What’re you doing, li’l guy? Kissing my finger? I don’t have a mouth there! You want something to kiss? Continue reading
“Hold on, what did you just say?” Anselm stood alone, especially alone upon the narrow tower’s peak. The blow of this news rocked his world, which he knew, intellectually, wasn’t a physical condition. Regardless, he staggered back a step, tripped, and collapsed against the merlons.
Did the tower sway? He was suddenly very conscious of how vulnerable he was up here, not just as a tiny little being compared to this careless goddess looming over him, but as a speck atop a long, thin needle. The early morning winds sailed around him, breaking with the tower, flowing turbulently over his soaked garments until it felt as though crystals were forming in his skin, reaching to the bone.
“Valka, talk to me. What’s happening?” His voice choked and he wasn’t sure she heard him. As his gaze stretched upward, her graceful fingers merely tossed a weighty wave of thick tresses over her shoulder as she turned to face the oncoming storm. Now he stared at her long and sinuous spine, shadowed blue in the moonlight, flowing in a poetic channel down to her…
He heard her call out, “Hey, baby! You’re back early, aren’t you?”
“Missed you, lover. Did you miss me?” Another voice boomed across the landscape, slightly huskier. There was something raw to it that, again, raised every last goosepimple across Anselm’s body. As reflexively as he wanted to know who his gigantic lover was talking to, he also really, really did not want to know; in fact, he wished he weren’t anywhere in the area right now.
“You know I did.” Valka giggled, and Anselm watched two arms slide around her wide waist. Muscles lining the forearms bulged and cast crisp shadows, pulling Valka tight. One coarse hand (Anselm couldn’t help but pick out all the details to every knuckle, thin lacerations across hard tendons) slid up her shoulder blade, and muscular fingers dug into that luscious, lavish mane, gripping the giantess’s skull.
“What are you doing all the way out here? Everyone said you’d slipped away but didn’t know where you—” The words were cut off with growling moans and slurping. Resentment tugged at Anselm’s heart, less than he was intruding and more that something he prized was being shared with someone else.
“How’d you find me?”
A harsh peal of laughter hacked into the atmosphere. “Like I couldn’t trace your scent in a tornado. I held you in my mind, closed my eyes, and took a long sniff… Hold on, what’s that?”
Anselm saw a cloud of lighter tresses drift over Valka’s shoulder, until the giantess shifted to block it again. “What’s what, baby?”
“There’s someone else here.”
Anselm’s heart fell at how amateurish Valka’s laughter rang out. “What are you talking about? C’mon, let’s go back. I’ll give you a proper welcome.”
The forearms withdrew from her spine. One hand shoved her immense torso aside, just as one would scoop a mountain off of its roots, and there she was. Where Valka was soft and curvy, this giantess was chiseled and toned. Where shadows blurred and blended around Valka’s pillowy contours, this giantess was marked with harsh, sharp lines beneath ribs, across abs. Where Valka’s golden hazel eyes glowed like a cozy hearth, this giantess’s eyes blazed like ice on fire, at once judgmental and disapproving.
Never had Anselm felt so much like a crumb on a copper coin. While his limbs were frozen stiff, his insides felt like they would vomit themselves out and flee as fast as they could slither.
“What the hell is this?” The second giantess’s powerful lips parted and clashed against each other. “Valgerðr, what the great rocky fuck is this?”
Valka cast down a guilty glance, the way barbarians would upheave and let loose a pile of boulders from a ledge. “Oh, this? I dunno, it’s nothing,” she said, striking Anselm with those boulders.
“Nothing?” he croaked, despite himself.
The new giantess seemed to hear him, to his regret. Her face swung sharply, dead at him. After an eternity of bearing her frightful gaze, framed in coarse, unruly piles of platinum hair, he saw her thick lips slowly part and peel back into a sneer. One canine, not quite as large as he was, seemed to glow with its own light in the darkness.
“I don’t believe this.” Her voice was a continental plate grinding against another, with a volcano threatening to form between them. “You’re cheating on me. Valgerðr, are you cheating on me?”
“No, Æsileif, it’s nothing like that.”
“With that?” She turned to her partner, flinging one arm toward the tower in accusation. Not even as strong as that, merely indication, waving mostly in the direction of the tower. It was a careless gesture, an incidental motion, alluding to something beneath consideration.
Anselm was nearly resentful. He wasn’t stupid enough to go all the way with it, but… okay, this brutal mountain giantess was clearly an indomitable warrior, but where did she get off? Slowly he pulled himself up: barefoot, sopping in his girlfriend’s saliva, but dressed.
There was a long pause, during which the wind flowed and the moon crept down to the horizon. Quietly, like the rippling river in the distance, Valka giggled. “It’s not ridiculous,” she said, her words soft around the edges like herself.
Æsileif’s eyes went wide and her smile stretched into her cheeks. “Yes! Yes, it is! You cheated on me with that little thing?” She laughed, barking harshly at the heavens, and the heavens seemed to know better than to respond. “I don’t know if I can even consider that cheating! It’s disgusting, sure. I don’t want to think about where you might have smeared that little germ on you—”
“Whoa, hey.” Anselm shifted his stance.
“—but I have a hard time being mad about it.” She laughed again, licking her lips and cupping Valka’s shoulders in her palms. “I always knew you were into some weird shit, but come on. This is funny. Isn’t it?”
Valka’s huge head rolled around on her shoulders, her grin flashing in the moonlight. “Maybe it’s a little funny.”
“No, this is fucking laughable! You gorgeous thing, going out here into Bug Country and trying to fuck one of these specks? How would you even do that? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.” Their laughter mingled and raced over the woods, bounced off the mountains. Æsileif slipped her hand into Valka’s tresses and pulled her in for a hard, violent kiss.
Forgetting himself, Anselm stepped to the merlons closest to the gigantic couple. “Hey, what the hell? I’m right here.”
The women kissed for a bit longer, and then longer than that, before Æsileif’s head turned over Valka’s shapely upper arm to look in his direction. “Your thing’s being annoying,” she whispered in her lover’s ear.
“I’m not a thing!” Anselm squared his shoulders. “I’m her boyfriend.”
Æsileif chuckled. “I didn’t hear that.”
“You’re smearing yourself all over my girlfriend. We’re in love.” He spoke earnestly up at them. “With each other. We love each other.”
The blonde giantess considered him for a moment before lowering her head and slowly extracting herself from the brunette’s embrace. “Is that true? Valka, are you in love with this little thing?”
Valka wouldn’t even look at Anselm, merely tucked a lock behind her ear and said, “It’s really nothing.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Tell me if you are.”
“I would.” She smiled at the blonde. Anselm gaped at her, at them.
“I promise you. That little thing was a distraction while you were gone.” Valka finally looked down at Anselm, perched on his little tower. “I was just going to kick this weird little structure over, but there was something on it, and… I dunno, I was bored. I thought I’d just play with him a while, until you got back.”
“That’s not true.” Anselm spoke in a strained whisper. “That’s not true. You love me, in your way. I love you more than—”
“So, he’s not yours?” Æsileif ran savage fingernails through Valka’s scalp. Valka assured her he was not. “Then he’s available?”
