Gift Package


God, it’s been a long day. I’m finally getting to go home, do a few things and go to sleep. As I walk from the library, I feel my little companion move a bit in a tailored pocket I have for him inside my bra. He enjoys himself in there as my day goes on, so he tells me. As little ones like him are rare to us, and they all have their little quirks about what they like.

My small friend will go unnamed. I have no clue where they came from, or how they evolved, but I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones that got to take care of him. He is a kind fellow that doesn’t complain much, and is always glad to have my company.

As I reached the front door of our apartment, I whispered to my chest that we are here and will be in the warmth soon. It is cold outside this time of year, and have to be extra sure he is warm enough. I have to remember to think of such things, put myself in his position, for everything normal on my level is magnified a thousand fold to him. Inside my apartment is warm as can be, I took off my jacket, placing it on the hat rack, then moved toward my room. Having to get up early tomorrow, I need to get a shower this evening, I don’t trust myself to wake up any earlier then I have to. And I must admit, I love taking showers with my little one. All around he makes my life much more lively. So, as I am taking off my clothes, I take him out first so I don’t rug burn his whole body with the movement of my sweater. Putting him safely on my bed, I take off my clothes and feel his eyes on me. Not minding, I simply smile his way and finish. He knows what is coming, I can read it on his tiny face, he knows it’s washing time, and gets extremely excited. I sit on the bed and pick him up in my hands, then lay him on my lap flat and start to unclothe him. I know he can do it himself, but this is my time to enjoy, so I do. When I am done, I take out my hair of my hair-tie. Gently carrying him with me, I grab my robe and towel and head to the bathroom.

We sort of have a ritual now when we take a shower. I open up the curtain, and place him on one of the ledges designated for soaps and such while I place my robe on the door hook and throw the towel over the curtain rod. As I turn on the water, I am sure not to aim the nozzle his way, and not make the water too hot. He likes it tepid. The water gets to the desired temperature, and I step in with eyes gazing again. Letting the water soak my hair, I pick him up, cupping him in my hand, and lightly let the water drench him. He looks so cute there all nude and in the tiny pool of my hands, I decide to draw him near my face and give him a big long kiss, that covers most of his minute frame. He wiggles in delight and is nothing but smiles. So, I give him a longer kiss and lick him soundly amid the constant rain of water. I hear his little moans and I just grin at myself, loving to bring him pleasure.

I put him back on his soapy perch as I take out the shampoo from the rack, squeeze a large amount on my hand, and cover my long hair in it. I lather it up till it is a great white mass in my hair then turn around and stick my head under the spray. I pick him up again and hold the end of the shampoo bottle up to him so he can reach in and get the amount he wants. He mimics my movements and washes his hair. I hold out my free hand to the water and let it fill with it. Then I pour it over him like a great waterfall, drenching him thoroughly. Next is the soap, I take out the body wash and squeeze a bit on a pouf and wash his little body completely. I get every nook and cranny, back, front, legs, arms, and finally, his favorite, between the legs. For some reason I always giggle when he spreads his legs abruptly with this silly-happy-excited look upon his mug. This time to rinse him I just grip him by the midsection and hold him under the water. After he is done, I wash myself, so back on the perch he goes and I wash myself with the pouf, and I make sure I get everything on myself as well, or I will hear it from him. I know how he likes to watch me bend over to wash my legs or feet, and he especially makes sure I was my breasts well, which I don’t blame him, he does have to be near them a great amount of the day. I rinse myself off, turning, getting all the soap off, then turn off the nozzle.

I reach for the towel and pull it over the rod, then grab him in the other hand and dry him off. I dry his hair in a matter of seconds, then get under his arms, his back, his chest, legs, and yes, between the legs. With him placed back on the perch, I bend over and wrap the towel about my head and bring myself up. Then I peek outside the curtain and grab my terry-cloth robe and put it on, and tie the tie. I pick up my little one and place him in the pocket.

