MISSING (Part II)
Steves story
Steve does not have time to think too much about anything but his progression on the vast plain of the floor. As he goes on, Anna massive shape goes to and fro from room to room. He had awoken shortly after the brutal experience under her foot, and is now focused on staying away from her walking area. He can hear her muttering to herself, calling his name from the bathroom, rummaging through the various corners and niches of the house. At first he had been mortified and frustrated at being a witness of Annas distress. Shes looking everywhere, while he stands just there a few meters from her (at times much, much closer, to his great fear).
She is an unbelievable sight to him. She has taken the time to dress up in white top and rather short miniskirt. Steve looks at her from an impossibly low angle, so that she really is at time all legs and feet. The size of her body is so vast that it is hard to grasp it whole. In spite of this, Anna has never looked so beautiful, tall and lean and her blond hair gracefully brushing her back, or falling like a golden curtain around her head when she looks downwards. Promoted to this goddess status, her natural beauty is so amplified, and also combined to an incredible aura of
sheer power. The being walking about in the house is in fact the most powerful thing he has ever seen. In her search (she started again after a few moments of dejection) she is lifting buildings and mountains and massive shapes, with no apparent effort. When she bends down, her breasts looms in his directions like twin hills hed have to climb to reach the top. She could crush him under one finger without even noticing. Damn, one eyelash of hers is more powerful that him. Yet her face is still the beautiful face he has always known, the very straight nose, the green eyes, the full lips, the slight freckles on her cheeks. From afar, so high above the perspective does not yet distort it or mar its natural contours. He wishes he could wash away the stricken look that has taken over her gorgeous eyes.
Every time she enters the room, her movements make it difficult for Steve to progress. The vibrations in the floor are so intense that he keeps falling to his knees and getting up. The wind of her passing by is sweeping over the floor in powerful gusts. Once her foot came so close as throw him flat on the floor, as the massive thing (now wearing a pink sandal) passed silently overhead, (but with a terrible swoosh of air). But he only thing on his mind is now to get out of this stupid red forest and get to place where motion is easier. The kitchen, with it linoleum floor and smooth furniture should offer more opportunity for detection. And there might be food and water
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Annas story
I go to the kitchen to drink some tea. I need to relax, I need to think. I did not spot anything under my feet, so Im quite convinced I did not step on Steve this morning. Still, Im in the middle of my second search and no trace of him so far. I let the tears flow again, as I lean against the counter, waiting for the hot water to boil.
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Steve and I have a real bond, one of these connections that are meant to occur one or twice in everyones life. Falling in love with Steve was as natural as breathing to me. At times, I feel weve been falling in love since eternity. We married pretty fast, shortly before my 25th birthday, not three years ago It seems like yesterday, and yet its seems that so many things have happened. The shrinking did happen, curtailing our budding couple life with no return.
I keep loving him, of course, in spite of some weird allusions from friends and other folks. (They seem to think Steve was no longer my husband, because his size was no longer a constant.). How could I not? He is still the man that makes me laugh, that listens to me, that is so smart and witty and put all my other relations to shame. He is still the man that loved me and I can see that everyday in every look. We never doubted each other. I found myself in the position to help him, to protect him, to take care of him. Although the reciprocation is somewhat not obvious, I ve never felt bitter at this strange turn of event. I do not have much of a motherly nature (we hadnt planned to have children before 30 anyway), but I certainly accept the role I have now. What protected us from falling in a weird mother- child relationship is that sex still kept us united.
I never expected that from myself, but the shrinking of my boyfriend brought some really unusual thoughts to my mind, and some really odd feelings. Sex was definitely not on our minds during the first three months of the shrinking. The situation was so weird, the activity so intense (we were so solicited by everyone, Steve was never in the house, always at some research center) that I feel we were just huddling together against a world that was playing us a monumental practical joke, and against people who could no longer see us a couple. But all the while a strong sensation was slowly taking hold of me. Looking at him, on our first real private day since he left the Center, his head hardly reaching my hip, I did not feel motherly feelings, I was feeling
powerful, beautiful and in charge. That night, the first one we were really home after so many nights where we had just cuddled in some cold impersonal room in the Center, I saw the look in his eyes, the hunger that was there and that somehow he had never expressed (out of shame? Out of fear?).
And that struck me like a sledgehammer. I wanted to hold him, but I also wanted to feel his little body on mine, I wanted to let him feel the weight of my body on him. I think that in the aftermath of the disease relentless attacks, I wanted him to belong to me at last, not to this strange and invisble third party. As he awkwardly landed a kiss on my lips, a fire in my loins was already burning, as if all this nights without contacts were suddenly burning up wildly. I landed a kiss on his lips, his head, and his torso. And, pushing him on his back, I knelt in front of his diminutive body, removing my top. Steve was all eyes, and was showing a raging hard-on. I was so incredibly turned on. It was not only that we hadnt been able to make love for a few months. It was that
I liked him to be so small. Theres no way around it. I found Steve so unbelievably sexy, His athletic body was in perfect shape, his proportions so perfect, but it was all so weird, as I lent forward to kiss him, I could see my shadow covering his whole body. He raised his arms, touching my breasts, and that sent tingles all over my body. I smiled a wicked smile at him. He smiled back. In spite of our difference, we were back in business.
I nearly gasped when Steve brought his mouth to my breast. It felt so good. Why on Earth had we stopped making love for so long? But although his actions were undeniably arousing I was seized by the impulsion to control him, to make him mine. I started to lower myself on him, my breasts pushing against him. He laughed and tried to push me away, but I would not let this happen. I lied squarely on top of him, and I could see his head just above my breasts, and felt his body squirming in delight under me. I pushed further till he could no longer move and my weight was sinking him into the bed. That was the first moment I realize sex was going to be a totally different and totally exhilarating experience now. (Sometime a risky one, even, and that makes it ever so hot for both of us).
