks in half beneath my blow. I nearly laugh at how satisfying this is. Picking up one of the shards, I bring it down over my knee, and it crumbles with slight resistance, and now I do laugh. Why hadn't I thought of this before? Did anyone else know about it? This was the kind of thing someone should've shared on Schmal, the Anthropole message board I discovered a couple months ago, like using dragées for target practice. They look like little cannonballs, see, and−

Her fat thumb tip slides over my back, her index finger intrudes down my front, and she hoists me out of the bag again. Goddess damn it, anyway.

But this time she doesn't catch herself. Her mouth widens happily and her fingers let me go. There's no time to turn through space: I dive headfirst into her waiting pie-hole, hardly bouncing on her tongue. The lights go out as her lips and jaws close behind me, and I kick my tiny little shoes against the concave rim of teeth. The trick is to not also shove myself into her throat while booting her like this. I hardly like to stick my hands anywhere near her teeth, but I have to brace my fingers against her wisdom teeth and push back so I can kick her.

Tana starts laughing, and this entire damp, muggy cavern booms with her mirth. I'm so glad it's dark in here and I can't see her overeager throat working right in front of my head, widening and flexing with more than enough space to suck me down whole. The only thing that can stop me from lashing out at her incisors is how her tongue now mashes me against the roof of her mouth. My feet slip, my fingers lose their hold between her large, blunt teeth, and I'm rubbed vigorously back and forth against her palate by an immensely powerful tongue.

What the fuck is she doing now? I draw enough of a breath to holler: "If this is meant to be erotic, you're missing the mark!" It's actually not a good idea to scream in here: I loathe how my tiny voice echoes down her bottomless throat.

Cold air rushes over me and her fingers pinch my legs. She jerks me out and hangs me upside-down before her characteristic rictus. "Silly, I'm cleaning you off! Your suit's all dirty with delicious barbecue seasoning. You're so tasty right now, I nearly gobbled you down once and for all!" She waggles her eyebrows at me again. "Would you like that? I know some little guys are into that kind of thing. Is that something you'd like me to do to you sometime?" Her large white teeth bite into her fat bottom lip.

It's to my credit that I keep a civil tongue in my head in this moment and don't call this careless, thoughtless giantess all the names she deserved. But I do think I impressed upon her that no, that was entirely outside the realm of my interest, and also, look what she did to my suit.

"I was cleaning you off!" She has the audacity to pout cutely at me, and that's when I lose my civil tongue. For about two minutes straight.

She doesn't say anything to that. A woman like Tana, in Tana's position, doesn't really have to say a thing to get her point across. I didn't realize where we were: we'd long left the elevator car and had been heading to my cubicle, when she spins on her heel and races (from my perspective) into the women's restroom. Once there, she swiftly undoes her pants, tugs down her panties, and stuffs me right between her butt cheeks. She wedges me upright, my legs draping somewhere in her crotch, and then she spreads her cheeks and fits my face almost flush against her tan, wrinkled anus. There's no time or room for apologies: she simply sticks me in her pert little butt and seals me in with her clothing once more.

What comes next is obvious: she finds reasons to walk around the office, talk to people, strike up small talk, ask job-related questions for an extended period of time. Throughout this, her puckered asshole nudges and swells and occasionally gapes to blast hot, fetid air directly into my face. Artificial BBQ flavoring gives her terrible gas, you see. That doesn't stop her from eating it, but I should have remembered this before I lost my temper at her.

The next 20 minutes are a tug-of-war, with her releasing torrents of flatulence upon my helpless, restrained body, and me trying to hold my breath long enough for the chance of sucking fresh air through her panties behind me. Sometimes I'm successful, often I'm not. Her buttocks, long and lean like everything else about her, shudder deliriously around me with every step, rattling me badly and leaving me with the sensation that I'm vibrating even when she's standing still.

The ordeal ends only with being mashed hard between her ass cheeks, nearly the full weight of her body dumped upon me with vengeance. I can't breathe, I can't move an inch (one of my inches, even), I just have to be patient and wait to find out what comes next.

It turns out it was my chair she'd taken a seat in. Her long, strong fingers snake all around me and fish me out of her ass crack, then abandon me to the center of my seat cushion. "That's what your swearing's like," Tana says, looming far overhead like a dark and foreboding skyscraper. "It's like puffs of nasty gas when I'm trying to... partake of... the sweet air of... the beautiful..." She looks around, straining for the analogy.

"Those were hardly little puffs," I mutter, sitting upright. "Those were geysers of noxious effluvium. Damn it, my jacket's full of it." I peel my poor blazer off and try flapping it.

Her protracted arms fold efficiently, and her broad mouth turns down in a ghastly scowl. "Just improve your stinking attitude, little bully." She turns and exits my cubicle, staggering slightly to avoid running into Marguerite Reynolds, the boss of both of us. The hits just keep playing.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Malina?" The barrel-chested matriarch in the navy suit leans into my cubicle, crinkling her nose distastefully. "I wasn't able to find you at your desk earlier, and now it seems as if you have been... indisposed."

"Nope, no problem," I shout up at her. I drape my blazer beside me on the enormous seat, trying to make it look casual, like that's what I was going to do anyway.

From looming over me like a hot-air balloon, she bends at the waist and hovers over me like the same. I don't notice her immense breasts because of how they bulge against her suit in this position; I notice them because they could easily crush me. "Are you sure, Mr. Malina? Is this an issue for HR? You seem to be unkempt and disheveled, quite a bit below office standards, even standards for Anthropoles." She's proud of herself for using the accepted term, that's clear. Again I assure her everything's fine, I just need a moment to recombobulate myself. She sniffs disdainfully, mutters a comment about disgusting Tinies, and thunders down the aisle, off into the universe.

I loosen my tie and fluff the chest of my shirt, attempting to off-gas myself, then look up at my desk and the smartphone so far out of reach. Happy Hump Day, everyone.

Well, what do you know: the higher-ups were paying attention after all. No, not to me and Ms. Hands’s caprices. We’re far too subtle for them to ever pick up on what’s going on between us. I’m talking about the past three months of work we’ve been busting our asses on reconciling our financial records. That’s a red alarm for any company, but the stakes are higher at Arlington Trust, as you can imagine. We’ve been holding our breath, walking on eggshells, minding our P’s and Q’s, all the cliches you can think of. No slipping up, no unnecessary expenses, just playing by the rules and even dragging the rulebook out to study over lunch breaks while we’re getting audited. Even private interviews, and that was a harrowing experience. Tana’s normally sunny and unsinkable, but I could see some of the cracks in her veneer after a few weeks of this treatment.

Now, me, at least I can play the short card. They really wanted to grill me, I‌ knew, but what did they have on me? Bubkis, and they knew it. I don’t bluff easily, no, I hold up well under pressure. So between the one guy jabbing his big sausage finger in my face, leaning down to unhinge his jaws and really roar at me, and the woman swinging her big tits overhead, plopping them on the table, leaning over the table to show them off, well, I had my work cut out for me, sure. But you know what they say about a lump of coal under pressure for a long time. I just smirked at them and listened to their spiel, gave them enough rope to slip up, and sure enough, that big palooka let slip a crack about my height. Let me tell you, maybe they have no fear of Goddess in their hearts, but the threat of one call to HR gave them a moment’s pause.

All that, while their squadrons were going over our records with a fine-tooth comb. I admire their diligence, and I’ll even suggest I’m glad they did it, ’cause they helped clean up a few stragglers and loose ends that’d been bugging me for years. At the end of the day, if we’re a tighter, leaner ship for it, I’m all in favor, and why not.

We passed with flying colors, at any rate, and the big bosses were taking us out for drinks. One thing you gotta know about accountants and bankers is that they know how to hold their drink, so we knew that this was a special occasion, if they knew what they were getting into. All that went through my head when I came back from lunch and found that email waiting for me, the invitation to River House Tavern. Not that I was going to cost the company a pretty penny in drinks, but it’d be nice to hang out with the crew in less harrowing circumstances and kick back with them.

“Heh, li’l buddy!” crowed that familiar voice over the cube wall. Tana’s head poked up like a sunrise as she leered at me. Not really a leer, she’s just smiling, but her eyes are naturally wild and her grin is naturally strained so when she’s really happy she looks like she’s about to break out laughing, crying, screaming, or anything else. I’ve learned this over the years of working with her. I‌ look up at her and nod and wave, just to make extra sure she sees me doing it or she’ll come over here.

Her cheeks strain as her grin widens. “You going to the happy hour tonight?”

I‌ take a deep breath and bellow up at her, “Wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ll drink all y’all under the table.”

She laughs and claps her hands. “How’re you getting there?”

Good question. I check the email on a monitor the size of a billboard to me. Looks like there’s a couple company shuttles hauling out people don’t have cars to River House. “Eh, I’ll probably call a Knapa before we all take off, no problem.”

“Nonsense! You’re coming with me, got it?” She tilted her head and waggled her eyebrows with a surprisingly wide range of motion. “You’re my date for the night, Mr. Malina! I’ll pick you up in two hours, okay?” She blew me a kiss and disappeared behind the cube wall. She doesn’t sit there, must’ve been visiting the gal next to me. Goddess only knows what she must think’s going on between us.

I‌ mean, not that she’d be wrong if she really let her imagination fly, but it’s not like we’re a couple or anything.

For the next two hours I hunkered down, wrapping up as many projects as I can before the weekend, and killed time as gainfully as possible. I’d gotten my queue down to nearly nothing but a few long-term tasks, which is rewarding to see, and followed up on my last unread email when I noticed the time. I was so lost in the process, I didn’t notice how the conversational drove had risen in volume, but there it was: everyone’s looking forward to cutting loose! That’s a good sign. I tugged back my sleeve, woke up my Kobaretto, and hailed a ride.

“Uh, uh, uh, Mr. Malina!” I swear to Goddess, I didn’t hear that crazy giantess sneak up behind me. Faster than a snake, her long and slender index finger shot over my shoulder and bumped the screen on my wrist. To my amazement, she actually canceled the ride. How’d she do that? The smartwatch is about the size of a large piece of confetti to her. I looked at it glumly, then turned to face her.

She grinned sunnily down at me, tugging on her long tan London Fog mac. “Did you forget I’m taking you tonight?”

“Well, maybe not forget, but I don’t recall agreeing to any plan with you.”

“Oh, you! Why must you always give me such a hard time? Now, hop aboard!”

Oh, Goddess damn it anyway. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her slacks and tugged them open wide, crouching by the edge of my desk. At least she had the decency to shelter the spectacle from prying eyes by forming a curtain with her macintosh, not that it’d take a great leap of imagination to guess what she was doing in such an awkward position at my desk. And speaking of great leaps, I sighed and resigned myself to my fate. With a running start I‌ hopped into the chasm and slid down her quivering belly (she’s ticklish, sometimes) until her nest of pubes caught me. Her huge fingers wiggled at me as she let her pants relax and seal me up, and that was that, off to the races.

I realize that most of you reading this will never be in this situation, so you’re just gonna have to trust me on my advice. The only thing you can do is relax, just let yourself go limp. I know they tell you Bigs to do this in car accidents and such, but I think you’ve got other things on your mind as your vehicle does 60 to zero in one second. Am I‌ wrong? But when you’re resting in the front of a woman’s pants, yeah, just try to stay loose and ride with it. Every step she takes is going to work you down a little further until you’re over the mons, and depending on her underwear, your legs will either poke out through the leg holes and dangle at the top of her inner thighs, or they’ll slide right down into the hammock of her panties. You can control this, of course, guide where you go unless she’s wearing a thong.

Tonight, amazingly, Tana wasn’t wearing a thong. I was glad she remembered to wear underwear at all, so I‌ settled in and let my legs drift down around her labia, and her pubes bloomed in front of me as we walked out of the building. I discovered she was going to take one of the company shuttles after all. I knew she’d driven to work today, so‌ I‌ could only guess she was planning on getting schnockered at this shindig, as long as the suits were picking up the bill. Great.

