HI! I never wrote a giantess story before so send

me your feedback. If you have a formula for dimensions, height/mass ratios etc,

please help me out. New installments will show up every week or so. Enjoy!

William was boring. His scope of life didn't extend beyond his trivial passions:

video games, sci-fi, anime, spy paperbacks, cable TV and keeping on top of the

latest in technology. He hadn't slept with a woman since college and the few

times he tried to get out of his house in Palm Springs were pitifully

unsuccessful. Invariably he would retreat to a corner or hand around the edge of

the dance floor nervously bobbing his head and shuffling a little to the

whumping beat as he stared at the girls. He wanted them, the blondes, goths,

trendies, asians, and glamour girls, but the haughty way they held themselves,

their tight clothing- sophisticated or outrageous- and their cruel red lips held

him back. Too intimidated to approach, he'd watch helplessly as they strutted,

danced, and invariably disappeared with a group of chattering girlfriends or a

prowling alpha male. Returning home he'd breathe a sigh of dissapointment and

relief and turn on Dragnet or cartoons, trying not to berate himself for being a

shameless lecher as well as an impotent coward. He was, in short, a looser.

But William was a very wealthy looser. His immaturity and countless hours

frittered away in front of the computer had made him somewhat of an expert on

technology and youth trends. He'd helped finance the extension of Telletubbies

from the U.K. to America, invested in the import of Sailor Moon and the even

more lucrative introduction of Pokemon to US children. He was on top of the

latest in life enhancement, from better cell phones reception to clearer TV

imaging. In his most successful venture he had brought over the Tomogachi craze

from Japan. He had built up the project from the ground level; it was under his

influence that the model marketed to westerners was developed (featuring a

ressurectable chick to accommodate the irresponsibility of American kids). In

spite of bastard rip-offs like Giga-pets, he'd made a fortune, and now enjoyed

the cushy job of trying out prototypes of computer games and gadgets and

predicting for the companies how to modify, if possible, their product for

American consumers.

So it was no surprise to William when UPS dropped off a package the size of a

milk crate plastered with cautionary stickers warning FRAGILE in both Japanese

and English from Ban Dai Corporation, Tokyo. Ban Dai was high tech, but most of

the stuff they'd sent him was way too weirdly Japanese to ever market in the US.

As far as really Japanese products went, the manga and anime doo-dads were

usually a safe bet, but William had learned that the Japanese have a very

different idea of what's fun than Americans. The only item of theirs he'd been

able to push in the US was the Tomagachi, and even that was weird enough that

the craze, though lucrative, did not last long. He thought back to the last

product they'd sent him, almost a year ago; he vaguely remembered a small and

technologically sophisticated hologram generator which produced some very

lifelike but bizarre cutesy things doing… well, he'd never been able to figure

out what the hell was going on. The music was way off, too; spooky but really

catchy. The irksome jingle came back to him as he carefully cut open the box

containing whatever it was they'd been cooking up in the year since he rejected

the toy.

Inside the box, nestled in layers of foam packing, was a package full of

brightly colored pills and a second packed with white pills, a small black

sealed baggie and an instruction sheet along with a request for evaluation from

the people at Ban Dai. He'd nearly forgotten this job in the weeks since the

company had contacted him; fifteen hundred dollars for his expert opinion.

William smiled smugly, satisfied with the knowledge that he'd come so far that

money rolled into his bank account for playing with a new toys. He settled back

to examine the products more closely.

While the business letter was written pretty fluently, the enclosed instructions

were a mess of typically garbled English. He scanned them; they seemed simple

enough. “OK,” William said “I am opening black baggy of SODATSU NA ON'NA NO KO

with gently and put in lighted place.” He carefully opened the airtight plastic

bag and took a look at SODATSU NA ON'NA NO KO.

It was an egg. Slightly larger and more round than a regular egg, the thing was

spongy and white but pearly. The multicolored sheen of the opalescent surface

looked tacky, and William decided it was a girl toy. Typical “chibi” and “kawaii”.

He turned it around, couldn't find any buttons or seams and, shrugging, set it

on the counter under the kitchen lamp.