“I mean, I could have him. I can have him, if he’s no one’s.”
Far above, Valka’s eyelashed fluttered prettily against the early morning sky. “What would you want with him?”
Æsileif’s teeth cut through the darkness again. “Fee fi fo fum, and all that. Feeling kinda hungry.”
Valka glanced at Anselm, then playfully rocked her girlfriend’s shoulders. “Eh, forget him. Let’s just go back. I’ve got some things I want to try with you. I’ve missed you, baby.”
“Hold on a second.” Decisively, Æsileif extracted herself from Valka’s long arms and faced the tower. “You know what fee, fi, fo, fum means, right?”
Anselm gazed up the rocky cliff face of the blonde giantess’s bodyscape. Her navel was a raw cavern, her abs were unforgiving boulders, and her chest was a broad and forbidding slab of tons of meat, fat, and flesh. Her breasts rose and fell with animalistic heaving breath. Serpents of dense steam wound from her nostrils and sailed off into the night.
“I’ve heard of it,” he said.
Level with the tower’s peak, between twin pillars of coarse muscle, erupted her own grove of kinky, glowing fur. Two stout fingers plowed the dense hairs and disappeared between her frightening thighs. “That’s giant-talk. It means it’s time to eat.”
As much as he didn’t want to, he stared up at her face, at the thick lips that exposed rows of cruel, jagged rocks that would not restrain themselves, unlike Valka’s. “Please don’t eat me. Valka? Valka, please don’t let her eat me.”
Valka’s bottom lip pouted in the pale blue light. “Hey, sweetie, let’s just go, okay? I really need my face between your legs.” She pawed half-heartedly at her girlfriend’s bicep.
“In a minute, babe.” Æsileif stepped toward the tower, slowly, purposefully. “My hunger is nothing to be denied. This little thing is going nowhere but between my lips.”
“Valka! You said you’d protect me!” Anselm backed up, but the meager floor of the tower’s peak didn’t offer a lot of leeway.
“I didn’t say that, you said that.” The brunette giantess continued to paste her palms upon her girlfriend’s shoulders, until Æsileif finally reached back and shoved her away. “Come on, Æsileif, just leave him. He’s nothing.”
“I’m not nothing!” It was harder for Anselm to see his erstwhile lover, with the bold ridge of Æsileif’s pelvis gliding in the way. “Valka! Please! Stop her!” he screamed. His only exits were to stumble down the long, winding staircase or, more expediently, to pitch himself over the edge of the tower. Neither seemed promising, but the alternative was to bathe in the heat of Æsileif’s mons, as the coarse hairs closed the space between them, seemingly reaching out for him. “Valka! Help me, please, Valka!”
“What can I do?” The whimper was surprisingly discordant from the young goddess’s immensity. “I tried.”
“You haven’t tried anything!” The scraggly hairs rasped over the merlons, through the crenelations.
“Don’t yell at me…”
“Valka! Save me!”
“I’m sorry, Anselm. Don’t hate me.”
One colossal thigh swung through space, blocking out Valka, the forest, the field, and the river it led to. Æsileif’s muscles bulged as she went up on tippy-toes, and her hair and mons blocked out the moon and sky and everything. Anselm watched as thick slabs of hirsuite flesh were tugged apart by her fingers. Heat flooded his little platform, carrying the humid musk of the blonde giantess’s interior. He screamed his girlfriend’s name, and it bounced briefly off the long strips of pink, hot tissue, running up into the ungainly hole that yawned above him. He shrieked her name as the uneven hole widened, and his voice echoed back at him from a long, long canal. He wailed, losing command of his sounds, as the thick, writhing lips stretched around the head of the tower, took him in, and sealed shut.
Here, the darkness was incomplete, thanks to the lone torch burning in its sconce, like a sole, faithful friend. Resting not on a loving tongue but standing on a hard floor, Anselm froze in place, eyes wide, drinking in the narrow channel in which he found hiself. Immediately the crisp air turned warm, then hot. The musk of the blonde giantess stole into his nose, down his throat, filled his lungs. She was inside him, now, but he didn’t want her. Unsure what to do, he took a step in an arbitrary direction and put his hands out in front of him, as though to shove the invader away.
His palms sank into hot, silken tissue, glistening an intimate reddish-pink in the torch’s light. The wall was soft and slick against his skin. He shoved, and it gave a little, but it also welled up over his thumbs and around his wrists. With a yelp he withdrew and discovered his fingers thickly coated in something warm and oozing. Absently he staggered back, and another wall plastered him with the fluid. It immediately warmed up his shirt and soaked through to his skin; it matted his hair and ran down his neck, syrupy and hot. He jerked away, tripped over his own feet, and fell to the hard stone roof.
Lying there, he stared up into giantess’s canal. It stretched up above him, unevenly shaped, bulging here and swaying there. And it writhed: sometimes it closed like pressed lips just above him, and sometimes it snapped open, yellow light shooting up along thin blue veins and healthy pink tissue, dripping with gluey fluids. Way up in the distance, when the passage accidentally widened, he could almost see… Anselm turned away, burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow, his voice rasping in panic.
Perhaps the stairs weren’t so unreasonable. His breath hitching in his chest, he rolled to his knees and groped for his boots, fighting to tug them on. He reached for the iron ring on the trapdoor, then yanked his hand back when he found it submerged in the giantess’s juices.
The canal writhed, living and agitated. It should have rumbled, like hiding in a cave during an earthquake, but it didn’t so much as groan. The walls simply flexed, dilated, and then slowly slid down. Tiny veins glided past his sight. Seemingly endless yards of vaginal walls bunched around the merlons, then gave way and descended all around him. The giantess was lowering himself, he knew, and he was being thrust deeper inside her. The stairs were more imperative than ever.
Anselm reached for the torch. A wave of thick, milky fluid wiped off the living, tender walls, built up on the merlons, then finally dumped upon the torch and put it out without so much as a hiss. In perfect darkness, Anselm screamed, groping for anything that felt like a little wooden door.
Æsileif’s heavy brow furrowed and she bit her lip, concentrating on taking the fragile structure into her. It was slender, too thin to really feel like much, but that meant it went in easily. The masoned walls were far too fine, at her dimensions, to scratch or even drag, and her natural moisture coated them on the first pass. She planted her hands on her hips, planted her feet on the cool turf, and bent her knees with great control as she guided her hips down. She looked down at her toes, digging easily into the loam, tearing it up without the least effort, and at the base of the tower between her feet.
“This really is a stupid idea,” she said to herself.
Valka stood back, arms crossed upon her chest, wincing as she watched. “Well, you’re the idiot sticking that thing up inside you. It’s not hygienic.”
“No, I mean this tower.” Æsileif tensed her thighs and calves and slowly, carefully raised herself. Her thick labia sucked at the tower, relinquishing it reluctantly. The uppermost yards of the gray shaft glistened in the moonlight. “Look at it, long and thin, unsupported by anything. Anything could just knock it over. What were they thinking?”
“Hey, just go easy on it, okay?”
Æsileif gawked at her girlfriend. “What?”
“Don’t hurt… I mean, don’t break the tower.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“Come on, it belongs to the bugs. Let them have their playthings, they’re harmless. It doesn’t affect us at all.”