I step out of the shower with my companion, and head back to my room. I put him on my pillow as I dry off completely. I bend over again and rustle up my hair to dry it, then place it on a hook in my closet. I leave my robe on to dry more, while I pick up my comb and go to my long mirror on the wall to untangle my hair. The going is rough, but I manage to be ‘knot-free’ without leaving myself bald. I go over to my li’l man and give him his special comb for him to use. As he does, I rub my body on top of the robe to dry myself more, then bend over again, whipping my head up and down so it drys more. Oh crap… accidentally whipped in his face and now he isn’t too happy. Biting my lip, I go over and see if he is alright. And he is, just has some red marks on his chest from my hair. I pick him up gently and hug him to my chest to show that I am sorry. I know he really likes this, (so do I) so I pat him softly on the back, and run a nail down it. I asked him if he is alright, and in his tiny voice he answered, “Yes my goddess, I am.” Phew , that makes me feel a whole lot better.

I took off my robe and placed it on the end of the bed. As I said, it has been a long day and time to go to sleep. I turn down the covers and get in with the little one. Placing him next to me I pray I don’t crush him…


My poor giantess must have had a hard day: as soon as she slipped under the sheets, she fell right asleep. Usually she’ll lie there, placing me on her chest, and tell me the day’s events as I rise and fall with her breathing, her heart distantly thumping beneath where I sit.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, the “ground” constantly beating beneath me. I’ve been in earthquakes before, even a couple big ones. This is nothing compared to that. Here… I just feel closer to my giantess. Something about hearing the long rasp of air filling her lungs, feeling the dull thudding sensation of her heart deep inside her chest.. listening to and feeling these things just brings me closer to her, being so privy to her inner workings, it’s intimate in a way. Of course, it would be intimate if I were normal size. I estimate I was four or five inches taller than her, once upon a time. Now it’s simply overwhelming and I feel as if my tiny body could just explode for the affection I have for this gigantic girl.

I don’t know how I came to be so small. I used to be a regular guy, I had a job downtown, I had a car, my own social scene of friends… I’m guessing I was abducted or something. All I remember is waking up in these huge Styrofoam peanuts with an enormous plastic bag of food packed in with me. It was dark, so I had to feel my way around to the top of the bag in this cramped space, but I nourished myself long enough for the giantess to find me. After days of automotive sounds, air pressure building and declining, and being thumped around carelessly, I heard a young woman’s voice outside my confines. It was at an incredible volume, even muted through the box, asking “Where did this come from?” and “Why isn’t there a return address? What’s the postmark say?”  Suddenly my little space was filled with light streaming from the ceiling as it was ripped open by a set of enormous fingers, and I found myself staring into two huge, surprised eyes… no, not huge from surprise, huge from sheer girth. The woman’s face above me was the size of a small house, and her tremendous mouth shaped into a shocked “O” as she pulled back.

To make a long story short, I was apparently mailed to her in a regular little box, something you might mail a snow globe in or something, accompanied with a short note I hadn’t come across. The giantess’ face screwed up with confusion as she looked at me in the box, read the letter, looked back at me with a slight grin, then back at the letter. She let me read it later: apparently I’m a gift to her from some mysterious organization doing research on human behavior in very extreme circumstances. Being that she hasn’t killed me or thrown me away, I’d like to think that on some scale she’s earning points with my maintenance. Sorry if I sound so glib about this bizarre situation. I guess I’ve always been flexible about unforeseen twists of fate. Mind you, losing my job or a crack in my car’s radiator is nothing compared to this. Anyway, she also seemed to take to me. I’ve seen she’s very creative, imaginative, and these must’ve helped her quickly adapt to the idea of a tiny little man for a pet. She measured me once, I’m four inches tall. I used to be six feet even… I really wish I knew what technological force had the capabilities to reduce a person to a fraction of their height. More than a few times I wonder if they know how to restore a reduced person to their original height, but there wasn’t exactly an 800 number on the letter, if you know what I mean. There wasn’t a questionnaire or a survey form for my giantess to fill out, either; gods only know how they’re conducting their “research.”

Well, like I said, my giantess has gone to bed. I don’t know why I picked up that phrase, but it certainly fits, she’s truly a giantess. Kinda like in that Baudelaire poem, the one about Nature first creating its primal earth or whatever. Curled up against a breast the size of a VW Rabbit, I feel like that poem was an unauthorized biography. She’s sleeping now, her breathing is so slow and measured, truly ponderous. I marvel at how much air she takes in. Heh, once she held me to her mouth (crosswise, so I wouldn’t fall in) and sucked in her lungful to capacity… I never thought it would end! Just on and on and on, until finally she took in as much as she could, then coughed and blew me off her face. We laughed about it, it was funny. I used to be terrified about such things, like falling, getting crushed, but they don’t seem to apply to me. I fell off her desk once, and I thought the fall took longer than it should have, and I was uninjured upon impact. Curious, she set me back up on the desk with a paperweight beside me. She brushed me and it off with a gentle (relatively speaking) brush of her hand, and I fell no faster than the paperweight, taking no more damage than it did. If I was any good at math, I’d calculate how the ratio of me falling at this size compares to me falling at full size, but I was more interested in music. Math never spoke to me. Otherwise, I could calculate exactly how much I’ve shrunk, how tall my giantess is to me and my measure, etc.

