It was an even-numbered Friday night, so Alexa knew her plans for the evening far in advance. She wasn’t a goth but she shimmied into her black jeans, slid her black jacket over her black top, and headed out the door of her small apartment. She was going to spend a few hours in a dank, bustling, subterranean subway platform trying to convince strangers to not abuse animals. It was in some sense a break from the hard work she was doing as a graduate student, meaningful in a different way from the physics she was working on at her prestigious university. She was an activist with Unseen for the Unvoiced. Maybe you’ve seen them at one of their quiet protests. Wearing all black, some of them hold television screens showing real videos of animal cruelty taken surreptitiously at factory farms, slaughterhouses, and the like. Those holding the screens wear black, domino masks, but there are others like Alexa who stay in the crowd, waiting for when a passer-by takes notice of what is being shown, waiting to engage and have a conversation. You couldn’t have missed them, and you certainly wouldn’t have missed her, a tall, thin young woman with dark eyes, chestnut hair, with round, golden glasses over dark eyes, and a face that turned heads.
She always felt nervous before going out. Some conversations were great, most were middling, but some were awful. She hated the way people made her feel sometimes when they shouted at her or insulted her, but most of all she hated the way people acted so callously toward the animals she was working to defend. Steeling herself, she walked toward her subway stop, paid the BTA their $1.26, waited on the platform, and spent 20 or so minutes listening to music while being squished against various people on the bumpy ride, and found herself on the platform she’d be on for the next few hours. She was a little early, but not so early that some of her fellow volunteers weren’t already there. She recognized many of them. She was happy to see her friend Sara, a slightly shorter redhead with piercing blue eyes who immediately ran over to give her a boisterous hug, as was her custom. She felt a little nervous that her ex, Kyle might be there, but they ended on a cordial note months ago. Her actual nervousness about Kyle stemmed from the fact that she knew Ira was coming, and she was really excited to see him. They’d bonded over, well, so many things the past few times they’d seen each other, but had never exchanged numbers for some reason. Well, if he wasn’t going to ask her out, she was going to do it. Maybe. Probably not, honestly. She wanted to be more agentic about things like that, but it was haaaard.
Anyway, neither was there yet, so she and Sara continued to hang out. “Got any plans? Well, you do now. You’re coming to Roxie’s party tomorrow, right?” Sara was always plugged into parties, despite being a bit older than Alexa. “I guess so, but what’s it for this time?” Alexa inquired.
“For? What’s it for? Parties aren’t always for something. Other than fun. And ‘fun.’” Sara had a boyfriend, but was kind of a stereotype of polyamorous people. “Speaking of which, now that we’ve passed the Bechdel test, has Ira asked you out yet?”
“What? Why would he ask me out?” Alexa asked, playing a bit dumb.
“Oh, come off it, I know you’re both interested in each other. I see it in the way you’ve been looking at each other every other week for the past few months. I think he’s too worried about making you uncomfortable by hitting on you in a space like this where we’re very obviously here for a different purpose to actually ask you, so if you want something to happen, you’re going to have to do something drastic yourself.”
“That’s–” Alexa started speaking, but was cut off by the triple realization that (1) Sara was right, (2) Ira was here, and (3) Penelope, the leader of their UftU chapter was gathering everyone together. She gave them a little reminder about what they were there to do, helped four people into their masks and screens, and then everyone was on their own. For the next few hours, there wouldn’t be much conversation among the volunteers as they were constantly searching the crowd of people moving through the station, looking for anyone who was actually taking a second to notice the imagery. After not too long, Alexa noticed an older woman who was watching a video of a calf being kicked in the face and dragged away while her mother was being held down. Alexa walked over to the woman and started talking.
“Hi there, I noticed you watching for a while. What do you think of this?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks awful. Cruel.”
“Yeah. Would you say you’re against animal cruelty?”
“Oh, yes, very much. I have a dog that I love waiting for me at home, actually.”
“I’m glad to hear that. So, you don’t eat animals then, right?”
“Well… I’m not going to lie to you, I’m not a vegetarian.”
Alexa laughed a little. “So in that case can you see how your actions say something very different from what you say, right?”
“I’m trying to eat less meat! But yes, of course.”
“It’s not just meat, actually. For example, what we’re watching right now is cruelty for milk.”
“Milk? What do you mean?”
“Why do cows make milk?” Alexa asked the woman.
“...For us to drink. Oh, you mean why in the first place. Hm. They just make it, don’t they?” she said uncertainly.
Alexa shifted on her feet. “Okay, well, why would you make milk, if you were going to?”, she pressed.