Confusion slowly melted into a mischievous grin on the blonde giantess’s face. “I’ll stomp them all the fuck out, if I want to. What are you going to do, stop me?”
Valka rolled her eyes. “I might, you don’t know.”
Æsileif licked her lips. “Are you really worried about your tiny, little lover?”
“He’s not my—”
“You are! Look at you!” Æsileif’s teeth glimmered as she bit her bottom lip, descending upon the tower, taking even more of it inside than before. “What are you worried about? Are you worried I’m going to destroy their little playthings?”
“I guess I don’t care.”
“Then you won’t care if I do this.” Æsileif looked down at the tower, maybe a fourth of its total height swallowed into her vagina. With a simple thrust of her hips, she snapped it off. The mortar between huge blocks pulverized into a dust, caught on the wind and cast upon one brawny inner thigh. The tower buckled, fragmented, and collided with the ground in gentle thuds against her bare soles. All of it, of course, except the last few yards her pussy hugged possessively.
“Anselm!” Valka shrieked, taking a step toward her girlfriend before catching herself. She clapped her hands over her mouth, looking guiltily at her mate.
Æsileif howled with laughter, feeling the structure crumble within her as her muscles clenched with hilarity. “I don’t believe it! You really felt something for that measly little speck, didn’t you?” She stared at the brunette, who only stared at the blonde’s crotch in concern. Æsileif shrugged and lowered herself to the ground. Her immense buttocks dug into the earth. Her spine straightened and flattened scores of trees. She laced her fingers behind her head and smirked at her lover. “If you’re so concerned about him, you’d better get in there and rescue him. I won’t even fight you or make it difficult.” She laughed, stretching her powerful legs out, plowing ruts into the field as she displayed herself to her girlfriend. Her ass clenched, bouncing her pussy tauntingly in the night.
Well past lying to herself or anyone else, Valka threw herself between Æsileif’s knees. Moonlight glowed upon her curved back as she bent down and spread her girlfriend’s labia with one hand and slipped one cautious finger inside.
The bricks of the tower were completely sundered inside Æsileif’s pussy. Valka winced, trying to picture the mess in there, and did what she could to carefully scoop as much out as possible. In she went, unsure how deep to go, curving her knuckles and dragging out another load of carved blocks of stone. Each load would have taken a team of horses to haul across the countryside from the quarry, but she simply wiped them and the juices that bound them off on the grass.
Looking away in concentration, she slipped two fingers into her lover. Æsileif laughed at her meticulous movements, and Valka felt her squeeze her fingers. “Please stop, that’s not fair,” she told the muscular woman, but Æsileif only mocked her for her care. When Valka extracted her fingers, she examined them closely, as much as the poor lighting permitted. Bricks and rubble coated her fingertips but, as far as she could tell, no little man.
Growing anxious, she lowered herself further. The ground trembled with blows from her elbows and knees as she arranged herself between her lover’s thighs. “Looks like you live up to your promises, you horny little bitch,” Æsileif crowed at her.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do this!” Valka snapped back. “I wanted to go down on you in love, not this… fucking rescue mission.”
“Then love me! And give up chasing after that sad little stain!”
Grumbling, Valka jammed her hands under Æsileif’s taut buttocks, lifted her hips to her face, and pressed her lips to those of her lover. “This isn’t how I wanted it.” She thumbed her labia aside, closed her eyes, and dragged her tongue up the other woman’s slit.
“Holy fuck, I missed this.” Æsileif’s hard body tensed with the initial tantalizing shocks. “Half a year, two continents over, beating back the cyclopes into submission, and this was all I could think of.” She sifted her fingers through her lover’s hair. “And you were back here, dinking around with that little piece of snot.”
Valka shot her an icy glare, lost midway over the expanse of hard, rippling belly. Beneath the blonde giantess’s thigh, she spied the ruined foundation of the tower, a doorway to nowhere, the staircase interrupted after a dozen steps. She could just imagine tiny Anselm, clad in his pathetic little slivers of metal, bracing himself up the long haul toward the sky. Her heart lurched for him, and then by an odd writhe, Æsileif’s leg sank flat and rolled aside and tore up the foundation and the ground around it a yard deep. Nothing but fresh, upheaved earth now, not a trace of ruins or remains. She cursed the callous blonde in her mind, but opened her jaws and thrust her tongue inside.
More blocks. She could taste these, a flat, dusty pall behind the tang of her girlfriend’s syrup. She also missed her face down here, locked securely by those powerful thighs, Æsileif’s hips bouncing and grinding into her face, and she would have said so but she didn’t want to give the cruel woman the satisfaction. She only pushed the blocks aside and dug deeper, trying not to bump her teeth into her girlfriend’s tenderer bits.
“Deeper,” Æsileif said, laughing. “Go deeper, my sweet little minx. Get your tongue in there!” Valka wanted to tell her to shut up, but instead she inadvertently obeyed.
Æsileif squirmed pleasantly, feeling that thick, hot tongue playing around inside her. She cupped her girlfriend’s skull with one hand; the other dug agonized grooves into the ground. She sucked in the chill night air and warmed it immediately in the kiln of her chest. Valka’s long hair spilled over her inner thigh, setting her skin on fire; her ass tensed and bulged in her girlfriend’s hands, wordlessly urging her on. “Keep looking for that stupid little fucker,” she murmured. “Take all night if you have to.”
Valka had nearly cleared out all the shattered tower, so she believed. There were fewer and fewer gritty little chunks coming out. But there was no sign of her little man anywhere. She checked: she withdrew and ran the tip of her tongue carefully across her palate, hoping to find some soft little lump and rolled along with her. He was never there, but her lover’s pussy was almost completely free of debris now, and she had no idea how she could reach deeper with just her tongue.
That wasn’t necessary. It dawned upon her that she could bring Anselm out to her, if she couldn’t go in any further. Her upper lip pulled back and she glared across her lover’s body as she lifted her head not much at all. Æsileif’s hard little clit bumped against her teeth, popped inside her mouth. She latched her lips around it, helping it to stand out, and then it was just a matter of rasping yards and yards of attentive papillae over that sensitive little bundle.
“Too soon,” Æsileif moaned. “Go back down there.” But Valka wouldn’t listen, and badly as she wanted to, Æsileif wouldn’t force her. She only whimpered cutely and started wording how Valka would owe her another, soon, for ending the first round early.
Valka moaned, despite herself, whipping up that pink bean into shape. An idle part of her brain compared her Anselm to it, in size. How big would he really be? Could he hug it? Could he hump it between his thighs? Or would he become subsumed by her hood, lost in a tidy little fold of the least tissues? No, he had to be bigger than that… She slipped the tip of her tongue inside the clit’s hood, just in case.
She heard Æsileif’s breath stagger. Gripping her lover’s ass hard, she slipped her pinky between the marble cheeks, worming it toward Æsileif’s asshole. She was rewarded with a shocked jerk as the toned woman writhed automatically. “You’re horrible!” She giggled but told Valka not to stop. And Valka didn’t, tickling her poophole while slapping her clit around with the tip of her tongue.