Anyway, she’s sleeping (sorry to ramble like this—being a tiny man for a lovely young giantess has given me a LOT to think about; I regret it’s no longer advisable for me to enroll with some local community college and take the classes that’d help me answer all these questions I have) and I’m far from tired… I’ve been with her for a couple months now and I’m not nearly bored with her. Sure, she’s a great friend, a wise person and a caring guardian… but she’s also a beautiful young woman coming into full flower of her womanly development. That fact alone keeps me from missing my former life too badly. Boy, if my friends could only see me now… I reach out to stroke this big nipple nudging into my head. Off in the distance, I hear her moan, and the nipple hardens, standing a little prouder for my attentions. I think any of my friends would give up their lives to be where I am right now. I rake my little fingernails along this stump of a nipple, delighting in the reaction it provokes, making it grow harder and fuller, growing towards me as if wordlessly begging more of my attention. I used to feel helpless as a tiny man, my strength only proportional to my body size, but when I see what kind of influence I have over my beneficent owner, I feel as if I could control the world. Of course, she IS my world right now, and small as I am, I have tremendous impact upon her…

I crawl out from beside her breast and turn to stare at that enormous swell of soft, warm flesh. I know everything’s bigger now that I’m so small, but I swear this girl is amply endowed… did I say a VW Rabbit? Let’s try a minivan—she has to be a D-cup. Her nipple covers my face, her aureola surrounds my head like a halo. Resting upon her breast, I feel like I’m sitting upon a huge boulder, a fall from which would not be easy on me at my normal size. But I stand beside her for the moment, leaning in to spread my arms around her full, sweet flesh to hug it—try hugging a wall sometime, a nice broad wall. Imagine it with a little give, and that’s what this is like. I’d feel inadequate at not being able to embrace even her breast, except I’m overwhelmed with the sensate luxuriousness of this full world of flesh pressing into me almost eagerly. Her hardened nipple presses into my stomach as I stand beside her, and I laugh, give it a backhand (eliciting a delicious, sharp gasp from the sleeping woman), and wander southwards.

I asked her once if my nightly journeys bothered her. I mean, when you’re placed on the pillow to sleep and she wakes up with you under her calf, it’s pretty hard to say you’re just a restless sleeper. I owned up to what I was doing and to my surprise, she didn’t seem opposed to it. I try not to interfere with her sleeping, and I get to explore my new playground up close and personal. She likes me examining her, I think, or else she wouldn’t take me into the shower with her. As I sit there on the soap shelf and watch her clean off, I swear she puts on a little show for me. Like when she bends over to wash her toes… would anyone else bend at the knees for that? I think so. She doesn’t. Her tremendous ass is right at eye-level as it is, and when she bends over to scrub her tootsies her ass just BLOSSOMS in my face. Her anus winks at me teasingly as her long, slender fingers rub down that dark valley with soap (I suspect she’s much more tedious with washing up, now that she has her own personal hygiene inspector)… teasingly, and almost threateningly. Once, to the soundtrack of her nervous, giddy laughter (she gets like that when some mischievous thought flashes through her mind and she decides to try something out without talking it over with me first), her huge fingers wrapped around each of her buttocks and that anus started kissing and sucking as she backed up into me. I laughed at first, at this clowning around, but… it’s not a slender ass. I mean, she’s not fat, but that’s definitely a healthy ass. It turns me on, I’d go crazy for her at 6′ tall, but when it looks like two fleshy planets rubbing against each other and spreading to reveal a tight, puckered mouth the size of your head, all the while advancing on you, it tends to cause some alarm. I screamed (unheard over the shower) and tried to back up, instantly regretting this being a soap dish she’d seated me in. Not only did I lose my footing, but I slipped to the edge just as her enormous ass closed around my little alcove. Good thing she did, too, that would’ve been some fall otherwise. Just ‘cos I don’t get hurt from the slower speed of gravity doesn’t mean I can’t get banged up pretty nice on ceramic tiles. But as it was, she released her ass cheeks, they slammed shut around me and she started dancing around in alarm. That was a delicious moment, I have to admit, being embraced in her ass while those two robust walls of flesh trembled and shook around me. Probably she was dancing like that ‘cos I had to thrust my tiny fist in her asshole to catch myself from falling, shocking her into releasing her buttocks around me. Heh. She and I had a long talk about that, and a long laugh. And a few more episodes like it. She’s lying on her side now, and I’m walking past her huge, flat stomach. She really takes care of herself, and standing beside this tummy is like standing before a sheer cliff face. If I were standing on another tiny man’s shoulders, I could reach her navel, I think, but I’m happy enough to lean my body into her skin, again with arms spread (I do that a  lot, I like to receive as much of her as I can). Still breathing slowly, her stomach expands and contracts even slower, movements so slow and small I might not notice them if I were larger. I’m quite sensitized to her body’s little nuances. I study her like a five-credit English course, to say the least.

