Dr. Piccoli monitored her. Months ago the excitement had leveled out, and he was able to check the dials and read the printouts without trembling hands. Now his agitation and anticipation were rechanneled into something like professional pride.

“Benino, the triglycerides.”

A young man kicked the floor, rode his rolling chair over to another console. “Accelerating but proportional, borchia. As always.”

“Pressure?”

“She’s pumping like a fireplug without a sign of relent. Totally sustainable.”

“Very good. Nigi?”

“Beta-somatotropins are perfectly stable, borchia. Drinking them down like mother’s milk.”

“Excellent.” The doctor stepped down from his platform and joined a much older, hunched man at a small, wooden table to which he was handcuffed. He rested his hand upon the old man’s shoulder. “Dr. Abate… Ristoro. Please do not fight me any longer. We are so close, can you not see this? Just look.” He knelt beside him, extending one long arm to the woman on the vast steel table. Her skin glistened with health, muscles rippling beneath. Benino and Nigi drifted behind her sometimes like puppets, disappearing behind her proud breasts. “This is real, Ristoro. This is happening. All your theories, your dreams.” He locked his eyes upon those of the old man with an intensity that raised the temperature around them. “Our dreams, Ristoro. Our deepest, wildest dreams. We are so close! Why would you throw this away now?”

The old man blinked blearily and signed. “I was wrong, Piccoli. This is wrong. If you won’t release me, let her go.”

Dr. Piccoli stood up, brushed off his lab smock, then barked a math problem at the old man, who responded reflexively, clearly, before slumping to the table with a moan. Smirking, the doctor regarded the enormous woman who, even now, was growing to fill the room.

“As I thought. Nigi! The proteins?”

The shorter man laughed. “More than enough to feed three of her. Our largest problem is keeping this volume from decaying, and that’s well under hand.”

Now the doctor permitted himself an excited sigh. The machine, his orchestration was running under its own volition now. There were no errors, everything was calculated and anticipated for, and despite himself, Dr. Abate could never condescend to give a wrong answer when asked appropriately.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the yellow alarm lights began to spin, silent though they were: the woman was nearing fifty feet tall. A viable, perfectly proportionate human being, operating in defiance of the square-cube theory and all known physics. Sufficient blood pressure, muscles powerful enough to move the bones dense enough to hold them. Everything, everything had been accounted for and it was all falling into place.

She had been a model, already tall. The doctor had put out an ad in the local paper and she had answered. Would she like to be much taller? She would. How did she feel about tiny little men, he asked laughingly. When she didn’t respond, Benino and Nigi stepped in from outside, knocked her out, and prepped her for surgery, six months ago.

“Just you wait, Dr. Abate,” he said over his shoulder. “Our dream is becoming a reality.”

Long ago, in a bar not far from here, Dr. Abate had taken his most promising pupil out for celebratory drinks, after a revelation in cloning and growth. Campari for the young man, grappa for the older man, and the evening steadily descended into mischief. When a particularly tall woman walked by their table, both men realized a deeper, lurid bond, a fantasy for giantesses.

The old man woke up with a hangover; the young man woke up with a vision.

Her foot twitched. Dr. Piccoli ran up to it: her heel resting on the floor, her sole still reached a foot above his tall body. With tremendous affection, he reached out and placed his palm upon her inner arch. Electricity arced through his body at first contact. Her skin was warm and soft, gentle folds in the skin like waves on a calm day at the lake. “So… glorious,” he breathed, running his hand over the ball of her foot. Above him, her toes lined up like a row of cute, perfect pearls, albeit larger than his head. The innocuousness of her slumber, the innocence of the unconscious woman… his heart melted and he forgot to breathe. And this, just at her mere foot!

He looked back at Dr. Abate with surprise, awe, and burning love. The old man only buried his face into the sweater on his arms and wept.

“My goddess.” He looked at her other foot, the gentle turn of her (huge) ankle, how her (powerful) calves ran up to her (tremendous) thighs. He stood—a full-grown man stood—between her feet, at the entrance of her legs. Everything, so familiar, so beautiful all on its own, and then… amplified! Made magnificent! Everything powerful, made more so! Everything sexy, even sexier! He would have his own giantess, his own goddess to love!

He placed his palm over his mouth and struggled to control his emotions. The yellow lights switched to red alarms, accompanied by a low buzzing. Struggling mightily with tremendous longing, Dr. Piccoli tore himself away from her gate and ran to a console by her limp right arm. “Benino, Nigi: report!”

They rattled off numbers, measurements, quantities, and feedback. Everything was optimal. There was no panic in their voices, no tremble that betrayed hidden information, an unforeseen flaw that would undo everything in calumny. No, everything was working perfectly! He glanced over at his former mentor, now motionless. More for me, he thought.

A synthetic woman’s voice tinnily counted down from ten. The doctor and his two assistants froze in place and stared at the gigantic woman, still asleep. The countdown expired, the red lights turned off, and after all her contacts and catheters automatically disengaged, there was a moment of silence.

Borchia?” Nigi started, silencing at the doctor’s sharp wave.

Long, shapely fingers twitched.

A sweet, resonant voice moaned.

The woman sat up. Her breasts swung ponderously from her biceps to her chest. One meaty arm swiped through space (Piccoli could hear the air succumb!), and she placed a hand to her brow, frowning, blinking. She raised her shaggy head and peered around the laboratory.

Mia cara,” the doctor called out, more bravely than he felt. It was one thing to see a ravishing woman, nude on your table for months. It was another thing entirely to see her enlarged, larger than a car, than a bus, and rising to a sitting position in your lab. So much power, so much mass… he gaped at her, his fists white-knuckling a handrail.

