Giantess Stories: A TOY FOR MISTRESS

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I lie in bed

trembling with fear and excitement, awaiting and dreading her arrival. I try to

relax, not to think about her, but my efforts are futile. For, indeed, the very

air I breath is filled with the scents of her leather, her silk, her perfume,

and the aroma of her sweat. It is a strange, intoxicating mixture of perfumes,

almost overpowering in its intensity. It is the first thing I notice when I wake

up in the morning, the last thing I'm aware of before I fall asleep. I feel the

coldness of the metal ring around my ankle, which is connected by a gold chain

to a similar ring set into the 'bed'. Was there ever a time when I did not wear

that ring? Yes, once, a long time ago. But such thoughts are of no consequence.

I am her possession, her slave, her little 'toy' to do with as she pleases, to

caress or crush at her slightest whim... I hear the click of the door opening,

and am flooded with terror - along with just the slightest trace of arousal. The

door, mind you, is not the door to my bedroom, but the door to the big

room - her 'playroom', the one where I am kept. She always enters this little

bedroom through the window, unless that is, she decides to just remove the

entire side of my house. That isn't hard, at least not for her, since my entire

house is less than twenty four inches long and eighteen high. I shudder as I

feel the muffled tremors of her footsteps approaching the table upon which her

dollhouse" sits. Her vast shadow falls across my bedroom window. "Good morning",

she says cheerfully, in a voice which, to my ears, is at once both thunderous

and melodious, "and how is my little pet." Before I can so much as gasp, the

window slides open. Her hand glides into the room, a hand big enough to wrap me

in its fist, and -- without the slightest effort -- crush me into a bloody pulp.

Like so much else about her, it inspires in me a dual reaction. It is terrifying

in its strength and hugeness, and yet it is so delicate of form and graceful in

motion, that I cannot help but feel a twinge of admiration mingle with my fear

as I watch it move toward me. I move back -- deeper into the recesses of the

worn old ballet slipper that serves as my 'bed' -- but my struggles are to no

avail. Like huge snakes, her fingers wrap themselves around my naked, squirming

little body; steadily, they tighten their grip, until I am firmly, almost

painfully imprisoned in a soft, warm wall of flesh. I clench my eyes shut, feel

a jolt, and am carried upward higher and higher.

When I open my eyes,

I find myself staring into another eye -- one whose iris is larger than my head.

It is truly the eye of a Goddess; green and depthless, beautiful as it is huge,

flashing with a cold, mischievous cruelty. She lowers me, so that now I am mere

inches away from her mouth. Her luscious, moist lips twist themselves into a

smirk. Her mouth opens slightly, exposing her perfect, pearl white teeth; she

licks her lips as though she were preparing to devour a tasty morsel. I squirm

and struggle in her grasp, horrified of being tossed into the wet, dark cavern

of her mouth, of being eaten alive. "What's the matter, baby", she coos with

mock concern, "afraid mammas going to bite you. Maybe I will nibble on you maybe

I'll nip off that naughty little thing of yours." She laughs again, her breath

washing over me like a warm, minty wind. "P ... please" I whimper, "Please don't

hurt me. I'm sorry I was naughty. I'll be good..." She glares down at me; the

smile leaves her face. "YOU LITTLE LIAR!", she thunders, "how dare you tell me

that you'll be good when I can still feel how hard you are!"


Suddenly, she opens

her fingers, releasing me from her grasp. I scream, fall like a plumb into the

palm of her other hand. With the thumb and forefinger of her free hand, she

grasps me about the waist, sits me upright, as though I were a puppet or a rag

doll. She slips the nail of her index finger between my thighs, rotates her

finger so as to force my legs apart. The fingertip strokes my inner thighs,

brushes ever so lightly against my half erect member, bringing it instantly to

full erection; I let out a moan of mingled fear and pleasure. The smile returns

to her face. "Look at that prick of yours", she whispers, continuing to tickle

me, "look at how stiff it is, even though I haven't given my permission for it

to become erect. " There is a softness, a maternal tenderness, in her voice, but

I know from previous experience that her gentle teasing and scolding is merely

the prelude to something far less pleasant. The hand in which I sit folds inward

to form a bowl; its fingers curl around to enclose me. The fingers close tighter

and tighter, press my knees into my chest, shutting out light and air; trapped

once again in her grasp. I feel the motion of her footsteps. Then, with gut

wrenching suddenness, the hand lowers itself, abruptly stops. Her fist opens,

the hand tilts, and I slide from her warm, slightly moist palm onto the hard,

cold surface of a tabletop. I hear the ominous music of her laughter, turn

towards its source, gasp. For just beyond the edge of the table is a towering

wall I of sheer black fabric silk or nylon, beneath which the vast, white,

gently rounded 'columns' of her upper thighs are plainly visible. My gaze tilts

still higher; I see a dense, black forest of pubic hair, then the gentle swell

of her belly, the underside of her petite, perfect breasts, (their brown nipples

standing fully erect), and finally, far away - the features of her exquisite,

feline face. With its slightly upturned nose, high cheekbones, milky - almost

translucent - skin, it is the perfect setting for the jewels that are her eyes.