Nothing happened. After ten minutes of staring at the damn thing, William

flipped on the TV, glancing from time to time at the soft, shiny egg.

When “Three's Company” broke for commercial, he looked again, aware that he'd

gotten too absorbed in the show to check on the egg for some time. He couldn't

see any change from his seat but he went over to check more closely anyhow. No

American kid would be patient enough to sit around this long waiting for their

new gadget to start working. Something must have happened by now, he thought.

And indeed it had. A small part of the egg was protruding slightly; he could

actually see the distended part moving subtly. The tiny pulse in the spot

intensified into a definite push from the inside. Hatching, William figured.

Makes sense. He grew juvenilely impatient, shifting his weight from one foot to

the other, anxious to see what the hell was going to come out.

He had predicted something ridiculously cute, befitting the girly shimmer of the

egg, but nothing prepared him for the tiny figure that finally broke out from

the spongy shell and crept out, gleaming wetly with the egg's thick fluid, onto

the counter to lie, heaving, in the light of the kitchen lamp. It was a girl. A

tiny, naked girl- no, a woman; she had full breasts and a wisp of pubic hair

that matched the dense purple hair on her head. “Jesus H. Christ,” William

mumbled aloud, “how the hell did they put that together?” What was it made of?

Was it- she- alive? Whatever she was, it wasn't human; she looked exactly like

an anime babe: huge eyes quivering with beads of light, shiny purple hair

falling into perfect soft spikes, enormous (well, proportionally) tits, the

works. He was dumbfounded. And then she spoke.

“Mika!” It was a small, high-pitched voice. What did “Mika” mean? Was that her

name? Did she need something? Without taking his eyes off the little living

doll, he stepped away and quickly fumbled for the instructions. Under “care” he

read that, according to the shitty language of the directions, he was supposed

to give it food and water, like a pet, and the instructions referred him to the

bag of colored pills marked “esa na ni naru”.

On closer inspection, he realized that the brightly colored contents were not

pills but some kind of solid pellet; they looked more or less like really big

rainbow sprinkles. What the hell was in those things? Worry about that later,

William decided, and scuttled back to the counter to feed the tiny girl, who was

lying limply from the exertion of hatching. At his approach, she picked up her

head and fixed him with those unnaturally huge, dilated eyes. “Mika!” she

whined. He selected a blue candy-pill-thing for her and extended his hand.

“Mika! Mika!” she yelped and sprang to her feet, dancing from one foot to the

other and raising both arms to grab at his fingers. She snatched it eagerly and

immediately started biting into it with greedy hunger.

William took out his notepad and tried to think how to record what had just

happened. Under the last entry of “No change” he noted the time and recorded the

amount of food given, the utterance that was, presumably, her name, and a

description of her features. He searched around in his desk and finally found a

ruler to check her dimensions. No tape measure, but he figured he could measure

her proportions with string and then measure that. Getting her to stand still

long enough to be measured was tricky, but with some coaxing she stood upright

and he measured her height at 3.8 in. The string method worked pretty well, her

dimensions came out to 2.5, 1.3, 2.2 inches. Outlandish for a human…. well,

outlandish for an ordinary woman. He weighed her in at just over a pound, with

Mika more or less cooperating. She was a little skittish, but seemed to

understand that he wasn't going to hurt her. What did she make of all this?

Could she even think? William was at a loss. She whined again and he gave her

another colored “esa”. He watched as the downed the second, then began to

explore his messy countertop.

She sniffed around in circles before making her way over to Mike's Dilbert mug

still half full of sludgy coffee from this morning. Her fingertips just barely

reached the rim, and she stepped back, cocked her head and asked “Mika?” A few

more steps took her to the handle, which she shinnied up to perch on the rim of

the mug, sniffing and wrinkling her all-but-invisible nose. She gave a little

yelp of delight when she saw her reflection in the murky coffee, and began

tilting her head and admiring herself with a satisfied insect purr. Reaching up

to coyly brush her hair, Mika lost her grip and fell foreword into the mug. Plip.