I turn southwards again and am met with one tremendous, powerful thigh lying like a fallen giant redwood, with another one resting precariously upon it. Now I WOULD need assistance climbing this leg, but I’ve learned how to make gravity work for me… a few steps back, a running start, and I actually leap off the springy mattress to the narrow squeeze between her thighs, jamming my tiny hands between her massive legs to hold me there. She doesn’t even stir as I pull myself up, sliding my tiny body along the length of her thigh. She asked me if I was a titty-man, an ass-man or a leg-man… I don’t know. With her, I’d go for everything. Her eyes are beautiful and huge, I could get lost in her hair… hell, even her pinky is erotic and exciting in its own right. But her legs… they go on and on forever. I told you how she takes care of herself, right? She used to take me rollerblading with her before the weather got too cold. Firm stomach, huge powerful thighs… she would’ve preoccupied my thoughts at normal size: now, I’m outrageously happy to have her for my replacement world.

I crawl along her smooth, warm skin, kissing every square inch (millimeters to her, or less) as I make my way up to her belly… up to the dark forest of her pubic hair. I don’t know if she’s always gone to bed naked, but she does so once in a while for me and I can’t thank her enough. I reach out and wrap my fists in the curly, coarse hair, sliding off the surface of her thigh to hang from her hair. She stirs fitfully, I hear a distant whimper, and then this cliff of flesh before me falls on top of me, as slow, massive, and inexorable as a skyscraper suffering an explosion at its foundation. I cling to her nest of hair as she rolls to her front ponderously, desperately scrabbling to climb deeper into her crotch. Her hips finally slam into mattress, its crushing weight behind me as I crawl up to her labia, her long, tremendous thighs forming a narrow valley extending far before me. Like a tiny Indiana Jones, I smirk at my fortunate escape and turn to go for the treasure.

This was the toughest topic for us to discuss, and technically, we never have. It was simply a chain of events: my eyes staring too long at her crotch during a shower; her hiding me in her underwear drawer when some friends stopped by unexpectedly; one night’s conversation about sexual frustration (plenty of nervous glances that night). I suppose how we broke the ice was my fault. I was exploring her sexuality one night when I was sure she was asleep, I crawled across her belly, lowered myself through the underbrush of her pubic hair, and began to examine her pussy at my leisure. I’d always been curious to just look at her pussy for my own perusal, and I thought I could study it in earnest and crawl back to my sleeping spot before she woke.

I must have aroused something in her as she slept, with all my crawling around and nestling down in her sexuality. She’d told me before that she hadn’t had any action for over a year, so disgusted with the local population of boys was she, so probably she was primed and itching for some sexual activity. All I know is there was a disturbed, quiet moan far, far behind me and then her hand slowly slid over my legs, my back and shoulders, and suddenly I was being shoved over her nest of hair right into her labia majora! She was masturbating herself in her sleep, and I was completely unprepared for it! Her moaning was the last thing I heard before the wet slurp of her lips sucking around my head… gods, was she wet! Her huge fingertips braced around my shoulders and head like pillows, her fingers lay across my back like logs, and in this manner she controlled me without even realizing I was there. I screamed for her, “Giantess! Giantess! Wake up, you’re crushing me!” but she shoved me into her repeatedly and my cries were muffled.

