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Story Notes:

A giantess goes on a nice, quiet stroll downtown. 

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An ad for Liz's reality show, The Big Life with Princess Liz.

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Author's Chapter Notes:

The Queen of Britain, all 50-odd feet of her, lies in her custom-tailored bedroom with her diminutive husband, the king.

The Queen

 

Sunlight streaked through the velvety darkness of the bedroom. The Queen of England was sprawled out on her crimson-hued bed. Once a wealthy Egyptian heiress, she had married into England’s royal family. Her dark features made it clear that she was no Englander, but she was rich with charm and beauty and wealth, and so the people of Britain had embraced her. She still looked beautiful, and virile, with a regal face and thick curves. 

The Queen was fond of the Palace’s master bedroom. They called it the Red Room, and not without reason: the walls, sheets and carpet were all the same dark red, a tone which could be at once inviting and ominous. The ceiling was gilded marble, patterned into baroque designs. The room looked much as it had five hundred years earlier, and likely much as it would in another five hundred. Only one thing looked out of place: a wall-mounted flat-screen television, it’s sleek modern design contrasting with the ornate room. 

The room was spacious, but at first glance didn’t look particularly large: the bed was just the right size for the queen, and the room was just the right size for the bed. A closer look revealed a few curiosities, however: the lamps, the television remote, and the newspaper all looked comically small next to the queen, as if they were props from a dollhouse. Lying next to the queen, all but hidden under the covers, was a man, and not just any man: the King of England. He was nearly five feet tall, not small by any standards. Yet next to the Queen he looked no bigger than a doll.

The Queen sat up, the velvet sheets slipping off her huge breasts. They had been small once, at least for her size, when she was younger; but the spice had made them swell, and having a daughter had made them swell more. Now they were gigantic. On a slender frame they would have looked almost comically top-heavy, but the Queen’s wide hips did well to balance them out.

She reached over to the nightstand and picked up a tiny remote control between her fingers, exercising care not to crush it. She dropped the remote on top of her husband, who aimed it at the flat-screen TV and pressed the power button. Just like that, the TV turned on.

***

The TV showed a blonde newswoman sitting at a desk; the logo in the bottom-right of the screen showed that they were watching the BBC news. “And in America,”the newswoman said with a smile, “sweeping changes continue, as the senate passes one tinies’ rights bill after another. American tinies have been receiving important new rights and protections. Two years ago, America elected its first non-giantess president, who was also the first male president, Ted Hampton. Hampton recently signed a bill which made it a crime for anyone, even a giantess, to kill a citizen. Even the tallest woman will soon face fines, and potentially misdemeanor charges, for crushing or eating someone. 

Masculists and other men’s rights activists have hailed these changes as a victory, and a step in the right direction for both men and lowborn women. Some argue that it goes too far. One bill, introduced by Alaskan Senator and Governor Tara Zalin, aims to protect giantesses from criminal charges in certain situations. It would not be illegal for a giantess to kill a man if they were acting on, quote, ‘natural, healthy, violent urges,’ or where the man was quote, ‘asking for it.’ The bill would also make it legal for women to eat men in situations where they felt ‘distressed or hungry,’ and would protect giantesses in foot crushings with ‘potential accidentiality.’

We spoke with Tara Zalin earlier today. Here she is.”

An attractive, bespectacled middle-aged woman came on the screen, dressed in business casual and wearing a flag lapel pin. The camera was positioned near her feet, making her look as big as a skyscraper. She spoke with the folky twang of a midwesterner. “This is a terrible moment in American history, don’t ya know? Wealthy, powerful giantesses like me are job creators. We’re what make America great, not a bunch of five-footer welfare leeches living off the government dole. It’s painful to see one right after another taken away from us, in the name of ‘equality.’ The government is trying to say that I don’t even have the right to step on some America-hating liberal terrorists now and again? I think it’s a shame that those mini-nazis and the bleeding-hearts can’t just consider what it’s like to be a giantess. They’ll never know what it’s like to face criminal charges just because you accidentally stepped on a few hot dog venders on your way to the capital. It’s hard, don’t ya know? It’s all a bunch of flag-hatin', commie class warfare.