Those eyes which stare down at me now wicked, gleaming, intensely alert, like

the eyes of a Tigress. "Like what you see?", the Tigress purrs. The seductive

power of her voice sends shivers up my spine. The shivers only intensify when I

once again lower my gaze to dark folds of the negligee. Never has she permitted

me to see so much of her, and to see it in such detail. And, as though all of

this were not sufficient to drive me insane with passion, my little nose detects

-- along with the heavenly scent of her cologne - the faint, unmistakable 'musk'

of her vagina. My response to her sights, sounds, and smells is as immediate as

it is uncontrollable: my penis stands as stiff as ever, naked and throbbing,

burning under her gaze, aching for the softness of her touch.


To tease me even

more, she opens her negligee, so that I am mere inches away from the bare flesh

of her thigh. On trembling legs, my hands tucked between my legs in a feeble

attempt to hide my arousal, I step closer to source of my terror and desire. At

last I am close enough to touch her. I place my palm on her thigh - or at least

a tiny, tiny patch of it, and almost swoon with delight. It is incredibly soft

-- softer and smoother even than the velvet skin of her hands -- the oily

parts of her body that I have thus far been allowed to touch. My own hands roam

over her, tickling here, lightly scratching there. Her leg trembles ever so

slightly as she breathes more forcefully and rapidly. The scent of her musk is

much stronger. Drunk with desire, I reach up toward her vagina, thrusting my

hand into the wet, tangled fur at the very base of her triangle. Rising to my

tiptoes, I am able to insert my hand between the slick, swollen lips of her

vagina. My arm slides into her -- deeper and deeper -- burning from the heat of

her body. It is as though I were touching the wall of a blast furnace. Her

finger slides down into the nest of pubic hair, lightly brushes against her

clitoris. Her vaginal walls clamp down upon my arm so tightly, I feel as though

it's going to snap at any moment. I scream, try to pull my arm out, but this

only seems to arouse her further. Her vaginal muscles clench and unclench

spasmodically. She lets out a long, low moan. Then, without warning, her thigh

slams against the edge of the table, hitting me like a wall of sledgehammers,

knocking me flat on my back. When my vision clears, I see her face descending

quickly towards me. Her long, straight, dark brown hair falls upon me, and I am

drowning in a waterfall of satin strands. She brushes her hair away from me,

lowers her face so that her mouth is mere inches away from my startled eyes.

There are beads of sweat around her mouth. Her panting breath hits me in a

series of huge gusts. "HOW DARE YOU!", she thunders, "how dare you touch me. Do

you think that just because I show myself to you, I'm giving you permission to

put your filthy little paws on me. You're no better than an insect, a worm! And

you know what I do to worms, don't you? I step on them!"


Simultaneously, her

face rises, and her hand swoops down upon me like an eagle upon a rabbit. I am

once again in her grasp; she holds me tightly. Her thumb pressing into the small

of my back. There is a blur, a sudden, sickening downward motion. When her hand

releases me, I am lying upon an endless plain of thick, gray carpeting. I stand

up, look around at huge, oddly shaped structures of wood and chrome and leather,

which, after some seconds, reveal themselves to be chairs and tables and a

four-poster bed. I hear the rustle of her negligee; her shadow falls over me. I

stare upwards, and am shocked at how truly vast she is (or how truly small I

am). on my scale, a three story house would barely rise to the height of her

knees, and she could easily reach with her arms, if not stare straight at, the

roofs of all but the tallest apartment buildings. Her size and massiveness are

only half the story, however, for she is not some mere block or mountain of

flesh, but a woman as beautiful as any I have laid eyes upon. Her hugeness does

not detract from this beauty, but only adds to it. indeed, it is a beauty so

dark and alluring and intense as to be almost more than human. She is a fairy

tale princess and a wicked queen -- a Goddess the Greeks would have been proud

to worship. She raises her knee, and I see her bare foot rising up, moving

slowly towards me. I am paralyzed, as in a nightmare, as I watch the pinkish

sole of her foot descending towards me. At the last moment before the sole

actually touches me, I roll out from underneath it. With the desperate, mindless

panic of an animal, I run from her, knowing all the while that I cannot escape

her. The carpet quakes with her footsteps; I hear her laughter becoming louder

as she approaches me. I trip and fall. I feel a sudden weight upon my back, a

terrible coldness. Both sensations increase, and realize, without being able to

see her, that her foot is upon me. The pressure eases -- but only for a moment;

just long enough for her big toe to nudge me onto my back. Her toes jab into my

belly, their longish, painted nails digging into me as had her fingernails only

a short while before. Like her hands, her feet are soft, the skin smooth and

silken to the touch. Unlike her hands, they are quite cold... which only adds to

the violence of my trembling. "Oh, this is nice", she teases, "You feel so

deliciously warm. You'll come in very handy on cold winter nights." She lowers

her foot, so that the sole is flat against me. Her toes pressing into my face,

her heel bearing down upon my own little feet. She presses down a little harder

as she commands, "lick me!"