(I noticed three things this night:

  1. I still have the stamina and body resistance to pressure I did at 6′ tall. I should have been ground into a pulp that night, but aside from some token pressure I was perfectly fine. I wonder if the technology that shrunk me also accommodated for this somehow?
  2.  I can’t be asphyxiated by normal means. I was buried in her cunt that night, and shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but somehow my tiny frame (that technology again?) seemed to extract enough air for my lungs right from my surroundings. If I hold my breath, yeah, I’ll still pass out, but even if she puts her thumb right across my face, I can breathe right through it, albeit very slowly.
  3. The same technology that shrunk me also protect my ears from what should’ve been deafening sound waves, as well as increased my own amplitude somewhat. Rather than a mousy little helium-squeak like we might have anticipated, she said it sounded like a normal voice was speaking through an old fashioned radio speaker, at a moderately quiet volume.)

Again and again she rubbed me into her cunt, my tiny body getting wetter and wetter with her juices, her thick hair scrubbing my tiny legs as she ground my face and chest into her clit… long story short, her orgasm was powerful, with much groaning and gasping on her part, and she woke up with a tiny, sticky man pasted across her cunt, also cooling down from his own orgasm. She apologized over and over, crying out of   embarrassment and kissing my tiny body repeatedly, but somehow I managed to assure her everything was perfectly all right. I explained how I hadn’t been injured, though we couldn’t figure out why, and… I confided that I enjoyed it very much. Truthfully, that was the most intense sexual experience I’ve ever had, being used like that… she wasn’t even aware of me, she was just pleasing herself. I’m glad I was a part of it, and that I have been many, blissfully many times since. She’s a creative girl, she likes to experiment…

But here I am now before this beautiful cunt, my hands grabbing these enormous folds of skin, my tiny feet trying to brace themselves as I crawl over her sexuality… yes, there she goes, moaning to herself again… mmm, I love that sound. I love pleasing her, and just being down here blows MY mind away, so it’s a win-win situation. She’s never afraid to tell me how better to administer my services, and she’s always open to anything I might suggest. When I think about all the people I could have ended up with, I shudder with fear. But this giantess is so loving and careful with me, so affectionate…

No, I don’t call her by her name. I mean, I know it, I’ve heard it numerous times as she totes me around in her bra and she talks to friends or family or whatever. She doesn’t know my name at all. She almost asked me once, but we felt uncomfortable that things should get so serious and realistic. I mean, yes, this IS reality, I’m really shrunk and she really owns me, that’s probably how it’s always going to be, but for some reason it suspends our belief if we don’t use real names. Sometimes I call her “giantess” or “goddess,” once in a while “mistress.” She usually refers to me as “little man,” though she’s called me her pet or her sex toy before. I love it most of all when she calls me hers, though. I really don’t care what I am, as long as it’s hers, her possession.

But here I am, her tiny little man crawling along a cunt almost as long as I am tall, when I hear her moaning a little too loudly… cursing to myself (because this almost always means trouble for me), I scramble up the length of her labia, arousing her terribly in my desperate escape. I barely make it up to the crack of her ass, crawling up one prolific buttock as she shifts in her sleep. Her ass quivers mightily, I lose my footing, and tumble down between her cheeks; a few more fitful writhings from her, and I’m wedged in but good. Dr. Jones isn’t quite so lucky as to escape this pit, apparently, but I grit my teeth and begin clawing at the tight valley of her buttocks to haul my body out of this tight squeeze.. when all at once I hear another loud moan. I hold my breath and take inventory of where my body is. Both hands and arms are stretched upwards, forcing her ass apart to make space for my body… I’m wedged right against her tailbone, embedded but deep… one leg is pushing my hips up, and the other… oh, goddamn, my other foot’s squirming around in her anus. I can’t pull it out quickly enough when she whimpers in her sleep, gravity shifts, and I am inescapably clenched between her buttocks, as tightly as if I’d been slammed shut in a book with a car parked on top of it. Another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into. I stretch out as much as I can, breathing slowly as I extract sufficient oxygen and my tired little body finally drifts to sleep. I might as well catch up on my sleep, I rarely sleep at night when I have her to play with. She’ll wake up, almost immediately find her little man sleeping in her ass… all I can say is, “Deja vu.”

[“Her Perspective” was written by a giantess acquaintance in my distant past.]

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