Michael quickly emptied girl and coffee into the sink. The girl, purple hair all

muddy with coffee, was spitting and gagging at the bitter taste but seemed

otherwise ok.

“You're lucky that shit wasn't hot, little Mika-thing,” Michael said as he

rinsed her gently, wondering what he was supposed to do with her. He referred to

the instructions and saw glossy pictures of plastic SODATSU NA ON'NA NO KO

habitats ranging from tiny to enormous “depending on how much roaming space you

want her to have,” Michael figured. Well, he wasn't going to shell out for one

of these plastic playgrounds for a test sample, he decided. Not when he still

had the terrarium left behind by Basilisk, the iguana that had escaped and

turned up dead under the couch three weeks later. It was three and a half feet

by two and a good two and a half high, with a little lamp, fake rocks and a

water dish. “Well, baby,” he told Mika, “it aint a little jap penthouse, but

it'll have to be good enough for you.”

It was not good enough for her. Mika held her tiny nose and, gesturing at the

iguana crap encrusting the glass walls, yelled “Mi-KA!” at him. “Sorry, babe,”

Mike said, placing the screen cover on the glass tank. He dashed off a few more

observations, then watched Mika circle the terrarium, finally curling up catlike

in a corner. He stared at her tiny body for a long time, watching her impossible

breasts rise and fall as she breathed in and out. He couldn't help thinking that

if she weren't a toy-pet-product and if she were life-sized…. He suddenly

snapped back to reality and shook his head, aware of his slight but waxing

hardness and unnerved by it. “Sweet dreams, Mika,” he whispered, and snapped off

the light as he left the room.

At three am he was awakened by an insistent cry of “Mika-Mika-Mika-Mika-Mika…”

He groaned, rolled over and tried to sleep through it, but she seemed to have

sensed that he was awake because her cries changed in pitch; her calls became

insistent, demanding. “Mmmrrrgh,” and he was out of bed, fumbling for the light

switch. “Like a goddamn Tomogachi,” he thought. Like a baby.

Mika was no baby. He could see from her indignant expression when he approached

her terrarium that she was all woman, and a high-mainanance one at that. She

scowled at him as though he'd stood her up for a big date, and her womanly fury

actually made her even more unbearably cute; her breasts bobbing as she huffed,

sticking out her lower lip and tossing her head. “Heh heh heh, all riled up,

huh?” “Mika,” she said coldly, her wide eyes narrowed to thick-lashed slits with

derision. “What what what?” he asked, taken aback, then realized he was being

rebuked by a toy, whipped by less than four inches of a girl. No fucking way.

But a second glance at Mika, fuming like an incensed cat, rattled his feelings

of domination, and he reached for the bag of colored food pellets, eager to get

this over with.

“There, ya happy?” he asked, proffering a green one. The little vixen snatched

it from his fingertips and gave him a disdainful, yet forgiving “Mika.” He

tossed in a couple more in case she got hungry again, and filled the dish with

water. As he was replacing it, he noticed how dirty the bowl was and, without

thinking, immediately returned to the kitchen to scrub it before offering it to

his demanding ward. She seemed pleased with the water dish and, after admiring

herself in the reflection yet again, rinsed her face and hands, and even allowed

him to very carefully stroke her hair with one fingertip. It was softer than a

robin's breast. He remained caressing her, transfixed, until she rose to her

feet, stretched her lithe and voluptuous body and dismissed him with a nod.

Michael returned to his room and crawled back into bed. Lying, waiting for

sleep, he could still feel her smoothness against his fingertips.

Morning found Mika still curled up and dozing in the slice of sunshine that fell

across her body from the chink in the blinds. Her glossy hair was rumpled.

“Morning, sweet thing,” Mike said, and Mika mumbled and snuggled her head

further into her folded arms, clearly determined to wake up when and only when

it suited her. Smiling, Michael went through the coffee-making ritual and

munched on a frosted Pop Tart, unfolding the newspaper. He forced himself to

read most of the cover stories, a facsimile of adulthood he'd purposely adopted,

before allowing himself to flip to the comics. Today's Ziggy made no sense and

the Family Circus, as always, turned his stomach, but he read it anyway.

“Too bad she's too little to cook,” he thought, remembering the stacks of

pancakes and those little sausage patties his mother used to churn out. The

place could certainly use a woman's touch; the house was masculine by default

and sloppiness. Where worthless nostalgia like Happy Meal toys weren't crowding

the tabletops, empty beer cans, CD and DVD collectors edition boxes stood under

a film of dust alongside vestiges of manliness, like the enormous lighter shaped

like a tiger (Mike didn't smoke) and expensive hunting knives that were lucky to

see use if he needed to open a bag of Fritos. Movie posters took up the

wallspace along with a Jimmy Hendrix, an M.C. Esher print, a blacklight spiral

(throwbacks to college days he couldn't part with) and a mounted pair of stag

antlers, which he couldn't remember acquiring. Yessir, if she were life-sized,

his little woman could really make the place a little tidier, at least. Mike had

never fully adjusted to independent living, and in spite of degree, career,

bulging bank account and house, Mike still lived like he was a college student,

slumping around while waiting for the next deadline or party. That's another

thing, he thought, becoming once again acutely and uncomfortably aware of his

loneliness. I'd screw her little jap brains out if she were life sized. In a

second. He glanced at the tank and was gratified to see Mika stretching and

rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, you.” Mike approached the terrarium and inspected Mika. She flashed him a

smile and held out her hands for another pellet. Damn, she'd finished both the

extras he'd thrown in last night and still she wanted more. How long was she

going to keep eating like this. He handed her a pink pellet, teasing “you're

gonna get fat if you don't look out, sweetie.”

He did a double take. Had she gotten fatter? He examined her more closely. Nope,

still trim and curved like an obscene hourglass, but she did look heavier

somehow. Bigger, he realized. He mulled that over. Makes sense, he thought, the

program has to have some sort of direction or, personality aside, she'd be no

different from any pet like his late iguana. Go over well with girls, too- the

whole mothering thing. Good design feature, he decided, and waited for her to

finish the two yellows he'd fed her before attempting to measure her. When she'd

finished licking her fingers, Mike lowered his hand into the tank, palm open and

Mika, understanding, stepped into it. She seemed to be catching on to the ruler

bit, too. She stood up straight and grinned as he checked her height. Was she

aware she was growing? It would seem so; she gestured towards her expanded chest

and held her head high. Well, high being 4.5 inches, but what a spurt for less

than a day! Incredible, Mike thought. At least he now knew why she was eating so

damn much; he'd been wondering if maybe she weren't like on of those goldfish

that just keep eating as long as you feed them, right up to the minute they go

belly-up with a busted gut.

Mika strutted for a few minutes, and further explored the countertop. She gave

the coffee a wide berth, and instead scrambled nimbly up a pile of empty pizza

boxes and food containers, surveying the room from the top. She then leapt like

a deer, diving towards and grapping ahold of, the telephone cord. She shimmied

up the coils, examined the entirely uninteresting mouthpiece of the telephone,

and then clambered back down to the lowest point of the loop, where she swung

idly back and forth, legs braced against the wall.

Michael observed her play and added “physical coordination and activity” to his

notation on her size increase. No wonder Ban Dai offered such big pens for these

things, all full of ladders and wheels and swing-bars. These SODATSU NA ON'NA NO

KOS were highly active and curious; he would have to teeny-girlie-proof his

house, the thought, surveying all the potential dangers on the countertop and

lying on the floor. Those hunting knives, the lighter, the outlets…. He checked

back to make sure Mika hadn't already gotten into trouble and was shocked to see

that, still braced by her legs against the wall, she'd straddled one side of the

phone cord loop and was grinding her pelvis against the plastic cord between her

legs. “Jesus H. Christ!” he said, and approached his brazen pet, who continued

wriggling and emitted an audible purr and short squeaks of pleasure. Mika turned

her head and saw him standing beside her, mouth open, and slid him a sexy, slow

smile through sultry, half-closed eyes. “Meeeeeka,” she cooed in a husky,

breathless voice, and spread her slender legs wider. He could smell her desire,

rising off her in waves of sweetness underscored with the thick, raw female

scent of a heated animal. Christ! They could never sell such a thing to kids,

Mike decided as his mind recovered from the shock. He shook his head to clear

it, trying not to be overpowered by her sweet-musk sex smell, and pulled her

carefully off the phone cord. A filmy smear of her wetness shone on the cord as

it settled against the wall.

Mika, however, did not cease her motions, but continued to thrust her pelvis at

nothing as he held her, facing away from him, by the waist. She emitted a small

whine at the cessation of stimulation, and twisted her hot, moist body in Mike's

hand, so that she lay on his palm and coiled her legs around his index finger.

Mike watched helplessly as she began to slowly humping his finger, nuzzling his

second knuckle with her silky purple head. What was he supposed to do? He could

feel the warmth and sticky dampness of her crotch, and her (proportionally) huge

and perfectly round breasts bobbed with a frenetic motion that was both lewd and

exquisite. His feeling of shock was being superceded with an intense fascination

that was more than purely academic. Mike had never seen a woman so genuinely

turned on before, so shamelessly pleasure-drunk, and his body responded,

heedless of the strange nature of the source of his arousal. Unconsciously he

urged her on, as her thrusts became more frantic and her huffing and gasps were

punctuated by short, sharp squeaks of “Mika! Mika!”.

Before he could decide what to do, Mika's body made a final, violent thrash

against his finger, and she climaxed in a spurt of girl juice and a shriek of

agonized pleasure “Miii-kaaaaa!”. She collapsed, sprawled across his palm, legs

dangling, and gazed up at him through sated, half closed eyes, still panting.

She giggled and chirped “Mika” softly like a naughty child. Mike set her down

gently on the arm of the sofa and collapsed against the cushions, unaware that

his left hand had found its way to his crotch. She slowly, mindlessly pumped her

legs against the soft upholstery, and let her hands wander to her big breasts to

aimlessly caress their still-stiff nipples, as her body wound down from her

violent climax. Mike slumped, dazed, and wondered what to make of it all.

Plaything Part II

Kate

Mike, a young and wealthy investor and product tester for a Japanese toy

company, has been given a prototype for a new product, a tiny anime-modeled

woman who “hatches” from a synthetic egg. She lives on synthetic food- brightly

colored pellets- and has a vocabulary of a single word: Mika. One day after

receiving her in the mail, Mike is surprised to find that she has grown from 3.8

to 4.5 inches. In spite of her limited size and vocabulary, Mike discovers that

“Mika” is not only cognizant but temperamental and sexual.

Part of Mike was shocked at what he had done. Mika was a product, he told

himself, not a person- well, not human, anyway. And yet… he watched her snuggle

dreamily into the leather sofa… she was a woman. A tiny woman. A growing woman,

at that, though he was sure the developmental phase of her program had been

completed. Well, she certainly wouldn't do as a toy for little girls, he thought

dryly. Maybe that's not what she was designed for. A living anime babe, a live

woman who ate, slept, grew… and fucked. Jesus Christ! Maybe she was designed for

lonely men. Lonely single men, certainly, since the little wife would never care

for such a thing. But single men worked; how would they go about handling the

constant maintenance? Lonely old men, then. Like me, he thought. Twenty six and

already curled up to sit on my pile of money and stare at the ceiling.

Mike's head snapped up as a mug full of pens scattered on the carpet, overturned

by Mika, who yelped, then met Mike's gaze and giggled apologetically. She turned

her attention towards the range of desktop clutter that must have been a

landscape to her. She explored the surface of the desk with a fearlessness that

might have been innocence or boldness, her curiosity matched only by the

shortness of her attention span. She picked up an unbent paperclip and showed

off her strength by bending it into a circle, unbending it again and stabbing it

into a gummy eraser. She sniffed out a wad of chewing gum stuck to a post-it and

licked it tentatively. Her tiny mouth spread into a skull-splitting grin when

she discovered its pliability, and Mika began forming the gum into various

shapes: now a pancake, now a tube, now an egg. Her interest already dwindling,

she made to toss the gum aside and her shiny blue eyes widened when it remained

stuck to both hands. Mike chuckled as she whimpered in distress, then

frustration as she unstuck the gum from one hand, only to transfer it to the

other. Long strands of gum stretched between her hands and fingers as she tried

to extricate her little hands, and as her frustration peaked, her little face

crumpled and she let out a tiny “Meeee…” that grew into a wail “KAAAAA!!”, and

she began screaming with impotent rage, shaking her purple-haired head and

pounding her gummy fists in a bull-blown tantrum. “Ok, Ok, calm down, sweetie,”

