[pseudoclever]

6.

Reassured that I hadn't hurt myself when I'd head-butted the ceiling, Timothy was now wearing a smug, I-told-you-so kind of smile. “See what I mean?” he asked. “About how size doesn't matter?” He wrapped his arms around my waist the best he could, trying to hug me. He looked for all the world like a picture I had seen once of a four year old boy attempting to hug a giant oak tree. “Come on, admit it.”

I laughed, ruffling his hair. “We'll see twirp, we'll see. But so far so good. That teasing job of yours really got my motor running. Your goddess is pleased. Though in the future, I would advise you not to keep me on edge like that, without giving me what I want. I was on the verge of becoming...irritated.” Here I paused for two beats, staring down at him. My look was placid, but I think he got the message: he gulped, and nodded quickly. “Glad you agree. So then, my favored little half-pint...what's your next move?”

He thought for a moment, looking around the room, eyebrows furrowed. “Um, well, first of all...do you think you could come a little more down to my level? It's not that I don't LOVE looking up at you – I do. But if I have to keep reaching up to get at your naughty bits, my arm is going to fall asleep.” He demonstrated, lifting his hand high, giving me a brief, leg-quivering stroke, then returning the arm to his side with a look of (probably feigned) exhaustion.

“Very well,” I told him, speaking in a partially affected voice – extra-deep, commanding. “But not, I want you to understand, because I wish to make your job any easier. Allison the Goddess is simply tired of standing.”

“As you wish,” he replied, concealing a smirk.

I bent, setting the bottle down at my feet, and sat down on the wall-bolted bench. It took a moment for me to find a comfortable position – the thing was way too narrow to handle even half of my ample backside. Eventually I found my way into the corner, where the bench made an L-curve to follow both walls. If I sat with my right leg resting straight out on the bench in front of me, and my left foot planted on the ground, knee bent, I was actually supported pretty well.

“There now,” I told him, still speaking in low, rumbling tones. “You ask, and your goddess has provided. Am I not good to you?”

“Very good,” Timothy answered meekly. He had come to stand at my feet, was staring up at my massive, reclining form with obvious awe. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, could almost see his thoughts as he considered the limitless bounty of possibilities that my size and position provided.

Still, I had to wonder...why was he waiting?

“You're not afraid, are you Timothy?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Of me? I mean, I would understand if you were. After all...I'm so...so much bigger than you. I could send you flying across the room without even trying.”

He considered the question carefully, then shook his head. “No...not afraid exactly. A little bit nervous but...I guess it's hard to explain.”

“Well then don't try.” I smiled at him wickedly. “This isn't the time for thinking, for rationalizing. Just know...that I'm your dream girl. Your giantess. And all ten feet of me is waiting patiently for you.” I reclined a bit further back as I spoke, pushing myself – or more specifically a certain part of myself – subtly toward him. “So...why don't you go ahead...and finish what you started, Timothy. Come over here...a little closer...and touch me. Would you like that, little guy?”

He nodded eagerly. “More than anything in this world.”

With one gigantic finger I beckoned him closer, slowly spreading my tree-trunk thighs to reveal the treasure hidden between. “Well then...go ahead, Timothy. Because...more than anything in this world...I want YOU right now.” He came slowly, as if sleepwalking, to stand at the place where my legs came together. “Yes, that's it sweetie. You were doing so good before. Now come on...give this big girl what she needs.”

I lost sight of his face as he sank down beneath the curve of my stomach. And then after a brief, tension-filled pause, he began. Gently, almost timidly, his warm, wet tongue began to tickle at the supple edge of my inner thigh. He spent a moment tracing his way around the outskirts of my womanhood, going up...down its edges, slowly letting me rebuild the smoldering ashes of my libido back into a raging bonfire.

And so, when he finally DID give me a good, hard lick at my very center, the noise that came from me was not a moan but a deep, guttural howl of satisfaction.

