The young man with tousled blond hair flipped through the large book. “Let’s see…  flocci… naucin… oh, nihili… that must be related to nihilism or annihilation… pili… fication.”

“Put it all together!” The woman looked down at her friend, fists on hips. Her casual clothes were stretched taut and she was shoeless.

“I’m trying! Floccinauci… nihili… pilification.” The man swept his hair back with one hand. “I’ve got it. Floccinaucinihilipilification!

The woman clapped her hands and hopped excitedly. There was a loud eruption of noise, as though the earth itself had burped daintily. The woman, already twice as tall as her friend, shot up another yard. Her softball jersey shredded immediately—she laughed and covered her bare breasts with her forearms—but her denim jeans yet held on, straining over her powerful thighs and calves.

“Oh man, these jeans hurt now! Quick, do another one!”

“Okay, okay, hold on… don’t you want to know what that one meant?” He squinted up at his friend. She was silhouetted against the sun, her curly hair falling in glowing ringlets around her head.

“Just do another one so these jeans come off!”

Smiling at the thought, the young man flipped through his book. “Oh, duh! Here’s a good one. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” He looked up at her, grinning toothily.

The woman straightened up and held herself. The shreds of her white tennis shoes lay strewn about her over-sized feet, twice as long as the man’s. Her long toes flexed in the grass of the park. “Nothing happened! What the hell?”

“It’s not a real word,” said a deep, raspy voice nearby. The man spun completely around to face their new company; the woman merely looked up a little. There stood a tall man in dusty clothes: faded black jeans, fitted black dress shirt, black boots. It was an odd outfit for this warm spring day.

The younger man frowned. “What do you mean? It’s in that song, everyone knows it.”

“It’s only in that song. It was made up for that song. No one uses it for anything else, ever.”

The woman groaned and attempted to undue the button of her fly. “Well, do you know any better words? These jeans are killing me!”

The man in black looked up at her. “What’s going on, here?”

“None of your business,” groused the young man, but the extremely tall woman shoved him aside with her very long leg.

“This dork found a stupid library book full of weird words,” she said hastily. “He was reading me some and when we got to a long one, I grew up. Like this, I mean.” She swept her hand around to indicate her titanic body: perfectly proportional for a woman in her mid-20s, but 15′ from bare heel to scalp. “Long words make me grow, I guess, but I need this idiot to grow me out of my jeans! They’re too tight now and they won’t break!” She tried to bend her knees. “They’re cutting off my circulation!”

Sesquipedalianism,” called out the dark man. “It means ‘a foot-and-a-half,’ but people reserve it for long words. Big words.” He glanced at the woman’s friend, who flinched.

The woman gained another foot, but the jeans were tenacious.

The young blond stuck his finger on a page. “Pneumo… no, pneu… mono… ultra… micro…” He looked up at the woman. “I know all these little words, but I need to practice putting them together!”

The dark man drew a long breath. “Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis!

With a terrific thunder of shredding denim and the bah-ROOMP of her growth, the jeans exploded and the woman grew another yard. Promptly she slid one hand demurely down between her thighs and stood knock-kneed over the men. “Oh my God, thank you! Oh, my feet were starting to tingle. Now I just…” She looked around, embarrassed, but the park was strangely empty.

“That was a stupid word.” The dark man scowled. “Not proud of it. Medical terms will always go on and on like that. Fucking useless.”

The blond man shifted from foot to foot, staring at the dark man, then flipped through his book once more. “Antidisestablishmentarianism!” The woman’s feet crept over the grass as they lengthened, and each man stood a little taller than her bare knees.

“Another cheap-ass word,” muttered the dark man. “People only whip that one out when they’re bragging about big words.”

“Oh my God, you guys!” The woman laughed overhead, her breasts bouncing with real heft now. “You’re, like, so small right now! This is awesome! Do some more!”

“Yeah, let’s hear some of your words.” The blond’s book shut with a bang. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

The man in black folded his arms tightly across his chest and bowed his head. “A lexiurge, a mystic of etymolinguism. You won’t know what that is, so leave it. What are the rules?”

The blond man stared to protest but the woman nudged him bodily aside, and he fell. “I don’t think there are any rules. It’s just that big words make me bigger.”

“What about obscure words?”

“These are obscure words!” yelped the man on the ground.

The woman shrugged deliciously. “Dunno if there are any rules.”

“Very well, then,” said the dark man, rolling up his sleeves above his elbows. “Mind if I try this out?”

“Fuck off!” The blond man started to scramble up, until the very tall woman lifted her three-foot foot into the air.

Both men stared at it as it hovered, radiant with sunlight. It looked just like a regular, cute woman’s foot with all the curves and spheres… but grossly larger. It was disorienting to see something one knew to be small but observe it so large.