We went on all night. I remember how we were laughing when, me sitting across his body, my back to him, I pretended merrily to squash him by sitting on his face. When my sex gently touched his whole face, with a wet sound, and realised I could squeeze most of his body between my thighs, it was no longer a laughing matter, I was dripping wet and suffused with lust, pressing his head against me, covering him in juices. I turned round, now keeping his face between my thighs, as he gazed on me with wonder, and I deliberately took his hand and stroke it against my clit, my labia, and pushed it inside me
Later, as Steve went on dwindling away, we kept our routine just as alive as during this first night. When I press him into my breast, rub him around my nipple (much larger than his head today) I get so full of lust I can hardly breathe. Hes the man I love, and hes mine in a way no woman has ever possessed a man. I can do what I want with him (we discussed much about this, and the outcome is that we totally agree on the mutual pleasure we get from this) , I can smell him and taste him whole on my tongue and press him in my skin (gently). Steve always seems delighted. I guess for him to realize his life as a lover isnt over is a great kick to his moral too). To me, its a whole new world of sensations that opened up. I just love to look [i]down [/i]at him. I take all sort of threatening, crushing poses, and that makes us laugh and that makes me strangely hot. I love to lie down slowly over him, as i look down under my belly, watching my navel slowly covering his head, and I just keep him there for a second, feeling the very light struggles of his body against my flesh. The sheer power is so intoxicating and so sexy. I could just let myself down on the warm mattress and my love would be so totally engulfed by my belly and my body. There is something so Freudian about this I sometimes think. Something wicked too, that arouses me like nothing else Ive imagined.
The riskiest part of course is when we really make love. When I grab him gently between two fingers, breathing hard already, and gently brush him against my clit, feeling his tiny arms pulling at it, his little body sliding over it. And I feel his joy even through the like contact with my fingers, which turns me on no end. I press tentatively his whole body against my labia, stroking them, feeling his tiny legs kickings against it ( a very light and sensuous touch to me). The few seconds when I start pushing him inside, feeling his torso entering slowly into my sex, his shoulders struggling against the not quite yet opened orifice ,are so tantalizing. When I insert him fully, guiding his wriggling body with my fingers and applying at last a gentle push on is feet till my sex closes full on my finger, I feel like a receptacle for our love together, as my vagina relaxes to accept him inside me. Hes mine,then, totally mine. We share the same body. In the golden mist of pleasure, I become aware that i am alone on the bed, I have engulfed him, made him part of me, of my sex. My sex has eaten him whole. I own his body and his soul, Im everything to him then. This holding of his life inside me, the sheer power of it, mixed with the incredible sensuous feeling of his body and arms and legs touching and wriggling against my vaginal walls is overwhelming.(sometimes I feel complex movements, as , when too deep inside, he attempts to turn back, his feet pushing against my cervix) , creating an arousal sensation beyond words. When the pleasure drowns me, and I tighten my vagina around him, Im hugging him in my spasm as I would in my arms.
The risk is there for us to go too far, I could crush him under my bottom when he explores me below, in a sudden wrong movement, I could drown him literally in the oblivion of a too prolonged orgasm. But each time we start making love there is this look of defiance from him to me. This implicit I dare you which turns me on so much. Steve is my hero still, my 4 inch hero, as he defies me to pleasure myself, as he demands his own pleasure at the risk of his life. When we finish, I love to put him just on my bush, feeling his tiny legs just brushing the upper part of my sex. And then I look at him, wet and exhausted and happy, falling asleep on my nether region that he has conquered, while I still feel lights tremors inside me. Just thinking about it makes
..
The boiled water is hissing at me nastily. I come back to the surface, to find the air cold and mean and threatening. I pour myself a cup of tea. Coffee wont do me any good. I need to think clearly. I need help. I call the police. They follow their dull script asking me his name, and address, and when it comes to his description and I mention his size, a blank silence answers me. I think the man is going to hang in on me. But no, his voice comes back, carrying a weird excitement hardly masked by the professional tone. Of course. He remembers .Steve. Hes seen him on TV. Im a VIP now. Theyll be here in a jiffy he tells me. I hang up. I can almost hear the conversation in the police station. Guys! You wont believe who we got to find today!. I sit on the chair, and stare at the window. Where are you my love?
Steves story
At last, the door. Its wide open. Steve can hear the boiling water. Shes making some tea or coffee (shes totally unpredictable when it comes to hot beverages). He climbs over the metallic bar that separates the carpeted floor of the bedroom from the flat smooth surface of the kitchen floor. Sighing with relief, he can at last walk. Normally. The red jungle is over.
He slowly penetrates in the brightly lit kitchen. A huge sqaure of light is splashing on the floor from the window. All he can hear is the slurps from Anna's drinking , and the low vibration from the fridge. Every object has turned also into a parody of itself, giant shapes that he needs to analyze to put a name on it. Going as he did from 4 to a 10th of inch, everything is now 40 times wider, longer, taller than last nite, and as calculates coldly. He had though before he was living in a world of giants, but this is so much worse. He has slipped outside the world of men altogether.
He stops to look at the giant woman sitting on the chair, sipping tea (this time, its tea, he thinks to himself). She must be exhausted, shes spent the entire day searching the place. Her face is tired, her eyes red again. Theres nothing he can do about it now and he better find a place to hide or be exposed. He heard the phone call, and although he could not understand the words properly, Steve knows one thing for certain. The giants are coming.
tbc
nostromo
Giantess World