At my current size, my pussy was easily as large from top to bottom as his entire head, and almost as wide as both his hands put together. You might think this was a problem. It wasn't. It's not hard, you know, finding a g-spot, when it's the size of a silver dollar. And you can get your tongue pretty deep into a girl if you can stick yourself in all the way up to the ears.

In seconds it went from good, to great, to off-the-charts, over-the-moon, holy-shit-did-I-just-die-and-go-to-cunnilingus-heaven incredible. “Oh my God baby! Oh my GOD!” Nearly weeping in ecstasy and not even aware of what I was doing, I began to massage my breasts, pressing hard against them with the flat of my palms. I was wonderfully surprised by the thunderbolt of pleasure I felt in the moment I touched them. Pinching and rolling, squeezing and stroking, fondling their enormity between spread fingers. And all the while the efforts of my tiny little man bringing me to new heights of bliss. “Don't stop baby! PLEASE don't ever stop!”

“I won't,” Timothy answered calmly. “If you admit I was right.” He had stopped eating me out long enough to speak, had sunk his entire hand inside me up to the wrist as a substitute. “When I say that size doesn't matter. If you do...I think you should say it.” He paused his motion for a fraction of a second, pulling all the way out of me. “Saaaaay it....”

“Yes!” I cried, gritting my teeth. “Size...nggh...doesn't matter!”

“That's my big girl,” he whispered, and went straight back to work. I fought to stay still through this new wave of pleasure, knowing that a sudden jerk or spasm from my enormous body could send little Timothy flying across the room. My eyes watered. My toes curled. It was...the best ever!

Yet somewhere in the back of my head it galled me, that this man who was barely more than half my height could have wrested control of the situation from me so easily. He'd practically bent me over his knee and showed me who was boss...metaphorically speaking of course. But the mind-boggling stream of pleasure I was receiving was just too much for me to fight. The elixir, in addition to making me into a giantess, had apparently turned my entire body into one gargantuan erogenous zone. So I bided my time instead, planned my revenge...and rode out the tidal wave of bliss.

Grinning, Timothy bent, wrapped his lips around my quarter-sized clit, sucked. This was too much. I came. Hard. The kind of orgasm where you lose feeling in your face, can't control your arms and legs.

From someplace far, far away...Timbuktu, perhaps, or maybe the far side of Mars, I could hear Timothy speaking. “But it isn't exactly true, Allison. Because see, where I'm concerned...size matters very, very much.”

I struggled to pay attention to him as the dying echos of my orgasm still reverberated throughout my body.

“Do you remember what you asked me earlier? Back when you were only, I don't know, eight feet tall or so? You asked...now that I had you...my giant, amazon dream girl...what I wanted you to do?”

I was beginning to come around now: the world wasn't spinning so fast; I could almost breathe normally again.

“Do you remember my answer?”

I opened my mouth to reply, managed to get out a soft grunt. My eyelids fluttered, but they felt as if they might be made of concrete.

“I said, Allison, that since I had you like that...the one thing I wanted you to do...was keep growing.”

“Even...still?” I managed to say, though it came out without any vowels.

“Even still,” he agreed, apparently managing to understand me. “Even as big as you are, I want you bigger. And lookie what I have here.”

At last I managed to open my eyes. Little Timothy was looking down at me with a cheshire cat grin. Clutched tightly in his left hand was the bottle of elixir.

I shook my head, finally feeling it clear, and returned his grin. “If that's what you really want,” I told him, my voice a feline purr of indulgence. “As long as you know what you're getting yourself into here. Because after that little stunt you just pulled, don't think I'll go easy on you. You sir, are going to GET IT.”

“That's what I'm counting on,” he returned, smirking. Yet for just one moment his expression faltered. And there behind the mask of confidence, I saw it: the faintest, faintest twinge of fear in his eyes.

I smiled to myself. He had every reason to feel that way.

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At the Gym will be concluded on Sunday.