Furiously, my tongue

laps at the underside of her big toe. In a desperate attempt to placate her, I

reach up, sliding my hands along the sides of her foot, tickling and caressing.

She seems to like this, for she giggles and wiggles her toes. She slides her

foot forward, so that the underside of her heel is mere millimeters from my

nose. As I lick her heel, I reach up and scratch her exposed arch with my

fingers. I do this for awhile, perhaps a full five minutes...until suddenly the

foot lifts itself up. I start to sit up, when, just as suddenly, her other foot

sweeps down, flattening me, knocking the wind and my senses from me. "WHERE DO


GET UP!". She punishes me with her foot, poking me with her icy toes, slapping

and nudging me with the side of her foot. I try to crawl away from her blows,

but her foot crashes down in front of me. There is something both terrifying and

exquisite not only about the foot itself, but about its pose: ball and toes

pressed firmly down, high arch and slender heel raised. As with so much of the

Goddess, her foot radiates something menacing and catlike; it is poised to

strike, to drive its clawed toes into me, or stomp upon my helpless body,

crushing me into a bloody ooze beneath it. Her toes curl and she drags her

toenails across the rug, displaying their power to rend my bare skin into

tatters. On my belly, I crawl over to that foot. When I reach it, I pepper the

tip of her big toe with kisses. I lick up the top of her big toe, between the

big and second toes. Slowly, in a desperate attempt to forestall her attack, I

lick across each of the tops of her long, shapely toes. To show her pleasure,

(and to my great relief), she lowers her heel, allowing me to crawl over her

instep, and up towards her ankle. I grow bolder, nipping and nibbling at the

tender flesh of her instep. My penis hardens. I flatten myself against the

velvet skin of her upper foot, put my arms around her ankle, embrace it as

though it were a lover. She laughs, raises her foot again, so that I roll down

the 'hill' of her instep and onto the floor. She reaches down, grasps my ankles

between her fingertips. Slowly, she pulls me up, so that I am dangling -- upside

down -- in mid air. I scream and squirm as she pulls me higher and higher, past

the lithe, luscious curves of her legs. She stops when she reaches the level of

her vagina. She holds me close to it, so that I can see the curve of her vulva,

the wetness of her lips. "Since you like to feel inside me", she taunts, "maybe

I'll put you all the way inside. Maybe I'll drown you in my juices!"


She laughs at the

sound of my screams. her other hand comes under me, grasps me by the arms. She

spreads her legs apart, then, ever so slowly, she presses me into her furry

mound. I cough and gag as my face is pushed into the dense, wet nest of her

pubic hair. She spreads her lips apart, exposing the swollen nub that is her

clitoris. "Kiss me, here", she whispers, "kiss me very gently -- right on the

tip." Helpless, dangling, imprisoned in her grasp, I have no choice but to obey.

Tenderly, I place my lips upon the smooth, hard 'button' of flesh - a 'button'

the size of a beach ball. At the contact of my lips, she shudders. I scream,

afraid that in her passion, she will drop me.. or crush me between her trembling

fingers. But she neither loosens nor tightens her grip on me. Again and again --

perhaps ten or twelve times -- she repeats the motion -- forcing me to kiss her

clitoris, then pulling me away. Until, at last, with a long, low cat-moan, she

allows herself to come. Gently, she lowers me into the palm of her hand. I can

feel her panting as she pulls me to her face. "Sweet little mouse", she purrs,

"you've made me very happy. I think you deserve a reward." She pulls me closer

and closer to her smile. I shut my eyes as her lips brush against my forehead,

then press themselves into my chest. She carries me over to the dollhouse,

places me, ever so gently, into the folds of the silk stocking that she has

stuffed into my ballet--slipper 'bed'. When I am firmly clasped to the 'bed',

she strokes me one last time. "Keep my slipper nice and warm", she chuckles, "I

have a dance class later, and you know how nasty I can be when I have to slip my

feet into cold shoes. " I lay back in the shoe, wrap myself in the folds of the

'sheets', and soon my trembling subsides. I wonder if there is another 'mouse',

who keeps her other shoe warm. Perhaps she has a little 'creature' to warm each

one of her shoes. As I think about this, as I nestle in the coolness and

softness of her stocking, my hand reaches down between my legs...

Giantess Stories: A TOY FOR MISTRESS

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