Mike shushed her, using a wet paper towel to wipe her sticky hands off. Her

shrieking died down to a whimper, and she snuffled as she wiggled her clean

fingers and rubbed her hands together. She hiccupped a few times and wiped her

nose with her hand. “There there,” Mike said, petting her pretty hair with two

gentle fingers. His fussy little girl smiled up at him and said “Mika” with a

distinct tone of gratitude. Then, her fit over and her curiosity rekindled, she

struck out to explore the rest of Mike's messy desk, ignoring him completely.

She opened an inkpad, wrinkled her nose at the odor and abandoned it,

unwittingly planting one foot on its surface as she moved on to examine the

Newton's Cradle, leaving tiny perfect left footprints across a sheet of paper,

each one smaller than a thumbprint. She seemed perplexed by the metal balls

suspended from the wooden frame, which was level with her head, and gave the row

of six balls and experimental push. When they swung back and forth, she gave a

little scream of glee: “Meee-ka!” She circled the Newton's Cradle, and gave the

metal balls another shove. Mike said “Hey, little Mika, check this out. This is

what you do,” and her stopped the thing's motion, pulled back the suspended ball

on the right end and let it go, allowing it to make contact with a click and

making the ball on the left end swing out. Mika's eyes widened with amazement,

and her head ticked back and forth, following the movement. When it slowed, she

quickly moved to do what Mike had done, setting the device into motion again.

Dear God, she was so cute, Mike thought, watching her bright-eyed fascination.

Then, seeing that she was totally engrossed in this new toy, he flicked on the

TV and settled into the patchy leather sofa to watch Topcat.

A few minutes later, Mika called out to him. With a little reluctance he

abandoned the program to attend to her. “What?” She was saying “Mika Mika”, both

arms extended and nodding towards the kitchen. “Oh, right. Food.” Mike rustled

her up a small handful of pellets, and set them, and Mika, on the coffee table,

where she fell to with startling voracity, making smacking sounds that told him

that, whatever they were, those giant sprinkles were tasty as hell. He licked a

blue one with the tip of his tongue and found it unbearably sweet. “Eeech. You

can have those for yourself,” he told her and settled down at the computer to

fritter away the rest of the day.

Dinnertime found Mika snuggled in Mike's womb chair, idly rolling a small rubber

ball back and forth, one of those twenty-five cent jobs you buy from the little

hopper outside supermarkets. She'd worn herself out bouncing it across the floor

and chasing after it, crawling under chairs and into corners to retrieve it.

Mike nuked a Hungry Man TV dinner of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, stuck

a Mad Max DVD in the player and settled on the sofa with a beer. He seldom drank

more than one unless he was watching an action flick. He missed getting

shit-faced drunk with his buddies like back in his college days, but what was

the point of drinking if you couldn't round up your friends and raise hell? Or

pick up a girl at a party and keep refilling her gay-ass wine cooler till she

was tipsy enough to sneak off to a bedroom. He missed that, too: crazy, sloppy

drunken sex. Well, any sex for that matter. He finished off the can of Miller

and stared gloomily into his potatoes. What the hell, he thought, and popped

open another. It wasn't until Mel Gibson was kicking ass well into the chase

scene that he realized he'd finished the six pack. “Shit,” he said to himself in

surprise. Six wasn't a lot, but he hadn't had more than a couple in a row

since….shit, how long? He tried to think, staring blankly at the widescreen.

He snapped out of it when he felt a tug on the leg of his pants. It was Mika.