When Æsileif came, it echoed across the landscape. Night birds rattled and flapped out of the trees, crying in the distance. Deer scattered, foxes went underground. A village a mile or two away stirred in their sleep; dogs howled, horses neighed. She bellowed, she cried, she laughed, pounding the ground with enormous fists, digging great gouges out with her kicking heels. Valka was the only being around strong enough to hang on to her and hold her in place, never letting up on her dancing tongue until Æsileif frantically patted her crown. “Enough, enough,” she begged, but Valka only slipped down and thrust her tongue back inside.
This is what Æsileif was waiting for, all this time. The kiss of her lover, how Valgerðr knew how to do her right. This was worth the wait, the battle. How Valka rarely listened to “no” but went after what she wanted, simultaneously generous and selfish with Æsileif. She relaxed only when Valka withdrew. Her body tingled and rippled, exposed to the dome of heaven, stretched across a landscape that could barely hold her.
When she finally looked up to thank her lover, to beckon her lie down beside her, she found Valka sitting upright, between her ankles. She was studying her own hand, with her other hand covering her face. “What’s going on there, lover? You hurt yourself? I hope you’re not out of shape from not fucking me for so long.” Æsileif grinned warmly and propped herself up on her elbows.
When Valka looked up, tears shone on one of her cheeks. Her eyes were narrow slits of anger, and her lips quivered around clenched jaws. In her palm lay a little man, limbs splayed at alarming angles. Peering at him closely revealed a gaping mouth and terrified eyes, beneath a film of cum. “You stupid bitch,” Valka hissed, her mouth nearly unmoving. “You ruin everything. You stupid, clumsy brute, stomping around, wrecking everything nice.”
“Hey, now, honey. Think about what you’re saying, okay? I just got back tonight. I’ve been missing you for half a year. You’re all I’ve been thinking about, and you were defiling yourself with that little piece of scum.”
“You take that back.” Valka’s voice was low and quiet, one even tone of malice.
“Valgerðr? What’s gotten into you?” Æsileif drew up her knees and sat upright, facing her girlfriend. “Aren’t you happy to see me? Don’t tell me you love that—”
Valka’s eyes flashed. “Think very carefully about your next words.”
Æsileif frowned. Her right arm tensed, as though to draw back for a thunderous backhand, but this wasn’t how she wanted their reunion to end. She sucked in a deep breath (an unfortunate couple of birds disappeared up one nostril) and held it, trying to think about her girlfriend’s needs. “What, was he a hobby? Was he like a pet?” Her voice softened. “I could understand that, if he was a kind of pet. I wouldn’t want to hurt something you cared for.”
“No, not a fucking pet! He was—” But what was he? Valka stared at the hapless figure that sprawled across the 7 in the crease of her palm. Anselm was using her, that was obvious. Somehow he was getting off on her. It was hard to say at her expense, exactly, since she let him and it meant nothing to her. It affected her not at all. She couldn’t even taste him on her tongue when he came: it was just a contest of not swallowing a morsel for a few minutes, that was it.
But he loved her, or said he did. The little man fairly bounced on the top of that little tower when she approached. When Anselm smiled at her—because of her—Valka thought she could feel a wave of heat fly up at her face. He was pure joy when she met him, more joy than a puny little body like that should reasonably contain.
He used her, but wasn’t she using him? He was a funny little bug for her entertainment. The words he came up with, she didn’t know them all but they sounded wonderful. Maybe they weren’t real, as made-up as the emotions he professed, the vows he hurled up from his perch at her waist. It was so amusing to watch him frantically dance for her pleasure, desperately trying to extract that all-important promise that she would see him again in a month. It was all beginning to wear thin, by the time her girlfriend should be returning, and she was going to cut it off.
By rights she should’ve knocked the tower over with her big toe, as soon as she discovered it, stomped the rubble into the ground. This was to send a message to that audacious race of tiny people that they’d overextended themselves, shouldn’t get too greedy. Because anything they had could be taken away by her people, without any effort at all.
She ran a fingertip carefully over Anselm’s tiny legs, straightening them out. She drew down his arms by his sides, or tried to. If Æsileif was saying something, Valka couldn’t hear it. She scratched at a tear tickling her cheek, then opened her lips and let her tongue slide out. The blind, blunt tip dug under Anselm’s side and scooped up his torso, letting his limbs sway in the morning breeze for a moment. Then she drew him into her mouth and rested him upon her tongue. She sat there with him, palm clasped over her lips, holding back a sob as she felt that tiny, pathetic weight upon her tongue, still and cool, until just as he’d begged her not to several times, she let him slide down the back of her throat. Valka blinked hard a couple times, watching the moon sink behind the trees. She swallowed a couple times, unsure whether he’d gotten stuck inside her throat halfway down.
She felt Æsileif’s warm, strong arm around her shoulders. “You feel better now?” her girlfriend said. Valka knew she didn’t care, was just making a gesture. Wordlessly she nodded at her lover, who nodded back, and they struggled to stand on cramped legs, giggling at the ache of their lovemaking. “I will never understand you,” Æsileif said, “but I love every last part of you. I love the parts I don’t understand, if that makes sense.”
Valka sighed in her girlfriend’s embrace, nodding at her babbling as they trudged back into the mountains.
Anselm’s boots clapped upon the masoned blocks that wound up the tower’s interior, his torch guttered and roared in his grasp. Normally he was guard here, but it wasn’t his shift. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to be here at all: it was supposed to be two guards posted to this remote perimeter tower, an entire forest away from the keep. Anselm had had to save up several months’ pay and a keg of beer to pay off his fellow guardsmen to take the night off, but off they fucked and left the place to him. This wasn’t the first night they’d done so, and it wouldn’t be the last if Anselm had his way.
He emerged breathlessly at the top of the tower, mounting his torch in a low sconce. He stood upon a narrow roof that could hold two archers uncomfortably. They weren’t meant to engage in combat, simply raise the signal—a couple flaming arrows sent in a southerly direction—that something bad had been spotted. That was it: two people maintaining a tower in the middle of nowhere, watching out for a threat that, so far, had never presented itself.
Anselm rested upon the merlon and looked out across the land. The treetops, puffy and rolling like clouds almost all around him, glowed in the light of a half-moon. A clearing led down a gently sloping field to a river; the moon behind him, it did not glisten in the night but only wound like a dark ribbon in the distance. Mountains rose far off to his right, imperiously tall, and from among them he thought he spotted movement. It could’ve been an avalanche, maybe, or a massive flock of crows taking off at once from the woods around the foothills, but it was neither. Anselm smiled at the shift of shapes and shadows in the mountainous valley, at the dark figure that waded through the trees without effort. He pulled out the torch and waved it overhead in a wide arc, and the figure raised one long arm and waved back.
Within a few strides her features could be picked out in the moonlight. Serious, straight eyebrows arched at the far edges, betraying a capricious interest in the man in the tower. Proud cheekbones glowed above a tight, rumpled grin. Long, thick hair that absorbed all light spilled down the sides of the massive skull and flowed like rivers over creamy, round shoulders. Immense breasts swayed ponderously with each step, each one large enough to blast the top half of the tower in an errant swing.
Anselm’s heart raced as Valgerðr grew closer. The tall trees only brushed above her knees, whispering between her long, slender thighs. Her dark navel swam in a plane of glowing flesh, rising above the tower’s reach as she neared. Huge fingers casually brushed half her dark mane behind her, thick cords of hair that could have drowned a trading vessel or buried a squad or two of cavalry. Her teeth lit up in the night, far overhead, radiant as she loomed over the tower. Anselm, face to face with her wide thicket of pubic hair, strained to gaze up the landscape of her belly and between her breasts. He smiled wildly, waving the torch jubilantly, then ensconcing it once more.
The giantess waggled large fingers cutely at him, far overhead. She stepped back to kneel upon the ground, sitting massive buttocks upon her heels until her vast face hovered just over the tower. Anselm’s heart was hammering in his chest, beating faster than a destrier at full gallop: the giantess would have been beautiful as a woman, one his size, but in the shape of this goddess she was ravishing to the point of madness.
“Valka! You came!” He had to scream out to her, to cross the distance between his perch and her ears. He was only a little self-conscious of the racket he was making, but around the giantess, he couldn’t care. “You’re beautiful as always. You don’t know how happy I am to see you again.”
Large eyelids flapped in the night air, and her eyes focused upon him with fearsome intensity. “Thank you for saying so, Anselm. You’re such a little charmer, as always.” Her cheeks swelled cutely with her smile.
“Who couldn’t be helped but to be charmed by this gorgeous construct, wiles stacked upon wiles, a mountain of priceless beauty?”
Valka laughed, and Anselm’s knees went weak to see her moonlight spilling across her broad tongue, writhing between rows of savage boulders of ivory, leading to an inky chasm. Quickly she turned her head and covered her mouth to giggle, peering at him sidelong. “You flatterer! You’re too much, sometimes. I’m just a girl, after all.”
“Just a girl?” Anselm looked offended. “Maybe to your people, but to say you’re ‘just a girl’ is like the Library of Alexandria was just a collection of books, or the Hanging Gardens of Babylon was just a spot of moss on a rock.” He leaned far, dangerously far over a crenelation. “Come closer and let me give you just a smooch.”
Her face dimpled and she also leaned in, carefully, slowly. To her, the horny little guard was a bug sitting upon a narrow stylus. To him, however, it looked as though a temple in the shape of a goddess’s face was tumbling toward him from the heavens. Her eyes were illuminated pools of gold and hazel as they crossed with ridiculous cuteness, peering down at him as she brought her nose down to his level. He placed his hands upon the sides of its mere tip and nuzzled his face into the rounded end. So warm, just soft enough to press his head into, with dozens of fine, translucent hairs brushing over his cheeks.
“My goddess, my goddess,” he moaned, quietly. His heart nearly broke when the huge nose withdrew, and he caught himself before he toppled out of the tower and fell a lethal distance to her lap. “You call that a kiss? You missed me entirely!”
Valka giggled into her fingertips. “Oh, this again? It’s so dangerous, Anselm. What if you got lost in there? I’d never forgive myself. I’d never notice, but the idea would haunt me.”
“Please, Valka! You don’t know what this means to me. Our time together is always too short.”
“You’re truly alone out here, now? There are no curious little rats scuttling around to spy on our tryst?” Her head swayed left and right, golden eyes rolling in huge sockets to sweep over the grounds about the tower.
“No, no one. I bought the guards off easily. They know they’re ripping me off, but I don’t care! I need this time with you. I need you, Valka.” His hands gripped the merlons, and it took all his strength not to pitch himself at her, in the half-formed notion of latching onto her nipple and clinging there, like jewelry, forever.
“All right, but just for a little while. You have to climb out when I give you the signal. Promise?” The giantess tilted her head back, regarding him down the length of her fine nose. He stared up into her nostrils, slender black tunnels into her massive skull, and readily agreed to whatever she said. “No, you have to really promise this time! Anselm, look at me.”
He did, he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. He stared at the long lashes, any ten of which he could tie up to make a broom. He studied her lips, a perfect cupid’s bow with the most heartbreaking pout in her bottom lip. When she exhaled through her nose, warm breezes washed over him and he nearly fainted from longing.
“Of course! Oh, my Valka, of course I promise! I promise you the moon, the stars! I promise you the wealth of far-flung and yet unheard-of nations!”
“Anselm.” Deep furrows formed around the corners of that beautiful mouth, digging up beneath her cheekbones and around her nostrils. Her pouting lip rumpled with wrinkles like the bark of an ancient oak, turning up into a fearsome scowl. Anselm wanted to bash his head in with a rock, in a transport of grief at having caused a moment’s distress to his young goddess.
“I promise you, Valka.” He placed one hand upon his heart and raised the other. “I swear, at whatever signal you give me, I’ll crawl right back out and end it.”
Her lips parked to one side. One broad eyebrow rose and arched dubiously. But then her entire visage melted into a glorious smile, squinting eyes disappearing behind her cheekbones. “Okay. I believe you. But just for a minute, all right? Do whatever business you’ve got to do in there for a minute or two, because that’s all the time I can spare.”
Something in Anselm’s head caught on that phrase, but he ignored it and pulled his tunic over his head. He looked up at Valka, how her huge head tilted, how she grinned at him as he kicked off his boots and shucked his trousers. She walked around as naked as the day the gods made her, yet he always felt a little humbled, maybe humiliated, stripping down in front of her. The way she stared at him, the way her brow wrinkled, how her eye twinkled, these made him feel as though there were something entertaining about him, rather than a woman watching her lover prepare.
At least he stood, pale and glowing in the moonlight, and spread his arms wide. “Ready!” he called up to her. The giantess covered her laugh a third time, then slowly leaned into the tower. This time it wasn’t her nose descending upon him but her wide, open mouth. Cavernous it was, wide and tall and so deep! Her eyes disappeared behind her cheeks, the nearer she got, and her nostrils flared urgently with her widening jaws. Her thick lips pulled back and exposed the large plates of her teeth. Anselm stared up into these, this cave of death, these shards of mutilation, and wondered why his penis got so ragingly hard at the sight of them. He should be shitting himself, but whenever Valka presented her gaping maw to him, every last crumb of self-preservation was swept aside by a fiery libido.
Valka leveled her head to the side of the tower and slowly unfurled her heavy tongue, bridging the distance between her mouth and the tower’s tip. A blunt, glistening, quivering carpet of pink tongue dumped upon the narrow roof. It blocked the trapdoor through which Anselm had emerged, and it covered the pile of his clothes, drenching them in her saliva. He gave them the fleetingest thought before he fell to his knees upon the tip of her tongue, then to his hands.
Her tongue was soft and dense beneath him, hot but cooling down rapidly in the night air. Slowly he began to crawl upon her tongue, entering her mouth. His fine little fingers ran between her taste buds, fascinated with how they quivered and rolled like the surface of a mostly calm sea. And just beyond them were the jagged peaks of her molars and premolars, proud and strong. If she wanted to, he knew, she could close her jaws and shatter him like the thin scrim of ice on a river bank at the start of winter. His sinewy body would offer no resistance at all, not his ribs, nor his skull.
He nearly came right there.