The brunette giantess slowly placed the sole of her foot upon the chest of her friend, slowly, but firmly. He cried out, swatting the bridge of her foot with his book, but his blows seemed to have no effect. Her knee bent, her heel raised, and she pressed a little harder into his chest. The dark man heard all the air in his lungs rush out, watched the young man’s face wipe into panic.

“Are you going to be nice?” the large woman inquired with a new intonation.

Her friend nodded frantically. She alleviated some pressure to allow him to breathe, which he did in ragged gulps, and she pinched his skull between her big toe and second toe.

“There,” she declared. “Go ahead, mister.” She stood straighter and let her arms hang at her sides.

The dark man stared at her appreciatively, caught himself staring, and averted his gaze. “You ain’t afraid o’ showing yourself off like this, miss?” he called out.

The young giantess laughed. “It’s a little late for that! And I don’t think I have anything to be ashamed of.”

The dark stranger grinned. “That, you surely do not. So, let’s see…” He thought for a minute, watching the blond man squirm beneath his friend’s massive foot. Her sole rubbed grass stains all over his madras button-up; he grinned at the sight of this. “Seeing as you’re locked in place, holding your riled-up friend down… you’re apprehended from circumbilivagination.”

“Ooh,” said the woman, and bah-ROOMP went her growth-noise. Her foot stretched, burying her friend’s face in the ball of her sole. She giggled, watching his arms flailing around the sides of her foot.

“Did you like that? That was only the preantepenultimate selection.” Bah-ROOMP she went, and up she rose another couple of feet. “To think, I nearly walked on by and missed out on this beneplacity.” She rose another couple of feet with a louder, more powerful giggle. “Now let’s try something a little more obscure, just to see. Keep your dainty paw planted upon this foppotee, this egrimonious blether-head. We can’t boeotize him any worse than he’s done himself.” He grinned at her long and shiny shin. “Can’t vitiate the incult, as a friend once put it. How is it, buddy?” His jeans kneeled in the grass, right beside her massive big toe, which wiggled at him in greeting. Beneath it he could just make out the sprawl of blond hair. “I had to squattle, get genuant for you, because I wanted to know if you’re enjoying her insudate, olidous podobromidrosis. Or is it only concalefactory?”

“Oh, God,” the woman moaned, and her hand clutched between her lengthening thighs for an entirely different reason. The ground complained as her other foot began to dig into the soil: it pushed up in a lip of hilly turf. Now the unruly young man was entirely covered in the woman’s foot.

The dark man glanced up at the tremendous lady, his eyes guided to where her fingers began to cause slurping noises. “I’m pleased to know my services were boethic today, pretty woman. I’ve got to say, you’ve motivated a little automnesia in me, as well.”

“Keep… keep going.” One broad hand slid up to cup a pendulous breast. The other stabbed between her thighs repeatedly, slowly, faster, slowly again. “More. It’s working.”

“I can see that.” The dark man grinned, rose, dusted off his knees. “You’re about to thrafully vivisepulture your little friend, here.” He craned to look around the tremendous toe at the blond man’s flushed complexion. “You hear that? Your inopinate misdoom has created a femme incomprise. You did this to yourself, clumpteron, with your ramshandry luscition.”

The woman swore, far above the two of them. Her knees buckled and her hips thrust in the warm springtime air. The sun shimmered in the sweat that began to mist her back and coat her ass and thighs. Her head lolled forward: her eyes were blazing and her lips were swollen and gaping. “I need you in me, little man,” she growled with considerable volume.

The man in black shook his head slightly and raised his hands in supplication, stepping back a few paces. “My deepest regrets, young goddess,” he called up to her, “but the power of a lexiurge comes from equal parts study and celibacy. I promise I’ll be jacking off to you tonight, but I beg you refrain from contact with me in this red-hot moment.” He nodded at the straining, weakening mass of meat beneath the giantess’s foot. “Maybe you could loricate your lil’ buddy into a vaginodyte?”

The woman’s huge eyes were so deeply brown and so soft, it nearly broke the dark man’s heart to say these words, but they were true, and a practicing etymolinguist was bound to uphold this. Instead, the giantess swiveled her massive foot on one boulder-like heel and exposed the trampled man beneath. He moaned weakly, his arms swiped the air feebly. Regardless, the giantess’s hand descended from above like a blood-thirsty eagle. Her strong fingers parted the loam to wrap around him and lift him up… and in a second, it was done. One hand parted her lips, her fist fampled him carelessly, greedily up between her thighs, and there it was. The giantess cupped her pussy and moaned, and from deep within her flesh an agonized scream cut short.

This was the scene the lexiurge left behind as he moseyed away.

[Based on an idea by CrimManga.]

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

2 thoughts on “Lingumagnification

  1. Oh that was self-indulgent, but I do enjoy seeing two obsessions amplifying each other.

    I think I’m in love with “vaginodyte,” but I can’t say it without sounding like Jimmie Walker.

    Liked by 1 person

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