Her head turned like a planet upon broad, round shoulders. Her thick lips closed as her eyes rolled down to perceive him, regarding him almost disdainfully from above one large and swelling breast, a bosom far over his head. And when she focused on him, he very nearly lost control of his body. At that moment, everything elevated from something amazing he couldn’t believe was happening… to something thunderously, potently real.

“My giantess.” He stepped from behind his controls, walked to her right knee, slightly bent and raised from the floor. “My beautiful, lovely giantess.” Her eyes followed him warily, thoughtfully. “Are you with us, mia cara? Can you speak?” Hesitating, he slowly rested his palm upon her knee. She bent it slightly: he could feel the jerk of stiff tendons activating, pushing hundreds of pounds of force to flex her calf, bend her ankle. He thought his heart might explode right in his rib cage. He was growing dizzy with lust, with love, with a fantasy realized. His grin hung drunkenly on his face.

Raising one arm to her, he said, “It’s confusing now, I know! But I know you will learn to be happy. Please… let me make you happy!”

The gigantic woman opened her jaws and howled. Faster than the men would have thought probable, she drew her heels in close, and her calves and thighs pumped with fearsome power as they straightened out. Her arms flung out and her buttocks launched off the floor as her head and shoulders shot through the ceiling of the laboratory.

Benino and Nigi rushed to the little wooden table, freed the old doctor, and hustled him through the nearest exit. Before Dr. Peccoli, massive legs like old-growth tree trunks flexed and wobbled only slightly. Huge feet tensed and rolled just a little, large toes grasped at the floor, as the new body found its new center of gravity very rapidly. He stood only to mid-shin beside the woman. His tiny shined shoes planted beside her heavy bare foot, and her calf rose and flexed and pumped right before his nose. His heart was pounding, his cock was raging, and his mind could barely make sense of anything.

Mia cara, ti voglio tanta…” He reached up for her, pleadingly, full of nothing but desire.

With a roar, the giantess tore the roof up and away. Her knee swung through the air and caved a wall in. Her other leg reached up impossibly high, her powerful fingers kneaded and sundered the wall like soda crackers, and within seconds she was sprinting across the landscape, running nearly as fast as highway traffic nearby. Her huge, full, round ass heaved and bounced merrily as she fled, and then she was gone.

After a minute of shock, Dr. Peccoli ran to his private quarters and cried his heart out.

5 thoughts on “A Giantess of One’s Own

  1. This is tragedy, well written. I can relate to Dr. Piccoli (hahah! “Dr. Smalls”) from my own perspective. The waiting, the anticipation, the preceding crimes. It’s all worth it, just to have that vision, that dream, come to fruition.

    It should be creepy. His behavior is reprehensible, even inhuman; but I understand it. He has minions, which I find amusing. I have no idea why that tickles my funny bone. I never know what will. But they all, even the reluctant Dr. Abate, all work to bring it all to reality. That tickles my creative bone. What if a woman had accomplices to kidnap the man he wants to shrink? In my head, she never needs help, but what if one day, she did? I’ll have to think about that one. (Where’s my idea notebook? I know I bought one…)

    I was a bit confused as to why he initially calls out “Mio caro”, in the masculine form, and again later, when he asks her if she’s with them. I always thought that’s how you address a male. But then, later, he says, and beautifully so, “mia cara, ti voglio tanta”. Heartbreaking.

    I enjoyed it! You painted his unfulfilled wish so very well.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. There’s a very simple reason why he calls out “mio caro”: I don’t speak Italian, and Google Translate didn’t ask me how I meant it. I was fully trusting that one of my Italian friends would buttonhole me and straighten me out on these points: I have absolutely no problem making an ass of myself if I can learn something from it. Too many people are too afraid to make mistakes. Not me!

      It is very different for a man creating a giantess, than it is for a woman creating a shrunken man. She doesn’t need help, it’s all within the grasp of her hand. He absolutely does: it’s unwieldy at normal size, and then it expands far beyond his apprehension. When the woman finds herself with an unwilling little guy… oh well! That’s how it is, little guy! But when the man finds himself with an unwilling giantess, well, clearly he hasn’t thought of everything. Like how contain her and make her deal with him, how to persuade her.

      That was what I wanted to contrast, but now it occurs to me there could be another story in a man shrinking himself down and surprising his lover like this, rather than blowing up a woman. But I know I’ve read—and written—stories about that already.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Alright. One of Aborigen’s giant Italian friends: have at him! You heard him. He wants to be a button on one of your shirts… or something like that. I’m sure that’s what he meant. And something about an ass making something out of him! What are you waiting for, gigantesse italiani?

        It’s only different for a man if you write it being different for a man. If I write about a giantess that does need help, then she exists. If she’s in a situation where nothing is within her reach, and it’s up to him to give her a tiny hand, then that’s what happens.

        How does a relatively tiny man contain a giantess? How does he persuade her, and damn quickly? Very damn quickly? That could make for a great story. I think I’ll write it.

        There is NOTHING wrong with another story about a man that shrinks himself down, and surprises his lover. The world needs more stories like that. And the world needs more stories like yours.

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I can almost imagine your story of a man who needs to quickly convince a giantess to stay with him and love him.
          “What have you done to me… you impudent, inferious wretch!”
          “Look at my widdle toes.”
          “SOLD. Heart emoji.”

          In fact, maybe the grandest story idea of all is each of us attempting to write in the other’s style. Or does that signal the final day of the Algonquin Rhomboid Table? If so, I don’t want it just yet.

          Thank you for the kind things you find to say about my silly little stories. I’m very touched and encouraged to write more, just as you say.

          Liked by 1 person

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