Valka’s breath roared around him. He looked up, and in the ambient reflection of moonlight he saw her huge throat widen, just before cold air rushed up his ass and ruffled his hair. He dug his fingertips into her tongue, a primal reflex against getting sucked into her windpipe. Could she do that? Could she inhale so hard, she’d draw him into her throat and on into the cathedral of her body? He didn’t wish to find out.
When hot, humid air blasted his face and shoulders, he crept in further. His knees dragged over the spongy floor. Anselm wondered whether he was hurting her, concentrating most of his weight upon one knee in the center of her tongue, the groove between the long ridges that rose up from her throat and ran down to her tip. He knew it was ridiculous, there was nothing he could do to hurt this monstrous woman, but a tongue was still a tongue.
Cold air blew between his thighs, and he flattened himself upon the giantess’s tongue. There he was, entirely inside her mouth: the soles of his feet rested upon the inner ridge of her lower incisors, cleared of the biting range. There was no part of him that stuck outside of her lips, nothing to pull him back to the safety of that cold, narrow tower platform.
He was in Valka’s mouth. He was inside the giant woman’s mouth!
One hand pushed its way between his belly and her taste buds and wrapped around his cock. Anselm pressed the side of his face against one of the thick ridges and suckled a large nodule among the papillae, as though it were a nipple. His cock was long and hard: he gripped at the base and ran the sensitive tip deliriously over soft, giving, nubbly little taste buds. “Oh, my goddess,” he moaned again. His voice echoed crisply in the back of her throat. Again, it should have been terrifying, but instead he sobbed in longing and buried his face between her ridges, drawing his own tongue over her saliva and tasting her. Tasting the juice of a giantess. How many men in the kingdom could claim such a thing?
The moonlight went away as Valka slowly closed her jaws around him. He could hear rows of fearsome teeth clack and grind against each other as they settled shut. The darkness was complete in the giantess’s mouth, and the sound of her breath shifted to the current of jet streams running up from the depths of her chest and into her nostrils, behind the fleshy wall just beyond his head. If he wanted, he could have scooted a little further up and hung his head above the nothingness of her throat. He did not want.
He only poked his butt up against the roof of her mouth and churned his fist around his cock as he moaned and groaned into her taste buds. It was apparent the giantess was trying to keep her tongue still for him, but hundreds or thousands of micromuscles wouldn’t obey, entirely, and the cushioning, hot, moist bed writhed like a living, restless thing beneath him. He opened his jaws and sucked on her taste buds, he lowered his hips and ground his cock and balls against them, and he spread his arms to attempt to embrace her wriggly, twitching tongue.
Valka moaned for him. It was something she did strictly for his pleasure: he asked once, and she never forgot. “This does nothing for me,” she had assured him, though he hadn’t asked. “It’s just a bare morsel of cold meat lying on my tongue, squirming like a baby mouse. It’s as hard not to swallow you as it is to not spit you out.” That hurt, a lot: how could it be that something so significant and meaningful to him, something more valuable than the entire world upon which they crawled, meant less than nothing to her? He vowed to find a way to please her, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen tonight.
She moaned, and her entire mouth vibrated with the sound. Anselm cried out in ecstasy as her vocal chords rattled him to the core. The moan made every last follicle stand up on his entire body, it shook his head until thought was impossible, it rumbled in his guts until they nearly liquefied. And it made her tongue dance against his cock like nothing else in this world.
Anselm howled down the back of her throat, into the bottomless darkness. His voice bounced off glistening, churning walls, on and on into the depths of Valka’s chest. His biceps strained as he hugged her tongue to his body, bunching it up into his face and chest and belly. He was greedy for her tongue, he needed it all. His thighs flattened against her taste buds, his calves hooked around the end of her tongue, where the veins showed and the saliva squirted. He clutched her, Anselm selfishly crushed Valka’s tongue against his entire body as her sweet, low moan rattled an agonized orgasm out of him.
He cried, burying his face into her taste buds. His arms ached. His thighs burned. His hips shuddered and spat, and his cock sought desperately for a hole, settled on grinding against the nubbly surface as his seed dissolved in her spit. He cried, clutching the giantess’s tongue, as his cock gave up the last of his essence. He cried, needing this so much, needing to live in this beautiful woman’s mouth, to hide away from the troubles of the world and—
Chilly air swirled inside the balmy cavern. Moonlight once again glinted upon teeth and glowed upon pallid buttocks. Valka’s enunciation boomed around Anselm’s limp, drenched body: “Ung-hung.”
For a split second he thought about pitching himself into her throat, to live inside her forever, or at least, for the rest of his life. To be so close to this young goddess, to belong to her, even to be a part of her, wouldn’t that be worth it? That consummate intimacy, to be absorbed by her? The ultimate act of reclamation and possession.
A promise was a promise. Anselm wretchedly scuttled backward over her tongue, clambered over her teeth, and collapsed to the dusty tower platform. Once she sensed he was extracted, she sucked her tongue between her lips, and her beautiful face hovered gently away from the tower’s peak. It was heart-rending to watch, saying goodbye to this moment of heaven with her.
He lay, panting. The huge head tilted and regarded him with that damned amused smile. “It was good for you, huh?” Her voice flowed in waves over his body, making him feel tiny.
“Valka, my beloved, I can’t tell you how wonderful that is.” He gasped for breath, his pale chest heaving in the night air. “If I could put it into words, if I could sufficiently impress upon you what it means to me, you would never take me away from it.”
The giantess rolled her eyes and grinned at the stars. “Such a little drama queen.” Slowly she sat up, stretching her back, flinging colossal arms into the sky. “Welp, you better get dressed. Or don’t, I guess, but I’ve got to take off.”
Anselm pulled his pants free of the damp mound of clothes. “Why so soon, this time? Usually we get a couple of hours together.” He wrung out the legs of the pants before jamming his own chilly legs into them. “Will I see you again next month, at least?”
“I don’t think so, Anselm. I think this is it.” The giantess sat back and, far below, rested her palms upon her thighs. “I want you to know, I had a lot of fun with you, with all these little visits.”
He stared at her, then sprang to his feet and pulled his tunic back on without wringing it out. It was as cold as ice. “Wait, Valka! What are you talking about? Why aren’t you coming back? You were going to teach me how to pleasure you, you know, down there.”
He couldn’t read the gross wince on her expression. “Yeah, well, sorry we never got to that. But you knew this wasn’t going to last forever, it was just a short-time thing. You’ve got your world to tend to, and I’m sure there’s tons of lovely little women in it just waiting for you. And I’ve got my own thing going on.”
Anselm stared up at her, the distance between his tower and her bosom seemingly further than ever. He wanted to grab onto her somehow, a finger, a lock of hair, something, but the colossal woman was entirely inaccessible to him. “But you can’t go! You can’t just leave me. Take me with you! Can you do that? Couldn’t you keep me with you?”
Valka’s broad face transmitted sympathy upon him, but her body swayed back as she stretched out her legs and got ready to get up. “That’s so sweet, Anselm, but it would never work. Ours are entirely different worlds. You wouldn’t enjoy it there, the food’s different, and people would probably kill you if they saw you.”