By the sounds of it, and by that I mean I didn’t recognize the other voices, I was guessing she was riding with people in her department. We work together, but our office floor is broken up into squads and areas, you know, so we’re not technically in the same department. Which meant I was riding in a van of strangers and de facto eavesdropping. I doubted Tana thought about this as she climbed aboard, how awkward it’d make things for everyone if they had any way of learning I was listening in.

“Come on in, make yourself comfortable,” a man’s voice said.

“Oh, I’m quite comfortable already!” she said back, eliciting a little confused laughter from the other passengers. “Is this seat taken?”

Jeez, Tana, lay off the corniness already.

“It’s amazing how many people they can fit in a van like this! Four of us in the middle seat alone.”

Pause; someone chuckled. “Four people? Don’t you mean three?” a woman asked.

“Oh, right! Only three, three of us here! Nobody else here but us three!” She bounced in her seat and giggled like a Goddess-damned schoolgirl. I guess it’s worth noting that her taking a seat didn’t crush my legs or anything. I could feel the seat beneath us, but her crotch didn’t come down as far as her thighs, when she was folded up to sit down like this, and I had plenty of room for my legs. Less room for my body, as in the middle of conversation she decided to cross her legs. Her inner thighs swelled behind my back and clamped me in place. All I could do was sigh and swear in my head, because there was no way for me to explain to her how these things worked. Sometimes I wondered if she were a sociopath-in-training, she had so little empathy for someone as clearly helpless as I. Am.

“I don’t mean to pry, but what’s up with that little man you’re always hanging around?” “Yeah, are you two an item or something?” “Ooh, office romance!”

The gigantic woman pinning me between her thighs giggled again. “Nothing like that! I mean, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. What little man?”

Someone made a sarcastic crack about her nice save. Whoever she was, I liked her.

“I just mean there are so many Tinies in the office, it could be anyone, you know? Can you describe him?”

A woman spoke up, “The one you always sneak off to lunch with.”

“I‌ don’t always sneak off with him! And anyway, I don’t know who you mean.”

This was painful, and I don’t mean the nutcracker she was performing on m entire body. After a couple more circular arguments and inept dodges, Tana persuaded the entire van that this was a pointless discussion and they moved on to other topics. So it went until I heard the engine quiet down and we pulled to a halt. “Have a great time, folks,” called out an older man, presumably the driver. “No one parties like bankers, eh?” That got a roar of approval.

Tana’s massive thighs churned around me as we walked into the River House. “Be there in a minute, guys,” she called out, and her footsteps went from carpet to hardwood floor to the clack of tiles. I knew we were in the women’s room before the blinding light streamed into her underwear as she tugged me out.

“How was the ride, Archie? You okay?” She hoisted me up to her ecstatic expression, and her huge eyes rolled and twitched behind large panels of glass.

“I’m fine. A little rumpled, crushed in places, but I’m fine. I’m glad you didn’t get too aroused on the trip.”

“What, with that load of stiffs? Please.” Her eyelids wrinkled and nearly closed, as a pair of fingernails floated into being beside me. She told me to hold still, and her turquoise nails pinched at my jacket and pants as she plucked stray pubic hairs off my suit. Goddess damn it, anyway.

When I’ve passed inspection, she brought me in close for a big smooch. “Please, Ms. Hands, this is most unbecoming a lady of your stature,” I said, planting my palms on her upper lip and shoving back at her. She laughed, her lips peeling back to expose rows of long, gleaming teeth inches from my body.

“One of these days,” she whispered, “I’m going to take you inside me once and for all, and that’ll be the end of your smart remarks. Do you believe it?”

As long as I’ve known her, I’ve never known how to handle those remarks, when her voice drops and her eyes stop laughing and she holds me right in front of the hole where food goes in to get processed. Is she kidding? Is she threatening me? Has something finally snapped in her?

I‌ tell her I believe her. She brays with laughter, showing off the inner workings of the back of her throat. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, Archie! You get the strangest ideas. Come on, let’s go join the party!” And, clutching me firmly in her fist, she hauled the bathroom door open and charged back into the foyer, where the loyal, haggard employees of Arlington Trust were milling about.

I’ve long thought that our society has been starved for physical contact. You know? Humans are social animals, regardless of our size disparities, and we all come from a place where we used to huddle together for warmth, used to crowd together out of defensiveness, and I don’t even need to talk about cuddling and fucking. So why did we shame casual physical contact? Now we’ve got bros, for example, making ridiculous social rituals that give them an excuse to tussle and grapple and touch each other, with the thinnest of protections against women who want to attribute this basic need to a form of sexuality they don’t possess, and then fetishize it on top of everything else. How do you think that makes the gays feel, to have their lifestyle co-opted for women’s titillation? Society run outta control, I tell ya.

But I’m getting off track. What I meant to say was that we’re wired for physical contact, and we’ve constructed and supported a society that stigmatizes that. And now, among other things, we’re missing out on a world of information that we used to enjoy. For instance, if you looked at Ms. Tana Hands, long and lanky, face looking like it’s gonna explode from delight at any given moment, you couldn’t guess that her hands are freezing. You couldn’t guess she’s got poor circulation, she doesn’t dress like it. Maybe if you knew she smokes, you might make a reasonable hypothesis, but she doesn’t look like she’s cold all day long, even in summer. You wouldn’t know this until you, say, shook her hand. Then you’d be all, wow, cold and clammy! And the temperature of the room would come to mind, you’d wonder if the AC were cranked too high, or maybe she’s sitting at her desk too long and her blood doesn’t move around well. In fact, she’s quite active, she takes the stairs whenever she can, but she also keeps a hot mug of tea by her keyboard to warm up her palms.

You’d also discover how cold her hands are when she pulls you out of her nice, warm underwear and clutches you entirely in her fist. Yes, as her index finger wraps around your head and her pasty palm slowly leeches your core temperature right through your clothes, then abruptly your mind is fulla “gosh, Ms. Hands, you’re freezing.” Because you are too, now.

Tana waved me in her fist, her long arm sweeping scythe-like through the air, as she hailed a group of our coworkers. “Oh, yoo-hoo! Look who I found!” she cried out, presenting me in the style and manner of a house tabby dumping a felt mouse toy at her owner’s feet. In this case, dumping me into the center of a heavily shellacked, dark wood table in the tastefully underlit dining area of River House Tavern. Dumping me within arm’s reach of data entrants, project managers, systems analysts, and if they’re close enough to reach me, they’re close enough to see how rumpled my work suit is now, after riding around in Tana’s underwear.

I don’t know if they know that part, how I got here. I’m sure they suspect she kept me stashed somewhere on her person, in line with the poorly kept secret of our habits, apparently. I glanced around at the company, waving and putting on a brave face. The women looked like they hoped I‌ was riding along in her coat pocket; the men leered, thinking about me jammed into a bra cup or, yeah, cradled in her panties. Only then, in that moment, does it occur to me to wonder whether Tana actually bothered to pull all her pubic hairs off of me. That would be her style, to leave one on as a daring marker, just to hint in her clumsy, ham-fisted way that something’s naughty’s afoot.

“How’s it going, Arch?” “Hey, Archie, glad you could make it.” “Waitress’ll be back in a minute, Archie. You can have some of my beer if you like.” I was grateful for the kindness of these coworkers, welcoming me and getting the night started on a kindly note. I made a joke about bumming a cigarette, and one of the tech guys pulled one out of his pack and held it up next to me. Obviously it was a little longer than I am tall, so I asked him to tear off the filter and they laughed politely.

“I don’t know where he came from,” blurted Tana. “I guess he was hiding on me somewhere!” She was bouncing by the edge of the table, not getting enough attention.

One of the women said, “Why don’t you have a seat, dear? We’ll make room for you.” A man sprang up to haul a heavy, barrel-shaped chair from another table, and she folded herself gracefully into it.

“I mean, he could’ve been in a glove, or maybe one of my pockets.” She patted herself down and laughed. “Gotta make sure there aren’t any more in there!”

“Yes, that could be a problem,” said the woman, and a man leaned in to ask about a recent sports event, which other people were willing to join in on.

Tana looked around from face to face, her brow furrowed. “Because he’s so small, you know. I really don’t have any pockets on my pants, so there aren’t that many places he could’ve hidden  himself.”

“Yeah, women’s clothes don’t have useful pockets,” one woman said, and another pounced on that: “I know! It’s infuriating! I got this cute summer dress and it’s got the seams for pockets, but they’re just decorative!” “Seriously, the only reason I’m dating someone now,”‌ said a third, “is so I can have someone to carry my shit with me when we go to shows.” They all laughed at that. I wished to Goddess I could remember who this funny lady was. I couldn’t even place her face, but obviously we’ve worked together, haven’t we? I’m really out of touch with my own department, and I feel bad about that.

Tana’s jaw worked a couple times before she finally cried, “He was hiding in my—”

“Looks like we got some new people,” said a waiter, with her special talent for stomping all over any conversation. “Can I get some drinks started for you?”

And with that, we were off to the races. The women did a round of Mojitos, while the guys showed each other what IPAs they were drinking. Tana kept trying to feed me droplets of her drink through a swizzle straw, but I knew what her game was: I grabbed hold of the end of the straw and approached it from the side, rather than drinking it straight on. Sure enough, as soon as I started lapping at the droplet at the end of the straw, she laughed and lifted her finger from the other end, releasing the fluid to come pouring out on the table. She’d been hoping to get it all over my suit, see, because that’s the limit to her sense of humor, but if she doesn’t remember what happened last time we tried this, I still do. At least I got a drink out of it this time.

Someone started a conversation about movies and everyone seemed to get into that, until the women wanted to talk about their favorite actors, which made the guys start speaking louder and announcing their opinions. The group split once again, with the women talking about TV series they were into.

Tana followed along with the TV conversation, though she prefers reality TV. She told me about this season of The Bachelorette, where the woman was lying beside the pool and a dozen Anthropoles in swim trunks crowded around her, massaging different parts of her body, and she had to decide who was doing the best job. “Doesn’t that sound like fu-u-u-un?” she brayed at me, her eyebrows bouncing around like bucking broncos. I‌ imagined the camera guys had a field day with that one, zooming in on this guy or that one, doing extreme close-ups on her body, and I wondered what The Bachelorette was doing to heighten Normie fetishization of my kinda people. This society, I tell you.

Somehow the men started talking about their kids. Probably linked by movies they were no longer allowed to see? But they were into their kids, and they started one-upping each other about how great their boys were. Boys, I gotta say, because I‌ know this manager who’s got a daughter and he can’t compete with them. They’re all getting their boys into sports, and he just enjoys reading to his little girl. She’s reading to him, now, as I understand it, but they’re not impressed with that. After about a half hour of this he called it a night and threw down some money for appetizers.

I waved at his back and wished him a good night, but Tana took another swing at me. She’d furnished me with a cocktail sword, so I had to defend myself from her assault with a bendy straw. “Swoosh! Swoosh!” she said, every time she swiped at me. Took all my strength to parry her straw and haul it over my head, out of harm’s way. Her long teeth glinted in the candlelight of the tavern’s atmospheric table lighting, but she never let up. I wanted to talk with the women about Quirky Kind, as I was a big fan of this Korean show, but any time I stepped around a wine glass or highball to break into the conversation, Goddess-damned Tana would knock out my knees and leave me sprawling on a cocktail napkin.

“You let your guard down, little man! You’re not very good at this! He’s not very good at this,” she’d confide in anyone nearby. They’d nod and raise an eyebrow at me and I’d wave off their concern, grudgingly returning to battle. “You’re getting a little sluggish there, Archie. You need another drink?” She was transparent in her motives, but I still took another drink. It made me worse at fighting, but I was getting so thirsty. It got to the point where the sword was too heavy, my arms were burning, and I‌ just tossed the stupid thing aside. Tana cackled and stabbed me full in the chest with her straw, knocking me on my ass.