She scrambled up his trousers and perched on his knee. He absentmindedly petted

her soft purple hair and reached for another bite of… hey- how the hell did she

do that? He judged the distance from the floor to be some two feet, and Mika was

only 4 and a half inches….wasn't she? Maybe he had measured wrong- she looked

bigger than that. His blurry brain thought back. Yeah, she shouldn't be- she

couldn't be…big enough to be blocking his view of the screen like that. But she

was.

He lifted her onto the coffee table next to the plastic tray of food (she felt

heavier. It wasn't possible.) and he headed back to the kitchen for the ruler

and another beer. She stood up when she saw the ruler and held herself straight

against it. Six and a half inches. She was two inches taller. And she knew it.

She was beaming smugly, proud of her growth. Mike took a deep breath. How could

she be growing so fast? Was there something wrong with her? Maybe she was…

defective. She was only a product, after all. But she no longer seemed that way

to him. She hopped from the coffee table onto his lap and smiled at him, eyes

shinning.

Was she a toy or a woman? He couldn't decide. He slowly looked her over. A live

anime babe. Unbelievable. Eyes like supershiny blue saucers, big bouncy tits

that moved like flesh just doesn't move, purple hair, purple pubes…. It wasn't

until Mika shifted and gave a little cry of surprise that he realized he was

getting hard.

Christ he thought drunkenly. Jesus fucking Christ. She was so beautiful. He

cracked another can of Miller and took a long drink, watching her. She shifted

on his stiffening crotch, and, as if sensing his arousal, began to rock slowly

back and forth, her big breasts, now bigger, move as she breathed heavily.

Before he knew it the can was empty. He tossed it over his shoulder. “Meeeeekaaaaa,”

she purred, rubbing herself against his crotch. She was getting more and more

turned on; her hands strayed to her breasts, cupping, squeezing, licking her

fingers to rub her stiffening nipples. Mike ran a finger down her back and she

arched her back, thrusting out her chest. His finger grazed her ass and she

moaned, not like some plaything pixie: like a woman.

She pushed her breasts against his finger. “Mikaaaaa,” she said in a thick,

throaty voice. He rubbed himself through his jeans. His throbbing hard-on felt

strained against his pants. Mike was drunk and he knew it, but he couldn't help

himself; he unzipped his pants and freed his aching cock. Mika gasped and

stopped moving. Her little jaw dropped. Ever curious, she crept closer and

reached out. The contact of her tiny, moist fingers made his penis lurch. It

twitched when she ran her hand along it. Mika was transfixed, fascinated. She

had obviously never seen one before, but her body responded without needing her

understanding. She wrapped her arms around it, her hands just barely meeting,

pulled forward as it rose to its full height, bigger than she was. She strained

to reach the head, where a pearl of pre-cum quivered. A groan escaped Mike as

she ran her little hands from the bottom to the furthest she could reach, and he

could not resist picking her up and holding her eager groping hands against the

head. She licked the bead of fluid. Just a drop, but it spilled down her chin.

She thrust her whole body up against it and began humping his dick. It parted

her breasts and bobbed up and down as she first rubbed, then slammed her tiny

pelvis against it. “Mi- Mi- Mi- KA!!” she gasped and all of a sudden he surged

past the point of no return and he was moving his hips as she bucked up against

his hard dick, riding it as he groaned, straining towards release.

He came. He surged over her back, on her face, against her breasts as she

brought them up to meet his spurts. He came until his balls ached and Mika's

continuous caresses became so intensely pleasurable it hurt, badly, and he

trembled. She was still going; her hands sought out the patch of purple between

her legs, working franticly, her breasts swinging crazily. Mike caught hold of

her and brought her up against his mouth. He licked the wetness from between her

little legs, ass to stomach, and the taste was unbearably candy-sweet. She

screamed. He licked. He licked and she came in a gush of sugar juice, shrieking

and thrashing, her entire pelvis sucked tight in Mike's mouth. Shuddering, she

went limp. They both lay, panting, sticky, dizzy. Mike was beginning to sink

into a sodden drunken fog. He was going to pass out any minute. The tiny

purple-haired girl swam in his vision, now two, now three. “Mika,” he moaned and

he was gone.

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