“Couldn’t you protect me from them?” Slyly he grinned. “Couldn’t you, you know, hide me on yourself and keep me safe?”
Slowly she did rise, incalculable tons of feminine meat lifting into the sky. Clumps of loam flaked off her thighs and shins and spun their way back to earth. “This is really entertaining and everything, but I really should’ve left about ten minutes ago.”
“Now, hold on a damned second! What’s the all-fired hurry?”
The immense nude woman glared down at him. “Hey, watch your tone, little man. You’re super cute and everything, but I think you forgot who’s in control, here.”
Valka had never spoken to him like this before. He was… the ship of his emotions was tossed between multiple whirlpools: abandonment, lust, resentment, humiliation, insult. “I’m sorry I took such a tone with you, I am, but what’s going on here?” The next words were a ledge he willing walked up to, and he knew it. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”
The giantess’s sweet mouth opened, far overhead, but no words came out. Instead, quiet thunder rolled in the distance, drifting from the mountains from which she had come. “Oh, shit,” she muttered, her gorgeous eyes widening.
Anselm, unable to see around the giantess’s vast hips, called up to her. “What’s wrong, what’s going on?”
“My girlfriend’s back.” Valka shrugged her huge shoulders helplessly and turned to greet the thunder.
Cameron lay upon the bed, waiting. His clothes were rumpled from sleep, though he couldn’t remember going to sleep. His entire body ached from the unforgiving surface. He twisted his head this way and that, checking it for kinks. Just some tight muscles, no pinched nerves. Things could always be worse.
He lay there, slowly stretching himself out. It was a cold morning, or else he had lost all his heat from lying upon the bed. He wanted to get some more sleep, or just lie there and stare at the low ceiling, but his body was in too much pain. It would never allow him to relax, now that he was awake, and his muscles were sore from where they rested against the bed. Cursing, he swung to his feet and rose, hopping in place and clapping himself in an embrace to get the blood flowing and build up some heat.
He stalked over to what was supposed to be a writing desk, or maybe a vanity. It was hard to tell: the edges were round and slick with glossy, blobby paint. The carelessness of it made Cameron angry, as though the manufacturer were dumping the burden of function and interpretation upon the consumer. “You know what we meant,” said some indolent wage slave in China. “Close enough for someone like you.”
He wanted to kick it over, but it looked solidly affixed to the floor, just like the lump representing an armoire was melded with the wall. Lazy to the point of arrogance. “What are you going to do about it?” He could hear the laughter over assembly-line chatter. He stomped out of the room, his worn, leather shoes slapping against the psychedelic whorls that represented a rug.
The next room, he didn’t even know what it was purported to be. A picture frame was printed on the wall, showcasing an amorphous tangle of black line over blotches of pastels. The wallpaper was little more than wobbly blue lines running down a field of pink. This arbitrary cell served only to connect the bedroom to the circular staircase, which he nearly threw himself down. After a week of living here, he still wasn’t used to the irregular steps, unevenly spaced and improperly deep for his feet. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there had been a handrail; as it was, Cameron clutched at the walls as though trying to invoke some kind of latent gecko superpower, moving like a drunkard in a refrigerator crate rolling down a hill.
That reminded him of the last time the house fell over, and he forced himself to move slower. Sometimes it was just easier to sit down on the ersatz steps and slide down the spiral in a controlled descent.
On the main floor, Cameron emerged in the foyer. More detail was paid to this layout, at least. The printed carpet in here had a coherent design. The front door was an actual a panel that swung on a hinge, as opposed to the gaping, almost sphincter-like portals that led to every other room. The built-in hutch opposite the front door had little gold rings for the drawer handles, though the drawers were a facade and could not pull out, and featured a working mirror.
The mirror wasn’t great, being only a foggy strip of silver adhesive, with a couple bubbles here and there, but it served to allow Cameron to examine himself. The whiskers, he could feel by rubbing his chin. His slept-on hair created a lopsided silhouette in the mirror, and his disheveled clothes lacked a pleasing symmetry. Out of reflex he tucked his shirt back into his pants, then took off his jacket to flap out the wrinkles and put it on again. He wiggled his toes: they writhed in moist socks. His feet felt swollen. He should have taken off his shoes and socks before going to sleep last night, but he didn’t recall going to bed in the first place.
He remembered the fight, the shouting match. There was booze, but did that cause the fight or was it meant to remedy it? He sighed, running his fingers through his oily, matted hair. His scalp itched and he scraped at it, with nails long enough to pick at the fine details.
He sucked in the cool air of the foyer, thick with particle board and glue and paint and held it for four seconds, trying to calm down. Isn’t that what Special Forces did? Inhale for four, hold it for four, let it out for four, hold it out for four. That was supposed to work. Cameron had few other options.
He had to see if breakfast was ready, if it was there at all.
He knew the layout of the house by now. Orienting himself as if he had walked in from outside, on the immediate left was the library, evinced by the warbled images of loaded bookshelves on all four walls. At least the recliner in here exploited the advantage of roundness and lack of detail. There weren’t supposed to be any sharp edges to it, so it was only wide and accommodating, if as hard and solid as all the other furniture in the house. Enter the library and turn right, step over the seam, and you found yourself in the music and arts room. There was what Cameron had to suppose was a half-piano or a full harpsichord, round and creamy like all the furniture, with a row of keys inadequately printed upon what must’ve been its front. No bench, of course, this was a standing harpsichord. Across from it was a long, tall triangular blob with a picture frame printed upon it. This represented a painting easel, obviously, but what idiot would have mounted the frame upon the canvas? It was difficult not to feel as though he were being mocked, again.
To the right of the foyer was a parlor. Shapeless couches faced each other, glowing in the light of a bay window with a window seat. Lots of places to sit in here, if one were to have guests. But no one visited him in the week he’d been here. No one that could come in, anyway. The parlor was separated by the seam from a kitchen, if you sprayed a kitchen with wet plaster and then viewed it through a piece of frosted glass. That could be a sink over there, next to what looked kind of like a larder, and something resembling a butcher block stood in the center. The floor was printed with black-and-white tiles, which suggested food preparation.
The art room and the kitchen flanked the grand dining hall, Cameron thought wryly. It was only slightly wider than the foyer, since the art room and kitchen had been shaved down to allow for it. There was a long table running its length, and one could excuse the way its shape ran down and melted into the floor like marshmallow fluff if you chose to instead see it as an abundant tablecloth. Sure, that wasn’t impossible. But rather than two rows of high-backed chairs lining its sides, guests would have had to make do with the knobby little lumps that erupted from the floor and became one with the tablecloth. They would have to ride these elegant dining chairs like the saddle of a moped, clutching these little stalagmites with their knees to keep from sliding off and collapsing upon the printed hardwood floor boards.
Cameron didn’t intend to sit at this table, to rudely rest his elbows beside the imperfect circle of a dinner plate and run his hands over impressionist images of silverware. All he needed was sitting in the center of the table, so he walked over and picked it up.