I’m not ashamed to say that I stand one hundred feet tall and weigh 300 tons. I’m the biggest, tallest, loudest, proudest, most All-American woman in all of Alaska. When I walk, the earth shakes n’ shivers like it’s made out of jello pie, and anyone under me is going to end up squished flat as a junebug on the fourth. And if I accidentally knock down a skyscraper every now and again, well that’s just the price of freedom, don't ya know?”

The newscaster came back on. “Now as the Spice becomes rarer and more expensive, true ‘giantesses’ are getting harder and harder to come by. This means that the privileged giantess class has less political clout than they once did. With the giantess’ influence fading, many have asked if similar laws will be passed in Britain. The King, however, has yet to speak for or against such measures. Do you think they should pass a tiny's rights bill, Kevin?”

The camera panned down, revealing a tiny man next to the female newscaster. He was half as tall as his female co-worker, and stood in front of a similarly tiny desk. “Oh, Shirley, I think that men deserve the same rights as anyone. I know I’d feel that much safer if I didn’t have to worry about being crushed by some fifty-foot woman every time I walked to work. What do you think, Shirley?”

“I think that Tara had a point: we need to look at the other side of things. What about the giant women? Did you ever stop and consider how powerful it makes those women feel to be able to crush a few men now and again? I mean, I know how expensive the Spice is, but I’d like to have enough money to be a proper giantess some day. I’m not saying I’d want to crush men often, or anything, but it would be nice coming home from a long day of work and just feeling a few of you guys squish under my feet, you know? You know, Kevin, you look nice and squishy.”

“Oh Shirley, you kidder.”

“I’m not kidding. And another issue: scientists recently developed a way to alter the Red Spice. This chemically-modified version still causes massive growth, but minimizes the sexual and homicidal urges that often result from using the Red. Already, some are calling to make the original spice illegal, stating that it frequently leads women to perform acts of violence on unsuspecting men. Wealthy women have struck back, saying that they worked hard for their wealth, and should be able to enjoy it however they choose.’

I’m Shirley, and this is my squishable co-host Kevin, with the BBC morning news. Up next is the world’s highest-rated show, The Big Life with Princess Lizzie.” And with that, they turned off the TV.

***

"America's going to hell in a handbasket. I worry about our daughter, being over there with all those freaks." The queen looked down at her husband. “I don’t like that Kevin man--too uppity. Have him fired. Or killed. Better yet, have him fired, then killed.”

“Of course, love. Anything you want.”

“What’s happening in America right now is an abomination. This men’s rights craze is getting out of control. There are half a million protesters in front of the Palace, right now, for Goddess’ sake! As the King, the... ruler of Britain, you need to put up a strong front. Make it clear that you’re not willing to upset tradition. After all, tradition is the only reason they still allow male heirs to rule in Britain--it’s the only reason a little man like you is able to be acting King. And you like being in charge of everything, don’t you? Ruling Britain all by your little self?”

“It is nice being able to make all the big decisions myself, love.”

“Of course. So you’re going to go on the tellie, like a good king, and you’re going to tell everyone that we’re not passing any civil rights bills. In fact, we’ll pass a constitutional amendment making it clear that those little cockroaches are to be always subservient to their betters. Do you understand?”

“Honey, you know that I believe in civil rights...”

The Queen leaned over on her side. Her pillowy breasts fell against the bed, pinning the King. Smothered under the weight of her soft breasts, he struggled to get out from under her. The king tried to call out, but his screams were muffled.

“Oh? I’m sorry, am I smothering you with my tits? Sometimes I forget how big they are. I really need to be more careful with my little husband, how careless of me. I suppose I should probably turn onto my back, before I suffocate my precious little king... Is that better? Now, you were saying?”

“I... *gasp* was... *gasp* saying... that I believe in civil rights... But what I believe isn’t as important as what my wonderful, beautiful, giant wife wants. I’ll do anything to make you happy, honey-buns.”.

“Good. Those protesters have some sort of a stage erected in the streets, where they spout their crazed beliefs from a microphone. Channel 4 News is showing the whole thing on live TV: they’re calling it a ‘historic rally.’ I call it a joke in bad taste. Unfortunately they’re too close to the Palace for me to call in a drone strike, and I haven’t called in the riot police yet. I have some other plans. Big plans. We’re going to march out to those protesters, and show them and the media that the Queen is still in charge.”

“You mean King, don’t you honey?”

“Sure I do,” she said with a condescending smile. “Sure I do.”

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