“Tana!” The women looked up at her sharply. “Why don’t you quit picking on poor Archie?”

I tried to roll over and thank my savior, but Tana was quicker. Her long arm snaked through the glasses and cans, and she plucked me up by the collar of my blazer. “Aw, he’s all right. Anyway, he started it so I had to finish it. Isn’t that right, ladies?” She grinned at them like a sick dog as she crossed her legs and placed me on her thigh, face down, not far from her kneecap.

I tried to roll over and thank my savior, but Tana was quicker. Her long arm snaked through the glasses and cans, and she plucked me up by the collar of my blazer. “Aw, he’s all right. Anyway, he started it so I had to finish it. Isn’t that right, ladies?” She grinned at them like a sick dog as she crossed her legs and placed me on her thigh, face down, not far from her kneecap.

A couple of the women regarded the gesture with surprise, eyelashes fluttering, then looked at each other. Tana’s huge fingertips kneaded into my back and shoulders, shoving me roughly up her leg, and then she’d tug me back down into place. “What?” she asked the women defiantly.

And that’s when the party began to break up. I noticed that the men had devolved into talking about work stuff, and when they realized it too, they broke up and opted to begin their actual weekend. They congratulated each other, men and women, on a job well done, “and now let’s get the hell out of here and sleep for a day or two,” one of them announced to great reception.

Tana’s heavy fingertips rested, filling the space between my ribs and pelvis. It wasn’t comfortable. “Where’s everyone going?” she wanted to know. “Happy hour doesn’t literally mean one hour!” That was pretty good, coming from her. But our coworkers mumbled stuff about taking kids to volleyball or soccer games, having to clean out the garage, relatives visiting, lots of stuff like that. Really blowing their wad for excuses all at once, here.

“You just enjoy your little man, there,” the funny woman said. I‌ cranked my neck around to glare at her. What if I wanted to get along and go home, too? Who was gonna rescue me? Not the comedian, apparently.

Tana twisted herself around in her seat, watching the last of them slip on their coats and drift out of the tavern lobby. “Yeah, well, maybe I will!” she called out after them, when the oak double-doors finally closed on their own. She turned to me and smirked. “What a bunch of prudes, huh?‌ Goddess! I‌ hope we never get that old. Go feed your cats!” she shouted over her shoulder. Some of the other tables glanced up at us, but she didn’t seem to notice. She pinched me around the waist and stood me up on the table once more. “Come on, buddy, it’s you and me now! Drink up!” She dunked the swizzle straw in someone’s margarita and brandished it around my head.

I shoved it aside and said I’d already had too much. “What’s the deal, Arch? It’s not like you gotta drive home or anything. It’s happy hour, isn’t it? Let’s drink up as long as the fat cats are paying for it!” She cackled and poked the straw at me some more.

“They closed out the tab when everyone left, Tana. Bosses aren’t picking up any more drinks.” I tried to make meaningful eye contact with the waiter when she showed up to start collecting the cocktail glasses and appetizer plates, but she wasn’t noticing me for whatever reason.

“Aw, phooey! Hey! Hey, you, get away from those!” Tana swiped at the waiter’s slender arm as she reached for a couple Mojito highballs. “Actually, you can bring them down here. Yeah, bring ’em all down, even the ones at the far end! I’m part Russian! It’s bad luck to leave drinks un-drunk, don’t you know that?”

The waiter raised her eyebrows at Tana but obeyed nonetheless: soon I was standing in a dense forest of glassware (Tana permitted her to clear away the beer bottles and cans). Many of them held cubed icebergs in pools of water, but quite a few still had half a drink in them, cylinders of colored liquid upon which those fat red candles in plastic webbing reflected. Who started that? Why are those a restaurant tradition? What were they supposed to represent, back in the day?

“Ha ha, look at you! Lost in a forest of drinks!” Tana lowered her head to the table, resting her chin on her forearms and grinned at me. “You gotta help me with some of these, Archie. If I drink them all, I won’t be fit to drive.”

“But you didn’t drive. You took the company shuttle here.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, shit,” she said, turning to gawk at the lobby, then resuming her position before me. “Oh well! It really is just you and me now, killing the night. You wanna close the place?”

I stared at her from among the glassware, mixed feelings swirling inside me. On the one hand, this was a big, goofy, dangerous woman in the best of times, but now she was getting drunk. If she didn’t know when to quit with a clear head, what was likely to happen tonight?

On the other hand, I‌ saw the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I saw the way her lips twitched slightly when she grinned too hard. I‌ noticed how she never checked the time and talked over anyone checking their watch or phone. I‌ watched her eyebrows lift suggestively, hopefully, a little desperately. Maybe it really was just me and her, at the end of the day. I‌ didn’t know what kind of friends she had in the office, if any. Maybe they just saw her as the weirdo who fucked tiny men, or chased them unsuccessfully.

I‌ waved at her hand, the one that bent the swizzle straw between her middle and ring fingers. Her eyes lit up and she brought it over to me, holding it remarkably still while I‌ clutched it with both hands and drank down every drop. She applauded when I‌ bowed to her. “That’s my man,”‌ she said, licking her teeth. “How’d you like to feed me a little snack?”

I stepped out of the glasses, hoping against hope to flag down a waiter, but Tana had other things in mind. Apparently one of the data entrants only wanted maraschino cherries, because there was a small snifter with a dozen of them piled stickily within. A glance at her told me she expected me to do the heavy lifting. Well, fine: I took a short running leap, hooked the rim of the snifter and toppled it backward, dancing out of its way as it fell with a clunk. “Yay,” she whispered, beaming at me. I took a step inside and grabbed the nearest cherry, hefting it like a basketball, and looked up at her.

Those rows of long, white teeth parted and her jaw grew wider and wider until I‌ was staring down a cavern I could’ve driven a car into. I screwed up my face in concentration, patted the cherry a couple times, then drew back and hurled it in a long arc. It bounced on her wide tongue, which twitched in surprise, and rolled to rest against her canine. She reared and mashed it up messily, smiling her idiot face off. “Yay! You did it! Oh, but I’m still hungry. What else you got?”

I had more cherries, a-doy. I lobbed one and it bounced off her bottom lip; she laughed, licking it off, while I ran for it. I tossed two in her mouth, one after the other, and she clapped at my accomplishment. I‌ threw two more in, and she didn’t bother lifting her head to eat these: her skull bobbed violently as her jaw rested on her arms, chewing the candied fruit into shreds. This was a show for me, and I‌ was an attentive audience. “Goddess,”‌ I muttered, watching those large molars come down and pulverize the bright red flesh. Sticky juices glittered between her teeth, trickling over her gums, overflowing into a garish rivulet down her fat bottom lip and chin. It took no stretch of the imagination to liken this to something close to home for me. To drive the point home, Tana was laughing to herself, gnashing her teeth mere inches away from my fragile hand, my tender arm, my delicate skull. Every time her teeth came down, my muscles screamed with the instinct to leap back, duck through the glasses, and sprint to put as much distance between us as possible.

I didn’t, obviously. I stood there like a deer in the headlights, watching this ridiculous, out-of-control woman laughing and chewing messily right in front of me. If people stared, I didn’t notice. I‌ was held enraptured by her flaring nostrils, rising and falling above me, catching glimpses of her fat uvula squirming in the back of her throat, watching the saliva pool around the bed of her tongue and behind her lip. I swayed on my feet, growing dizzy with the strange, inexplicable desire to crawl inside and get the cherry’s treatment. You know, like vertigo, that moment when you stop pushing back from the ledge and you have to white-knuckle the handrail as your body tenses with the urge to throw yourself over. I‌ swayed, and my body lurched, and I‌ nearly stepped forward to catch myself.

“One more!” Tana chirped. “One more!”

Cloudy-headed, I turned obediently to retrieve another cherry. I drew back and threw it as hard and fast as I could, right into the center of her maw. I‌ watched it sail over her tongue and strike her uvula, tumbling straight down into the pit of darkness. “Oh, sorry,” I muttered in the half-second before her throat seized. Tana’s eyes clenched shut, her jaws slammed shut, and one hand flew to her throat. “Shit! Shit!” I looked around me for anything I could grab, either to pry her jaws open or to punch an airhole through her trachea, I‌ guess. I wasn’t thinking clearly. What if I pried her open? Could I really crawl down her throat and get the cherry? Was that possible?

Before I could do anything, her mouth gaped open and she coughed, twice, hard. I literally watched the cherry fly out of her throat on the first cough and disappear behind her uvula, nearly lodging in her sinuses. It fell back down and, at the second cough, launched out of her mouth like a cannonball. I caught it dead in my chest and it knocked me against a rocks glass.

Tana plucked a lock of hair and slowly stretched it out to its full length, while staring unblinking at me. “I like you, Archie,” she said quietly, slowly. “There’s a lot to like about you. You’re gruff, sure, rough around the edges. Sometimes you’re even mean. Mean to me, who least deserves it! Oh, what’s that face for? Isn’t that right? Even you have to admit you’re kind of a pill with me. All I want to do is spread sunshine and love, and you’re all Mr. Grumpy von Poutsalot.” She took up the stem of her martini glass and swirled the slightly oily dirty martini around for a bit.

“But I don’t mind. When you snap at me, when you complain while we’re having a nice lunch break, I don’t mind your grumpiness. Do you know why?” Her lips stretched and stretched into a world-devouring smile. “Because I like you that much, you scrumptious little man. Yes! I just can’t get enough of you! Even when you hurt my feelings and I want to throw you in the trash or crush you under the heel of my boot—there’s that look again! Come on, you know I’d never—I just think about the good times, or I peek around your cube wall and see little ol’ you bouncing away on your keyboard, and my heart melts!” She shrugged and shook her head, grinning. “I‌ don’t know what it is, Archie, but you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. I wish you knew what that meant. I think we could be so happy together, if you’d just get over whatever baggage you’re carrying around and let me… love you.” She simpered and blushed. “There, I said it. I said it! Why won’t you let me love you, Archie?”

Me, I was gasping and spluttering around in that dirty martini, fully clothed, slipping off the walls every time she swirled the drink. It had belonged to the funny lady, whomever she was, and it still had the imprint of some rose-colored lipstick blotched on the rim. Tana avoided this as she flashed her shiny teeth at me and raised me, and the glass I guess, to her lips. Her eyes disappeared behind her cheekbones and her nostrils became prominent twin voids just above me, as her lips bunched and pursed and puckered at me. Olive-tainted vodka flowed into the narrow sphincter her lips formed, with an ear-stabbing slurp. I clamped my palms to the sides of my head and rolled to my butt, ready to kick at her upper lip if she got ambitious.

“Mmm, delicious. I’ve really got to find out what they put in these things.” She arched an eyebrow, and her head waggled saucily on her neck. Why couldn’t she be this funny around other people? She set me down on the dark wood table with a clunk and folded her arms around me and the glass, looming over me like an erotic vulture. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

I‌ blinked a couple times, staring up at her. This broad, I tell you! “I‌ heard one of the other tables wanted a drink, so I‌ thought I’d hop on over and wring out my entire outfit for her.”

She burst out laughing, squinting behind her glasses, really leaning into the laughter. Slapping the table and everything. An elderly couple at a neighboring table made a point of craning around to give us pointed stares. I‌ shrugged back at them, pointing at the giantess in hilarity, returned a beseeching expression. The old man lost interest immediately, but the old woman wasn’t done transmitting her disapproval for another few minutes.

“It wasn’t that funny,” I‌ said as soon as Tana took a moment to breathe.

“Oh, my Goddess, you make me laugh! That’s one of the many things I‌ love about you, Archie! Nobody makes me laugh as hard as you do.” Her huge fingertip slowly skated around the rim of the shallow glass that held me. The tavern lights glinted upon her lacquered fingernail, passing over my shoes. “Why is that? Are we just suited for each other? There’s something about you that feels perfect. I wish I‌ knew you felt it too.” Her fingers curled into her palm above me, as her index fingertip ran the track behind my head. “What do you feel for me, Archie? Why don’t you tell me.”

“You scare the shit out of me, honestly.”

Her head shot up and she glanced around. “Did the lights just get darker, or am I seeing things? Darn it, I hope this isn’t a vision disorder or something, like getting older. Did you two notice the lights getting dim?” she called to the elderly couple, who now were eager to pretend she didn’t exist.

“They’re setting the mood, Tana. It’s mood lighting,”‌ I‌ shouted up at her. “And I said you scare the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, but beside that. Don’t you feel anything for me?”

“You’re a competent employee.”

“Go to hell, Archie.”‌ The giantess scowled upon me and seized the stem of the glass. “Bottoms up!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I yelled. Scrambling to push myself to the far end of the glass revealed to me just how much booze I’d soaked in through my skin. Or else the glass really was that slippery, and her grip on it really was that unstable. Or maybe all of it. All I knew was that the table had dropped away and I rose from chest-level to eye-level on this gigantic, drunken woman, and her frown had split wide open so I could see the dental work on her rear molars. Her tongue spread out like a squirming, restless mattress, and the meaty curtains of her throat flexed accommodatingly. “Tana, you crazy bitch! Put me down!” She did not, in fact, put me down on the table but seemed intent on dropping me down her gullet. The slick, concave surface was angling badly and my butt started to slide down. I relied on the rubber soles of my shoes to hold me up, but those too got slick and began to lose traction. One foot skidded off the rim of the glass and my leg shot out awkwardly. I glanced at the elderly couple to the side: the old woman reached across the table to insistently pat her husband’s shoulder, but he was having none of it.

“Aughl-aughl-aughl,” Tana moaned, chuckling at me with that great, wide-open maw of hers. Her tongue flooded over her teeth and bottom lip. Rolling out the red carpet for me, I guessed, just like I guessed this wasn’t a bluff this time.

So be it. I pulled my leg back and balanced my heels on the rim of the glass, grabbing the rim behind my head, and I sprang at her. Her fist was clenched hard enough to give some resistance to the martini glass, which I was grateful for; I was shitfaced and rubber-jointed, which helped nothing. Rather than flying over her nose and glasses to plop upon her forehead (don’t ask me why I thought that was a good idea), I sprawled mid-air, twisted too far, and caught the corner of her frames dead in my chest. I hooked my arm around the arm of her spectacles and slid down toward her ear, and wrapped my fists up in what looked like a thick lock of hair.

“What,” she said, jerking her head away from the impact on her glasses. I cried out as her massive skull rotated away from me, sending me flying on a wide arc as I clung to her hair. I could see the dozen or more hairs tugging at her scalp, raising a comical mound of flesh, from the centripetal force of my scant weight.

“Ouch,”‌she said, tossing her head the other way, turning her face toward me. I‌ whipped wide and smacked into the bridge of her nose. She reared reflexively, and somehow this flung me over her head and everything. But I had an iron grip on her hair, at least, so I rolled off the top of her skull and slid down over her ear.

I wedged my little head into her aural canal and screamed. “Calm down, dammit! Just calm down a second, you’re killing me.” Miraculously, that got to her. Her immense skull stopped snapping back and forth, smashing me against itself, and I caught a breather as I dangled by her ear. Her shoulder was still too far for me to stand on, but my arms were holding out. “There, calm down, sweetie, there you go. Everything’s all right.”

Tana’s head shuddered slightly. The arm of her glasses slid off her ear, tugged away by one hand, before both palms buried her eye sockets and she slumped in grief. “It’s not all right, Archie, nothing’s all right.” She sobbed, groping for a discarded cloth napkin with bleary eyesight, at best. “I’m sorry, it was your crack about being a good employee.”

“Hey, I’m sorry about that.” With the new angle to her head, I tried reaching out for another lock of hair to pull me closer to her ear. It was just hard to tell where these things were rooted, whether they’d bring me closer or set me swinging back toward her cheekbone.

“I‌ am a good employee! I work damn hard!” she cried. I could only imagine how this looked to everyone else: a very tall, very drunk woman sobbing about her job to an array of leftover cocktails. Poor girl. “I work so hard, and no one sees that! Those auditors, do you know what they accused me of?” She wiped one eye with the back of her wrist. “Well, not accused me-accused me. But they asked me if I’d ever been tempted to bring money home. I‌ don’t have any access to money!”

“Did you tell them that?” I asked, slowly climbing up her hair.

“That’s what I told them! I missed two Christmasses at home, one Thanksgiving, and my niece’s confirmation because I‌ was always there to work overtime when they needed it! And then they accuse me of stealing money from the bank?” She seized a tall, thin glass of bright green fluid in which all the ice had melted, and she dumped it down her throat. Her head tilted back to take it, giving me the opportunity to swing back and grab onto her ear: I wrapped my arms around the upper swoop (the part of the pinna called the helix) and rested my chest against the hollow (triangular fossa). Once secure, I‌ bent my legs up to where I could reach them, tugged off my sodden shoes, and rested my stockinged feet inside the large bowl of cartilage, standing very gently on her auricle. That little nub just below your ear-hole.

Look, ears fascinate me. There’s nothing weird about learning all the terms for something you’re into. And it just so happens that Tana has really beautiful ears, among all the Bigs’s ears I’ve seen.

“Everyone just thinks I’m weird,” she said, coughing a bit. “They think they’re so clever, hinting at our lunch breaks, sneering at me like I’m making out with a dog or something.”

Wait, what?

“I got in a fight with one of them, one of those bitches in Accounts Receivable. She said you were unclean and an abomination before the sight of her Lord. I didn’t punch her in the throat, but I wanted to. Instead, I‌ knocked the paperwork she was holding into the water fountain and doused it.” She laughed, coughing. “Apparently that was the payroll for some department or another. I‌ landed in some shit that day.”

I wished to Goddess I could have seen her expression just then. Instead, I just hugged her helix and stroked her pinna. “You never told me about that, Tana. When was this?”

“Oh, it’s just stupid. They’re all just stupid.” Absently she brushed her hair behind her ear. I ducked as her thick fingers swooped through the air just above me, then struggled to regain my hold against all the poundage of hair that’d been wedged behind the helix. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, and I saw her bring her glasses back up. Without warning me, she slid the arms over her temples and jammed them into her hair, behind her ears. I clutched her helix and leaned out as the long, plastic arm slid back into place, and then I grabbed onto that with one hand, caressing her ear with the other.

“Let’s get out of here, Archie.”

I told her that sounded like a great idea. She emptied a couple more glasses before calling a Knapa. We hung out in the lobby, waiting for it. She reclined on stuffed vinyl cushions, plucked me from her ear and stretched me out on her thigh again. This time I didn’t fight it, letting my arms and legs drape down the gentle curves of her leg. This time, her touch was much softer and slower, and that plus the sweet warmth rising from her thigh made it very hard to stay awake.

“You should come home with me, Archie.” Her voice was quiet and steady.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on. Nothing’s gonna happen,”‌ she said with her mouth, though her thumb was rubbing broad circles over my buttocks.

“We can’t do that, Tana.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“It’s not fraternizing. Come on, just come back to my place to sleep.” The tip of her pinky drifted up and down my thighs, then slipped between them and began nudging at my crotch.

It felt good, better than good, but I still told her this was why we shouldn’t. She apologized and withdrew her finger and repeated the question and I denied it, and then the Knapa pulled up and we got in. “Tana?” the driver confirmed in a thick accent I didn’t recognize. She settled in the back seat, couching me between her thighs, and asked him how his night was going. He had a rich laugh. “Friday night, you know. All de crazies come out. But I’m okay, I can’t complain.”

“We won’t give you any trouble,” she said.

“I’m sorry? I only saw you get into my car.”

“Oh, my boyfriend. He’s Anthropole. He’s taking a little nap right now.”

Again with that robust laughter. I‌ wonder whether I’ve ever felt so happy as this guy. “My brother is dating an Ant’ropole. Very handsome man, very nice. My momma, she don’t like it, but he is a good man, I can tell.” After a moment of silence the driver asked what Tana would like to hear on the radio. She said she didn’t care, so he went on listening to a documentary about Amelia Earhart, apparently.

The street rumbled quietly beneath us and Tana had nothing else to say. I peeked up at her and couldn’t see her face, just the pale triangle of her jaw as she rested her head on the seat back. Her hands lay on the seats by her sides, no longer touching me. I sank into the chasm of her thighs and rested there, caught by massive, soft legs that jiggled with the imperfections of the highway. Her warmth radiated through me, and I thought about staying with her tonight. Why not? It was Friday, I had nothing going on tomorrow. What could it hurt to crash at her place for one night?

Actually, no, you know what I wanted, was to crawl all over her for a weekend. If I‌ were completely honest with myself, I’d want a tray of booze by the bed and Tana tied up… no, just lying there. Lying perfectly still, watching me or just feeling me, while I‌ rub myself all over her legs, slather myself all over her belly, rising and falling with her breath. She has to lie perfectly still while I‌ slither up her chest and grope her tits with my entire body, gnawing on her nipples, clutching her crepe-soft skin as her boob sways back and forth. And then maybe I’d snake on down to her armpit, curl up in there as her arm pins me into place, just to feel her all around me. Yeah. Then up her neck, I’d stand on her throat and hoist myself up over her chin, stretch out over her mouth, and she’d smile, and I’d—

“Is this your place?” the driver called back.

Tana’s head raised laboriously from the rest. She stretched out one long arm, far overhead, and pointed at the windshield. “That one, with the yellow light.” The Knapa rolled forward and angled to park against the curb. Her thighs spread and I slipped to the cloth upholstery. Her tight little butt passed over me like a dark cloud, then disappeared as the chilly night air flooded the car. “Stay safe,”‌ she called out from the sidewalk, and the door slammed shut.

“Next stop, your place, sir,” the driver said. “She ga’ me your address, it’s fine. I just need you to ride inside the Cahoot, and then you can rest.” He reached back and carefully set the acrylic case beside me. He didn’t check whether I‌ entered before rejoining traffic.

The ride was much colder, even after the driver turned the heater on. It was so much different, lying upon the hard, injection-molded foam of the back seat, in stark contrast to Tana’s long, soft thighs. My heart lurched in my chest for a second and I thought about yelling for the driver to turn around, but no. If I knew what the right answer was when I was sober, I had to trust that and not give in to any brilliant ideas I was coming up with now.

When I‌ saw the familiar restaurant and gas station signs flash past the rear windows, I‌ hauled myself up and piled into the Cahoot. The vehicle stopped, the driver carried me right up to my apartment, and wished me a good night. I let myself in by the coded Anthropole entrance, and it was a long, dark walk down a tin corridor to the basement where my neighborhood was stored. I‌ heard the landlady’s cat growling in the corner, but she didn’t hop up to the table and give me any trouble.

My stockinged feed were silent as I plodded down the painted street, gloomy in the basement’s lack of lighting, passing two Victorian homes, a multi-tier cabin made of popsicle sticks, and the stylish goddamn modern villa I’ve been lusting after since Mrs. Haggerty installed it. LEDs glowed in some of the homes, but my crappy-ass rambler was dark. I jerked the plastic door open, stumbled through the darkened rooms, and stripped my vodka-drenched suit off into the tub. I took a moment to splash water from the basin Mrs. Haggerty refilled every other day, rinsing myself down but not bothering to towel off before I dumped myself on the starchy, thick sheets on my hard foam bed.

Quite the contrast from sleeping with Ms. Hands, that’s for sure. I wondered whether she slept on satin sheets, then decided she was more the type to own a lined bedset and keep it until it was almost frictionless with softness. That sounded nice. I‌ lay there in the dark, trying to picture that giantess, oversized even among the Bigs, sleeping in her immense kingdom of a bed. Was she touching herself right now, or did she just pass out?

I was touching myself, thinking of her. I had no way of knowing how I’d feel in the morning about my decision. I really hoped it was the right one.