In his two hands, it looked like an asteroid but with more holes. An asteroid of pumice, maybe. It was craggy and brown, with lots of edges that would’ve been cruel to hold, except the whole thing was soft and moist. He brought it up to his face: cinnamon, nutmeg, banana, and burnt sugar. He resented how his stomach growled, wishing he could make a noble show of tossing it aside in a gesture of dignity or rebellion. Instead, he turned it over to find one of the smaller crags and latched his jaws around it. It was cool against his cheeks, as he strained to tear a piece off.
He’d choked down a few bites when he heard the thumping. Boom, boom, boom. Always those three, as though that’s how people got around. He ignored the commotion and continued working on the morsel, glancing around the room for a drop of water and not finding it. Maybe there was enough moisture in the banana bread to keep him from dehydrating.
A bright, bold voice rattled the house. “Yoo-hoo, Mister Delacourte!”
His name was not Delacourte. It was Fort, Cameron Fort. He had no idea where Delacourte came from.
“Mister Delacourte, are you in there? Don’t make me come looking for you, now!” The sing-song tone made this bellowing no less hideous. He dug his teeth into the bread and stifled a scream.
Something began hammering at the front door, the panel on the wire hinge. He could hear it easily in the dining room, with a house between he and it. “Mister Delacourte, I know you’re in there! Why won’t you come out and greet me? That’s not very neighborly of you, is it.” There was a long pause. “Are you ill? Do you have a headache? Perhaps I should come in there and find you.”
He clenched his eyes at that notice. There was nowhere to run. The next rooms only put him closer to his intruder, and even if he could make it to those nightmarish stairs, being upstairs wouldn’t help at all. Not a shade, not a whit. All he could do was put his back against the wall and await the inevitable.
The house resounded with a metal clack. The air filled with the breathy rasp of the halves of the entire structure dragging over a wooden table, an actual wooden table. Light poured into his half of the house; he watched the back of the foyer drift away, watched the parlor and library empty out into nothingness.
“There you are, Mister Delacourte! Oh, I’m so glad to see you’re enjoying my banana bread! I baked it especially for you. Is it delicious? I made it with extra love, that’s what makes it taste so good.”
All the air rushed out of Cameron’s lungs. The large morsel lowered in his grip as he stared up at the woman looming over the exposed halves of his house. Or the house he found himself living in, anyway. The sight of her terrified him in a way he never could have come up with in a year of nightmares, he was certain. Unwilling to step onto her table, he remained in the shoddy, careless representation of a dining room.
“Aren’t you going to say anything, Mister Delacourte?” The large woman shook slightly, glaring down at him. “It’s very rude to—”
“Good morning, Miss Blanchard.”
She didn’t smile, but then, she couldn’t. “Good morning to you, Mister Delacourte! How is your breakfast?”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! I was slaving away over a hot oven all morning, making that for you.”
“All morning? What time is it?”
“Yes, well, I wake up quite early to get these things started.” She paused, trembling. “It’s… nine… thirty. Almost.”
Nine-thirty. Goddamn it. He should be… Cameron struggled not to think about what he would be doing at 9:30 on a Friday morning. What he should be doing, who would be missing him. His fingers dug into the banana bread, resentful of how it resisted his grip.
“You look very nice today, Mister Delacourte!” The massive woman bounced in place, like a building in an earthquake. Her arms flapped against her sides.
He shuddered and took another pass at gnawing on the craggy lump of banana bread. A morsel to him, a crumb to her.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Pointed throat-clearing thundered against his ears.
“This is very delicious, Miss Blanchard. Thank you very much for it.” He gulped, choking on the words and the bread. “Can I get some water?”
“That’s not what I meant.” The large woman shook, nearly vibrated. “I said that you look very nice today. You’re supposed to tell me how I look.”
Wisely, Cameron bit back his reaction. “You’re looking very large today, Miss Blanchard.”
Giggling pealed through the dining room. “No, silly! You’re supposed to say something nice.”
“You’re looking very gigantic today, Miss Blanchard.” More laughter. “Why, Miss Blanchard, you’re looking positively colossal this morning!”
The large woman rattled so hard her head banged against her own ceiling, taking more than a few savage cracks. When the voice returned, it was gasping for breath. “You’re very silly, Mister Delacourte! But seriously, you have to tell me how pretty I am.”
Cameron took a step back. “I’m a married man, Miss Blanchard. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Since when are you married, Mister Delacourte? I don’t see anyone else in your house.” Pause. “Do you have a wife somewhere? Should we meet? Would you like her to move in with you?”
“No! No, that won’t be necessary, Miss Blanchard. I… I was making a bad joke.” He swallowed bile. “You’re looking very lovely today, Miss Blanchard. Positively radiant.”
Pleasure glowed in her voice. “That’s so sweet of you to say, Mister Delacourte! Perhaps you would like to give me a little kiss?” The woman swung threateningly low into his personal space. Her head was nearly as large as his entire body. She couldn’t fit into the dining room, but it wasn’t safe to hide from her there. He learned that Tuesday. He raised himself up on tippy-toes and craned his head up toward her, then pressed his lips against her cold, porcelain cheek.
“No, on the lips!” Before he could dodge, the large woman lunged at him. Her painted mouth smacked into his; her painted nose crushed his, and he collapsed onto the table on which his house stood.
“Oh, no! Mister Delacourte! Are you okay?”
He lay on the ground, clutching his face. Stars swirled in his vision, and his nose didn’t want him to breathe at all for a while. How he wanted to swear, to throw something, but he knew that would lead to much worse. Wednesday showed him that. He could only shield his face from further damage, crying hot, angry tears as he suppressed his natural reactions.
“Mister Delacourte, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were so delicate.” Something patted his arm.
He swiped at it, knocking it away. “I’m not fucking delicate! You’re a monster, an abusive monster!” So much for self-restraint.
Her voice was darker now. “Mister Delacourte, I thought we talked about that kind of language— oh, no! Blood! Are you okay? What should I do? Should I get a Band-Aid?”
Slowly, Cameron rolled to his knees, sitting upright. “You should go get your mom. This feels pretty serious, I think you broke my nose.”
“I can’t do that, she’ll kill me for breaking another one of you guys!” The high, worried tone was immediately replaced by a lower, bossier one. “I mean, I am the mom around here. There’s no mom. Here, let me look at you, maybe I can clean you up.” Hard, flat paddles with fingers painted on them swatted at his biceps and shoulders.
“No, please don’t. This is actually serious. Just… get me some water, I’ll clean myself up.”
“Oh, no! Look at your shirt! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!”
“It’s okay, I just really need some water, please.”
“I don’t have any water. What if I sang you a song?” The large woman started to sway, her porcelain head whipping around on her shoulders.
“No, not the doll! You, the real you! The girl holding the doll!” Cameron pointed at the large fingers wrapped around the large doll’s waist. “I need you to get your mother to give me some first aid! I’ll talk to her, I promise you won’t get in trouble!”
The doll wavered, then swung upright. “I know where to get some water. I’ll do it after I take a nap.” Miss Blanchard collapsed to her floor, and the huge hand withdrew from her living room. There was a tremendous rumbling and darkness filled the room as the two halves of Miss Blanchard’s house closed shut. Through Miss Blanchard’s own bay window, from the miniature table on which his house stood, Cameron could see little more than a truly immense pair of blue jeans rise up, up, up, and run away.
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