“Well, for a baby…”
“Yes, so, it’s the same for cows. They make it for their babies. Tell me, what happens if they get to keep their babies?”
“I’m not sure, what do you mean?” the woman faltered and was visibly confused.
“I mean ‘what happens to the milk?’”
“Oh. Oh! We don’t get the milk,” understanding writing itself across the woman’s face.
“Exactly. So we take away their babies just for a piece of cheese. We take them away to be killed for veal or to grow up in the same conditions as their mothers. But tell me, do we keep making milk all the time once we’ve had kids?”
“No, just for a little while usually, until they’re weaned. I actually had to use formula myself at the end for my second.”
“Right again, so we have to keep raping them over and over to keep them continuously pregnant, which is of course really hard on their bodies–” Alexa was cut off.
“I’m sorry dear, but I’ve got to be going” the woman said. The corners of her mouth had twitched down when Alexa used the word ‘raping.’”
“Ok,” Alexa said, downtrodden. “But please consider going vegan,” she said plaintively as the woman hurriedly shuffled off.
________________
Alexa had a number of conversations after that. Some went better, some went worse, but the evening marched ever onward. Sometimes the station was almost empty, sometimes it was jam-packed with people disgorged from recently-arrived subways. It was at one of these busy times that Alexa had her most unpleasant conversation of the night, soon before their volunteer work was done for that day. A short man in his mid 40s sporting a bulging belly and leather cowboy boots wandered over to watch a screen showing some tiny chicks, just hatched, riding a conveyor belt. Alexa saw him move his hand into view, holding a bag of Bluto’s Fried Chicken. He pulled out a piece of a chicken and bit into it, laughing at the moment when the helpless chicks reached the end of the conveyor belt and were plunged onto a floor made of spinning blades that shredded their bodies into a pulp. Against her better judgment, she went up to the man and asked him “what do you think about this?”
He snorted, a crumb of breading making its way onto the corner of his mouth. “What do I think? I think it looks delicious.”
“You think that looks delicious?” she said, incredulous.
“Yeah. Or great or whatever. Look, little lady, I’m at the top of the food chain, see? I’m the top predator. The big d-o-g. So I. Can eat. Whatever. I want,” he said, punctuating each sentence fragment at the end with a flick of another piece of a chicken he’d pulled out of his bag while he looked slightly upward to meet her eyes, and then maneuvered the chicken into his mouth.
“You’re no predator, this isn’t the savanna, you’re just choosing to torture them to death so you can have something you think is tasty. What’s more important? A second of pleasure for you or their entire lives?” she asked.
“Uhh, let me think for a sec. Ding! I’m more important than a chicken. I’m bigger than it and smarter than it. If you’ve got a problem with that, deal with it. It’s a free country, Sugartits!” he said with his mouth full, smiling at the end.
Something in her broke there and then. She felt a seething anger bubbling up from her core and a vibration deep within her, a power urging to be used. A power she was familiar with, but had never used against someone before. Without thinking much about it she grabbed for that power and flung it out invisibly through her forehead at him. He withered quickly, but not instantaneously, to an inch or so tall and found himself falling through space since his center of mass had only barely changed position: he was in the air just behind where his navel had been a few moments before. Of course, he couldn’t really appraise his situation well enough to figure this out–from his perspective a moment before he’d been talking to a hot idiot, and now he was falling. Screaming seemed like the best option at hand, and he took it. A third of a second passed, and he was on the ground, still screaming, but unharmed, despite falling a distance that looked to him like 30 feet or so. He was on the ground, dazed. Thick, black rubber soles were the closest thing to him, but as he craned his neck upward he saw first black, vinyl shoes, then long legs, arms and a glorious chest, and then reddish brown hair framing the face he’d just had the pleasure of chatting with, but far away and magnified and looking like a goddess. A goddess that was getting closer. Her shapely legs were folding and the shadow of one of her hands draped itself over him.
Soon after, he felt her hand grab him, warm and damp with perspiration. It dominated him, powerful muscles flexing and confining him. He was caught fast, held tightly enough to hurt, but only a little.
Alexa couldn’t believe what she’d done. As if on autopilot she swiftly reached down, grabbed the tiny man, and stuffed him into her too-small jean pocket. When she got back up she looked around to see if anyone had noticed anything. It didn’t look like anyone had given how busy it was at the time. She wanted to get out of there and figure out what to do. Her heart raced in her chest: she’d just shrunken and kidnapped someone!
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
No smut yet, just setting the stage. There will be plenty of that later, but for now there will be some shrinking.
Chapter End Notes:
If you’re interested in seeing footage similar to what was described in this story, check out the Dominion, a documentary streaming freely here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQRAfJyEsko