Madison

Prologue

by D.X. Machina

Men rarely (if ever) manage to dream up a god superior to themselves.

Most gods have the manners and morals of a spoiled child.

--Lazarus Long

The dreams still came. They always came. Though he was long past

grieving, though he had long since moved on, still they came.

Sometimes, they would sneak up quietly, a glimpse out of the corner

of an eye in that dream where Betty White serves guacamole to

everyone but you. Other times, they were intense, and so palpably

real that he woke up, gasping for air and disoriented until he looked

around, and saw he was still in his apartment, still lying next to

his wife, still alive.

He cursed, silently, every time the dreams came.

He had killed her; he had long since come to terms with it. Her death

had saved thousands, even millions. And it was hard to argue with

results. Those battles were done for, forever. There was peace now.

And if he hadn't killed her--well, she wasn't listening to reason.

She'd been insane. And he had done what he had to do, slaughtering

her along with the best part of his soul.

He had done the right thing. He knew it.

Still came the dreams.

* * *

He was back there, back in Madison. Shrunk to two inches high. She

kept him this height most of the time, though he was in her complete

control. Sometimes he was larger, the size of a Ken doll. Sometimes

he was so small that he was barely visable to the naked eye. But he

was hers, utterly. The escape attempts had failed; besides, he wasn't

sure he wanted to escape. When she was sane....

The rumble came. The box lid was removed, and he instinctively put

his hand up against the blinding light. She was standing over him,

backlit, her long curly red hair swaying like a crimson forest. She

looked at him as one might look at a favorite pet. He relaxed. She

was more sane than usual.

"LITTLE ONE," she said, her face betraying no emotion.

"HOW ARE YOU?"

"I'm fine, Liz," he said, reflexively, ignoring the little

voice in the back of his head that said this isn't real, this is a

dream, you're lying in your bed next to Teri. She isn't here, you

aren't here. It's a mirage....

"AND TERI?"

This puzzled him, briefly. The dream-him knew no Teri, save for a

girl he had known in high school. The now-him paused long enough to

mutter an intemperate Ah. Something about now. Maybe now the dream

will change scenes....

"She's wonderful," he said, and meant it.

"I AM GLAD. I NEED NOT WORRY ABOUT YOU WHEN I DO WHAT I MUST DO

NEXT."

"What are you talking about, Liz?"

She smiled, that brilliant white, dazzling smile he had come to love

and fear. "YOU DON'T HONESTLY THINK I'M DEAD, DO YOU?"

Both sountracks in his mind went quiet. Finally, he started to say,

"Well yes, Liz, I killed you."

He started to, but her laughter drowned him out.

"SILLY. WHAT SPELL DID YOU USE? YOU DIDN'T KILL ME. YOU JUST

DELAYED ME BY A FEW YEARS."

What spell did he use? Wait--he remembered. Shrink her to 1/5000th of

an inch, and bind it for ten years. No, she couldn't have survived

it. No chance.

"I'M TOUGHER THAN YOU GIVE ME CREDIT FOR, JAKE. I ALWAYS HAVE

BEEN. BUT I WISH YOU NO ILL. I JUST WANTED TO GIVE YOU THIS MESSAGE:

STAY CLEAR OF MADISON. THE TOWN IS MINE."

"Liz--no. You know I'd have to defend Madison. I'm sworn to

it."

"DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME AGAIN?"

The words hung in the air. He tried to respond, but before he could,

a loud buzzing filled the air, and suddenly, the dream world

vanished.

* * *

He showered and shaved, trying to put last night's dream behind him.

It had been so real. Like he was back in Madison all over again, with

her.

Liz--oh God, it had been so hard. He envied Scott. Scott had come to

his crossroads, and he had gambled everything and everyone for love.

And he'd rolled boxcars.

But Liz, well, she was insane.

He'd done the right thing.

The drive to work was simple enough, listening to Tom Barnard bitch

about immigrants while stuck in traffic on Cedar. He needed to give

more thought to moving into the office--God knows he could make room

for a mansion, if need be. Teri had broached the subject, but he'd

demurred. There was something about the drive that settled him,

connected him to the real world. It would be easy to just get sucked

up into this, to become nothing but the GTS Purveyor. It was good to

go home at the end of the night and watch American Idol and snuggle

with Teri. It made him more or less human.

He entered the office, and grabbed his morning coffee. Kari was in

already, and Scott was settled in. Sarah's office was empty, of

course--she rarely came in, what with her job as a law clerk for the

Hennepin County Public Defender.

Jake smiled inwardly. Good for her, going off and doing something

else. It would've been easy for her just to pal around with her

husband, go Godding around. With the power they had, they could rule

the world. But she simply went to law school and studied hard and did

her best. He had tremendous respect for her.

He knocked on Scott's door. "How's it going?" he asked.

"Just fine, boss," said Scott, looking up from his

computer. "Just going over the billing statements. Money's a

little bit tighter since we hired on our star client."

"Make money, lose money, point is to have fun," said Jake,

thinking idly he'd heard that somewhere before. "Besides, that's

just on the GTS Enterprises side of things. Our stipend from the GTS

Society ensures we'll never be living paycheck to paycheck--even if

we shut 'er down now."

"Yeah, well, it would be nice if we could show a consistent

profit."

"Say, did you get the crystal out to Almovodar?"

"Of course, boss. But isn't he...."

"Gay? Well, yes. But he's also obviously interested in GTS. What

he does with the crystal is up to him. The community owes him

big."

"No pun intended, I'm sure," said Scott, grinning.

"Of course not. Now back to work."

He wandered into the office and slumped into his chair, and opened up

his email. The date struck him. March 13. It had been almost ten

years. He'd defeated her on the Ides of March, he remembered, in

1993. Idly, he flipped through the inbox. Spam...Spam..."Thank

You" from a gentleman at Northwestern University...Spam....

He cleared out the inbox and turned to the readings. Ingenious,

really, the "listening" network that Scott had come up

with. It measured GTS energies across the globe. Well, in theory.

Really, outside of the U.S., Canada, and Western Europe, most of the

globe was a cipher. But coverage here was good.

He looked it over, noting briefly that there appeared to be slightly

elevated readings in the upper midwest. Well, stick two adepts in St.

Paul and you'll get that from time to time, he thought.

He turned away from the readings, and back to the mounting paperwork

in front of him. Well, time to get back to work, he thought.

* * *

The day ended, and Jake Thiessen closed up shop. Teri was out of

town, visiting Victoria at Society Headquarters in Chicago.

He didn't want to go home alone, not tonight. He'd called her,

midday, and related the dream.

"I'm never quite sure how to feel when you're dreaming about

her," Teri had said, simply.

"Oh, Christ, I'd never want to be with her. She was insane,

Teri. I just--it rattles me, you know? I wish I could get past this,

get it out of my system. I hoped telling you...."

He had trailed off. The conversation went away from the dream, and on

to the more mundane and happy pieces of life.

The day ended, and Jake didn't want to be alone.

"Scott! Hey, are you busy tonight?"

"Nah. Sarah has class, and then she has to do research for about

thirty hours on her law review article. God bless WestLaw, I don't

know how she'd do the research if she had to go through the

books."

"You want to grab a drink? I'm kinda on my own 'til Teri gets

back."

"Sure," grinned Scott. He'd never admit it, but he loved

getting to hang out with Jake alone. Not that he didn't love Sarah,

but he was in such an intensively female-centric job that it was nice

to get away from women once in a while. "Let me give the wife a

call and clear it."

* * *

Sweeney's is a little neighborhood bar not too far from the

Cathedral--and not too far from what used to be a bad part of St.

Paul. It has everything a good local needs to have--good drink

selection, reasonable prices, an appreciation for the regulars.

Jake had been a regular here, briefly, a long time ago. He still

homed in on the place when he needed a comfortable place to pass the

time. He ordered the scotch, drank it neat as he'd learned to, and

sighed.

"I've gotta say, I've seen you happier," said Scott.

"You missing Teri?"

"No. I mean, yeah. But that's not it." Jake sipped a little

more scotch, chased with water. What had he told Scott once? The

price to achieve what we want is awfully fucking high.

"What then?"

"Madison."

"Madison." Scott rolled the word around, trying to load it

with as much love and fury and anguish as Jake gave it. "You've

never told me exactly what happened in Madison. I've read the basic

reports, but--"

"The basic reports are woefully inaccurate."

Scott stopped short. "But haven't you--"

"I gave them what information was needed, that's all. I wouldn't

give her up. That's the one decent thing I could do for her."

The air was thick for a while. And then, slowly, Jake said the words.

"Scott, I think it's time I told you about what happened to me

in Madison. All of it."

Scott swallowed. Jake's exploits in Madison were legendary. They'd

popped up once or twice in odd comments, or brief mentions of this or

that.

"Okay, Jake, I'm listening," he said, taking a swig of his

beer.

PART ONE

"What's gone and what's past help/Should be past grief."

William Shakespeare

The Winter's Tale, Act III, Scene 2

Chapter One

It was a crisp fall day in Madison, the kind you get in the upper

midwest in early September. The air was full of energy, and the world

seemed somehow more real than it normally would've. It was a

Saturday. The Badgers were playing an away game at Washington, so the

campus was placid. I walked down Bascom hill toward Library Mall,

drinking in the aura of my new home.

I was two weeks removed from Minnesota, and I was feeling pretty good

about life. Today I planned to go down to State Street and kick

around for a while, maybe grab a Gyro at the Parthenon, maybe try to

sneak in and grab a beer at one of the myriad bars. I expected it

would be a good day.

I walked through the mall, half-listening to the street preachers

telling folks that the end of the world was near. I passed by the

fountain, and I saw her.

She was beautiful--long red hair, green eyes, a flawless, athletic

physique. She was short--no more than 5'2"--but somehow she

seemed bigger. I was instantly aroused the way you can only be when

you're eighteen.

I passed by without talking to her. She was older than me, I could

tell, and she was out of my league. But her image was burned in my

brain. I didn't know at the time, but that was the first time I ever

laid eyes on Liz Anderson.

* * *

Liz was a junior. She'd been at Madison long enough to know the

ropes, long enough to fall in love with the city. On days when she

was a little more giddy than usual, she'd tell her friends it was her

city, that she owned it.

She was healing; her friends knew it, she knew it. She was healing

from that day in March when her date had taken her further than she'd

wanted to go. No point pressing charges; it was her word against his,

and there just wasn't enough other evidence to support her claim.

She'd vowed revenge at the time, but now she knew that there was no

point in that, either; if she killed him, she'd go to jail. She could

try to beat him up, but he was much bigger than her. So she worked it

out as best she could, with friends and the folks at the counseling

center, and as time went by the wound scabbed over. It still came out

when she was a little more manic than usual, or a little more down.

She was in the library, poking around the back shelves. She was doing

research on the Holocaust for her history class; a 20-page term paper

loomed, and she wanted to get a start on things. She was flipping

through a series of books, including one by a holocaust survivor.

The book was old and worn--the publish date was 1952--and it seemed

to call out to Liz. She opened it up and flipped through the pages.

The smell of must told her that this book had probably not been

opened in thirty years. All the better to quote it, she thought, as

she flipped.

Out of nowhere, a piece of paper dropped from the book. She bent down

to retrieve it, looking at the folded piece of paper carefully.

Curious, she unfolded it, the yellow parchment almost falling apart

from age. It was a hand-written note, in ancient black ink. What she

saw would change her forever.

Die Grundregeln des Wachsens und des Werdens kleiner

The principles of growing and shrinking? she thought, as she looked

at the German text. She'd studied German for five years, had taken

the AP test on it. She spoke it well enough to read the document in

front of her.

It was a series of seven principles, seven incantations.

Straightforward. And a simple notation: "Wenn eine Person diese

Grundregeln mit malace in ihrem Herzen hervorruft, dann wird sie

sicher verdorben, und ihr Verstand wird bewölkt. Diese Warnung, dann.

Verwenden Sie diese Grundregeln nur für Ihre Verteidigung gegen

Männer."

Use these rules only for your defense against men, she mused. She

would.

She carefully folded the paper and placed it in her breast pocket.

She quietly slipped out of the library, and back to the dorms.

* * *

She couldn't say why she thought the paper was real. It read like bad

science fiction. But in her heart, she knew. They were there, the

main spells of GTS, the ones you've practiced and used: grow, shrink,

parry, age reduction, claris, morpheus, and transport. Each one

detailed, with rules and information. The way shrinking makes you

stronger, the way claris gives you eyes in someone else's head.

Liz didn't know it, but she'd stumbled upon an original copy of the

secret of GTS. The copy she held was written out in Bergen-Belsen by

a Catholic Priest, who happened to be a Keeper of the Secret--a part

of the organization that predated the Cadre. He was so disgusted by

the Nazis and the havoc they had created that he gave the secret to a

woman and her family, convinced that women could not fail but run the

world better than men. This betrayal of the secret--no betrayal in my

mind--led to the formation of the League. And of course, we all know

how that played out.

The woman had made three copies of the Principles. One found its way

to the League. One has been lost to history. And one showed up in

that book at the University of Wisconsin--Madison. And eventually, in

the hands of Liz.

* * *

"Do you think it was coincidence?" asked Scott, sipping a

Summit Maibock. "Or do you think someone planted it there for

Liz?"

"I don't know," allowed Jake. "I've long since learned

that there is a destiny that shapes our ends. For whatever reason,

though, she found it."

* * *

Liz studied the document well into the night, well after her roommate

had gone to bed. This was it. This was the key to it. This was her

revenge.

She decided to test it out. Holding the paper, she incanted the

shrinking spell. Seconds later, she was two inches tall--the height

she had hoped for.

She let out a whoop! and fell to the ground, laughing. After a few

moments, she restored herself, and went to bed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow,

she'd have her requital.

* * *

Greg Vanderhague was a cocky, arrogant bastard, or so I'm told. He

was a Fiji, the kind of guy who was on the football team in high

school (but not the star quarterback), who is in the frat in college

(but not an officer), who thinks he's God's gift to women (but treats

them like shit). He was a bit of a pretty boy, but that was more than

trumped by the depths of his stupidity. If not for his ineffable

charisma, he would have been a loser.

But ah, that ineffable charisma. He could be described by a line from

My Fair Lady: "Oozing charm from every pore/he oiled his way

across the floor." As such, he did get his share of women--for a

while, anyhow, until they realized what a dunderhead he was. And he

got his share of sex--sometimes, by putting a toe--or other body

part--over the line.

He was meandering down Langon, heading for class, or maybe not--he

thought maybe a brewski would be good, it being the late hour of

eleven A.M. Or maybe he'd stop and see that one girl--what's her

name? Julie? She gave good head, or had last week. Yeah, maybe he'd

see if she was up for a little hide the banana. Out of the corner of

his eye, he saw her approaching. He admired the body for half a

second before he realized who it was. Oh, shit, that crazy bitch who

cried rape on him. Well, yeah, technically she'd said no, but come

on, she wanted it. They all wanted it, really, even if they said they

didn't. He could see it in her eyes.

He started to turn when she called out to him. "Greg!" she

said, smiling a winning smile.

"Uh, hi, uh--"

"Liz. Liz Anderson. You probably don't remember me," she

said, tossing her hair.

"Uh--sure I do. Liz. Right. Um...so, how have you been?"

"Look, I know it's a little awkward," she said seductively,

leaning in and dropping her voice a half-octave. "I know I said

some things I shouldn't before, but, well, I was scared. But you were

so good...I mean, I just wanted to thank you."

Greg's mind was reeling. This was not an unusual development. The

wheels went round until they finally stopped on

"SHE--WANTS--ME."

It's hell being that stupid.

"Um, well, yeah, well I knew you wanted it. You were just

nervous."

"Well, duh! I mean, you're so much man, and I'm just me. I mean,

I just wanted to pay you back what I owe you," she said, running

her finger down his chest. "That's all."

* * *

Five minutes later, they were back at the house. They bounded up the

back stairs and into Greg's private room. He had asked her for a

blowjob, and she'd assented. Well, there you go, proof in Greg's

prowess. He was stripped naked before she even removed a stitch of

clothing. Liz turned to him and smiled.

"Oh Greg? Time for me to pay you back what you're owed."

He smiled, and leaned back, his tumescent cock ready for her lips to

pleasure him.

"Shrink," he heard, "1/24th scale."

What a funny think for her to say, he thought, as he waited. After a

few seconds, he opened his eyes and started to sit up. What are you

waiting for? he was going to ask. He didn't have all day...well he

did, but that was beside the point....

He didn't say any of that. He sat up, and his mind went blank.

This was not an unusual development.

But what had happened was. He was still on his bed, but it was

enormous. And that girl--she was approaching him--oh Christ, she was

enormous. She was a hundred feet tall. Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck....

"Well, Greg, I'm paying you back. You know, it's funny. You look

so pathetic down there that I almost feel sorry for you.

"Almost." She grinned down at the tiny man, now scooting

backwards away from her, a look of terror on his face.

"Where are you going? I didn't say you could leave." She

reached down and grabbed him firmly, lifting him up into the air with

a jerk.

Greg's stomach did flips as she held him in front of her enormous

face. He was still trying to figure out what had happened. I mean,

she had come on to him, but now...his brain hurt. "I thought you

wanted me!" he called out. He could see immediately it was the

wrong thing to say, though he didn't know why.

"Greg, you're an idiot. And unless I stop you, you'll do to

other women what you did to me." She grinned. She had been

unsure about this last part, but now she knew it was perfect. Poetic

justice. "You know, you like pussy so much, I think I'll give

you a close-up view." She pulled her panties down a bit and put

him up her skirt, enclosing him between her thighs.

Greg was staring up at the enormous twat, trying to figure out what

she was going to do to him. He thought about reaching out to touch

it, but he didn't dare.

Then, suddenly, the pressure came. The thighs swung shut tightly,

pushing him into the pussy, forcing the air from his lungs. He gasped

as Liz crushed him slowly, his brain trying to understand what was

happening. But in the end, it failed him. His last thought,

incongruously, was of Coors Light beer. Or so I like to think. He was

too dumb to ever realize why Liz had marked him for destruction.

She reached into her panties after five minutes of squeezing and

removed Greg's lifeless body. She laughed at it, and then shrank it

away to dust size. She walked out of the house free as a bird, and

lighter than air.

She thought as she walked down Langdon of how many women had gone

through what she had. How many women faced rapists and sexual

predators, with no hope for recourse. She could avenge them. She

could give them justice. She had the power.

This city was hers. She owned it.

* * *

"So where do you come into the story?" asked Scott, as he

dug into the pasta. They were on their third round--time to start

eating, or it would be a very drunk night.

"Soon enough. But you'll miss a lot of background if we just

skip to my part of the story. This is all important, Scott. It's

important you know that Liz started with the best of

intentions."

Jake sipped his scotch, and said, sadly. "But it got away from

her. It always does."

Chapter Two

"So how do you know all the stuff that happened before you got

into the picture?" asked Scott. It was a good yarn, but he was

starting to wonder if he should call Sarah. This could take all

night, at the rate D.X. was telling it.

"Eh? She told me. Told me everything she ever did. Sometimes she

was proud of it. Sometimes less so."

"Then maybe she made it up. I mean, maybe her rapist didn't

deserve--"

"Are you calling her a liar?"

Jake's countenance was cold, his eyes blazing.

"No, I just mean, maybe she misremembered."

Jake pulled back, and sighed. "I investigated pretty thoroughly

after--after. By all accounts Greg Vanderhague was as big a jerk as

she told me. I won't waste two tears over the guy; other than his

parents, I don't think anyone did. But are you gonna let me tell the

story, or are we going to debate all night?"

"You're right, Dix. So she'd just decided to become Madison's

avenging angel, right?"

Jake smiled a thin smile. "Right."

* * *

The next few days were a blur for Liz. She couldn't believe that

she'd actually killed Greg. Crushed him to death between her thighs,

next to the thing he'd taken from her by force. Part of her was

sickened by what she'd done. He'd deserved it; she truly believed a

rapist deserves death. But that didn't mean she didn't feel some

guilt about being the judge, jury, and executioner.

Whatever qualms she felt about killing Greg, however, were more than

trumped by the feeling of peace it had given her. Her friends had

mentioned it to her. So had her roommate, Sue.

Sue Nguyen was the daughter of Hmong immigrants, the first in her

family to go to college. She was bright, witty, and insightful. She

was also drop-dead gorgeous; I mention this only in passing. She had

broached the topic with Liz two days after the incident.

"I don't know what it is about you, but you seem happier than

I've seen you since...."

"Since March?" asked Liz, who was presently painting her

toenails a deep blood red.

"Well...yeah. Now that you mention it."

"Maybe I'm finally over it," said Liz, carefully buffing

the nails to a mirror shine. "It's been seven months. I don't

know, I just feel more...in control." With that, she laughed in

such a way that Sue was put off a bit--it seemed, well, evil.

"That's...that's good, Liz. I'm glad." Sue went back to her

reading, trying to put the odd laugh out of her mind. Well, heck, Liz

had been raped. She was allowed a little weirdness once in a while.

And she did seem happy. That was a good thing.

As for Liz, she was getting ready to go out alone. It was a Saturday

night, and she was going to try out her new found powers. She'd go

down to Langdon and see what was going on--and see what she could do

to help.

* * *

The Claris spell still disoriented her briefly, but it was a quick

way of figuring out what was going on--who was safe, who wasn't. The

Sigma Chi party seemed clean, she noted happily as she leaned against

the wall. Nobody seemed to be getting groped beyond reason, and while

there was plenty of fornication going on, it all seemed pleasantly

consensual. She didn't mind consensual sex. She was after the

nonconsensual kind.

I'm going to have to get a costume, she mused to herself. Micro-Girl,

or Giganta, or something like that. She laughed a little as she

turned the corner and walked by the Langdon.

Casually, she reached out to try a few minds. A boy and a girl were

engaged in hot and heavy action. She tarried just a moment in the

mind of the woman as her boyfriend licked her clitoris softly,

achingly slow. Liz pulled out of the moment feeling happy and calm.

Perhaps she'd go home.

She found her way to the Lakeshore Path, and walked along the

darkened path back to the dorm. She was relieved. She was starting to

think that she didn't want to be an avenging angel. Maybe it was

better just to be a coed again, graduate, and move on with life.

A chill wind blew off of Lake Mendota. Liz shivered involuntarily.

And then she heard it.

It was muffled, coming from up the hill a bit. She turned, trying to

hear what was being said. After a few moments, she gave up.

"Claris," she whispered, putting her consciousness in the

mind of a girl.

She was on the ground, a rough hand covering her mouth. She struggled

to scream, but he had her pinned well. The glove was thick and

leather, resisting her teeth. He was trying to spread her open with

the other hand, causing her intense pain, but he didn't care. He was

going to take her, she could see it in the eyes that peered out from

the mask.

Liz pulled herself out of the woman's mind and started sprinting up

the hill. "Back off! I know you're up here, and I know what

you're doing. Get off of her now!"

She saw them now, shilouettes in the moonlight. He stood up to face

her, and pulled out the knife. "Fuck you, what'cha gonna do,

bitch? Tell you what, you get on the ground, and I'll do you after I

do her."

She slowed now. He was backing away. He was just looking for an exit

strategy--he didn't want to kill the women, at least not both of

them.

But Liz was undeterred, and more than a little angry at the

arrogance. "What am I gonna do? This," she said, raising

her right hand.

* * *

When he woke up, the man found himself unable to move. He struggled

to look around, and saw himself in a field of brown grasses, about

the same height as he was. He looked down, and screamed, or would

have if he had lips.

He was one of the blades of grass.

But that wasn't right. It wasn't grass at all. It was...hair.

He saw a slight clearing off in the distance. A yawning chasm. A

familiar scent wafted from it.

My God, it was a giant pussy.

He tried to scream, to run, but he couldn't. He was no longer human.

He was just a hair in the bush of a nineteen-year-old sophomore.

His life from that point on was grim routine. Watch her pee, watch

her masturbate, watch helplessly as she and her boyfriend had sex.

Watch as the years went by, and babies emerged from the great chasm

in the distance. As far as I know, he's still watching today.

* * *

She helped the girl to her feet, helped her pull her panties back up

and get back to a state of dress.

"Thank you," said the girl. "What did you do? Where

did he go?"

"He won't bother you any more," said Liz, simply.

"He's gone."

The girl nodded. She didn't know what had just happened, but she was

grateful. "I...I need to get back to my dorm."

"Where are you?"

"Bradley."

Liz smiled. "Okay, I'll walk you back."

They walked in silence along the Lakeshore Path, until they reached

the Lakeshore dorms. "Thank you again," said the young

woman, turning to look at Liz. "I never even got your

name."

"I never mentioned it," said Liz. "Just think of me as

another coed who knows what you've been through."

The girl nodded. "My name is Angie. You saved my life. If you

need anything, ask and I'll do it."

Liz smiled. "Just remember, it wasn't your fault. You need feel

no shame. He was an animal, and that's all."

With that, Liz turned, and headed back towards Elizabeth Waters Hall.

She felt a lightness in her step. She'd helped Angie. Saved her from

rape, for sure; probably indeed saved her life.

It was her destiny, she thought, to end this evil that men could do.

It was her destiny to fight for women on this campus. She would have

to keep up her patrols.

And she had to work on that costume--or at least the mask.

* * *

Liz didn't catch another rapist for two weeks. Despite what some

feminist literature asserts, rapists are not common; they're nearly

as rare as murderers.

But they do exist. And it was only a matter of time before Liz had

the opportunity to exact revenge on behalf of her sisters.

She was at a party at the Theta Chi house. Her friends had drug her

along after noticing that she wasn't exactly doing a lot of

socializing. It was a good time, she thought, though she demurred on

a few passes her way; she wasn't really interested in men right now.

Instead, she danced and watched as the party unfolded, ready to do

what she had to do.

She saw him early on. He was grabbing women's asses, and getting shot

down regularly. Liz' eyes narrowed; it wasn't rape, not quite, but it

was close. She kept a vigilant watch on him as he groped his way

around the dance floor. After he cupped a fresman girl's breast, Liz

wanted to scream. The girl did scream, and threw a drink in his face.

He just laughed and walked away.

It was at this moment Liz made a fateful decision.

She raised her hand and murmured, "Shrink, 1:576 scale."

This done, she went back to dancing.

She didn't realize she'd turned a corner; not at that instant. The

guy was a lout, but he didn't deserve to be shrunk; he wasn't a

rapist, just a cad. Of course, Liz told herself that she hadn't

killed him; she'd just shrunk him to 1/8". But we know

different.

* * *

"How do we know different? He could've survived," said

Scott. "I did."

"You were a bit bigger than 1/8 inch tall. But your point is

well taken. He could've survived. People have. But he didn't. He died

about two weeks later, alone and scared.

* * *

Liz would check up on him from time to time, to see what he was

doing. He had bravely survived being shrunk on the dance floor--not

easy when half-mile tall people are moving all around you.

Fortunately, he'd been over by the doorway when Liz struck. He was

able to escape into a corner, where he tried to figure out a way to

get in touch with somebody.

He had an opportunity almost immediately. A rather inebriated Chi

Omega stumbled over to the corner and plopped down on the ground,

pulling her knees up to her chin and burying her face in her hands.

She was wearing a short skirt, which the man quickly entered. He

crawled up the crotch of her panties without hesitating a second; he

was able to turn off the lothario act when survival was on the line.

But of course, she got up eventually, and went back to her sorority.

She peeled off the panties, which he had clung to somehow, and tossed

them in the laundry. To make a long story short, he spent the next

two weeks trying to get in touch with one of the girls in the house.

He came close a couple times--once he even got into the ear of one of

the girls, and if she hadn't been half stoned, she may have realized

that she wasn't hearing voices. But in the end, he finally met his

maker by falling onto a bed while that stoned girl made love to an

equally stoned freshman girl; he was crushed under the breast of the

freshman, a breast he'd cupped at a party two weeks before.

* * *

"That's a helluva story," said Scott, pensively.

"It's hardly the only one," said Jake. "Once Liz

decided that low-grade lotharios were worthy of death, well, let's

just say things picked up a little. Over the next three weeks, three

more guys disappeared. Well, when five people disappear from a

college campus in a seven week period, it's bound to come out. And

when there are rumors that a possibly mythic vigilante calling

herself 'The Coed' is involved, well, that's when things start to get

interesting.

"It's also when I enter the story," said Jake, sipping his

Macallan. "And when I enter the world of GTS."

Chapter Three

Meanwhile, in New York, an intriguing report was coming in from a

field operative.

Veronica Ceres listened as the woman on the phone detailed the

goings-on in Madison. Nothing concrete--men disappearing, rumors of

someone calling herself "The Coed," one rumor that the men

seemed to just disappear.

Ceres gnawed on her pencil. She'd risen a fair ways in the hierarchy

of the Athena League, but she'd failed to deliver the Big One.

Not that this was unusual; nobody had delivered the Big One. The

Cadre had pretty much foiled the League at all turns.

This thing in Madison. It wasn't necessarily GTS-related. But it

might be. Could she afford not to gamble on it?

She hung up the phone, and called her travel agent. She'd get in

position. Just in case.

* * *

Liz sat and watched TV, trying to shake the odd buzzing in her mind.

It was always there, ever since she started to exact her revenge.

Like the soundtrack of a movie turned down almost to nothing, barely

perceptable, except for that occasional blip where you'd hear a car

crash, or a scream, or a stray word.

She knew what the buzzing was telling her to do: go out, get

vengeance. There were bad people out there, and she could do

something about it.

She wished Sue was in. She needed someone to talk to. But Sue was off

studying.

Liz got up and turned off the TV.

* * *

It was late in the evening on a Sunday--Saint Crispin's day, as I

recall. Liz walked through the cool streets of Madison, the chill

breeze of early winter whipping through her bones.

She was heading for the southeast dorms, a likely location of illicit

activity. She shook involuntarily as the wind buffetted her,

wondering why she was out that night. She just knew she had to be. It

was a duty. It was something more.

Mentally, she started flipping through the rolodex of minds in Ogg

Hall, trying to get a fix on any negative behavior. She had gained a

great deal of control in the past few weeks. She could see the minds

like a picture-in-picture, flipping back and forth while still

utterly aware of what was going on.

She stopped on one. A man was pressuring a woman. No, it was more

than pressure. It was eerily similar to something she'd been through.

She turned, and entered the building.

* * *

I entered the elevator and headed to my dorm room. I had been goofing

around, playing on a MUD that my friend had showed me--MUDdog, as I

recall. It was entertaining enough--a text version of D&D. I was kind

of addicted to it, I thought, and I was probably going to have to get

un-addicted, if I was going to do well in class this week.

I flipped through my copy of The Badger Herald, and chuckled at the

anti-Perot editorial. The guy writing it had some skills, I thought,

as the elevator stopped. I exited, and headed to my room.

I put the key into the door, and opened it.

My roommate jumped up off his bed. "Christ, don't you

knock?" he said, as a farly attractive young woman quickly rose

and exited past me. "Shit, Julie...aw, Hell."

Tom Neiderman was a hard-drinkin' guy from Milwaukee, who seemed out

of place in Madison. I disliked him intensely, but we were roommates,

at least through the end of the year.

"Tom, it's my room too. If you want privacy, you've got to give

me some fucking warning," I said, as I tossed my jacket onto my

bed. I was thinking I should turn around and head to the lounge--do

some reading, and maybe watch some TV. I grabbed my text of Plato's

Republic and turned around.

* * *

She stood in the doorway, a picture of beauty. She was taller than

she'd been before, by a couple inches. But I recognized her

immediately.

She didn't look happy.

"So, a little date rape, eh? Boy, you picked a bad night to try

that. Shrink, 1:24 scale."

Suddenly, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, and the world

seemed to slow. I saw the walls start to rush away from me, all at

once. But that wasn't possible. I looked at the girl, and she was

taller. Six feet. Eight feet. Twenty feet. But this wasn't possible.

When the ride stopped, she appeared to be a hundred feet tall. I

gasped as she took steps into the room, the floor shaking with each

vast footfall.

"BOTH OF YOU NEED TO COME OUT WHERE I CAN SEE YOU," she

thundered. I knew she wasn't referring to me--I was already in the

middle of the room, and she could certainly see me. Nevertheless, I

walked towards her, looking up her massive denim-clad leg to her

face, ten stories above me.

Tom came out too, shaking like a leaf. I'm not sure why it never

occurred to either of us to hide; maybe we both instincively knew

that someone who could shrink us to three inches tall wouldn't be

dissuaded by our merely hiding.

The building-sized woman in front of us crouched down, and I gasped.

So much mass dropping so quickly--and then freezing perfectly. It was

unreal. I looked at the girl, and found myself getting aroused in

spite of myself. So much power....

I was broken from my reverie by her booming voice. "YOU TRIED TO

RAPE A GIRL, DIDN'T YOU?" This was aimed at Tom. I turned

towards him. He was trembling, and the look on his face gave him

away.

"You tried to rape her?" I said, advancing on him.

"You cocksucker. You fucking son of a bitch." I was

onrushing him now, and without thinking, I tackled him.

* * *

It had been four years before that she'd been raped.

My sister. Mindy. She was attending Rice on an engineering

scholarship. This was before my dad died, but after my mom. Mindy had

come back from class, and was studying in her room when the bastard

struck. Broad fucking daylight. The police said she struggled, but

there's not much defense against a knife when you're bound and

gagged. Happily, they found the rapist. And happily, he lived in

Texas, so he went to the chair.

But not before my dad passed on. Not before he had to travel to Texas

to identify his daughter's broken body.

* * *

I caught him with a roundhouse across the jaw, not even conscious of

the bizarre circumstances that surrounded me. Suddenly, I found

myself lifted off of him--and then up--and up--and up.

The fingers were vise-like. I struggled, but there was little point

in that. They turned me to face her.

Her red hair flowed like a raging torrent around her face. Her

massive maw could easily surround me now. It was drawn tight. Her

face was the size of a billboard, a huge one. I tried to gather it

all in, but it was like trying to take in a forest while your face

was plastered against tree bark. Her green eyes fixed me like a fly

in amber. There was something odd behind them, some kind of internal

debate I could barely recognize. "YOU," she said.

"WHAT PUNISHMENT WOULD YOU GIVE THIS MAN FOR ATTEMPTING

RAPE?"

I thought not a second. "I'd kill him," I said.

"DOES HE DESERVE DEATH?"

"All rapists do." I wasn't lying, or trying to impress her.

I believed it--still believe it.

"WELL THEN," she said, turning to look at Tom, who lay

prone forty feet below. "DEATH IT IS. SHRINK, 1:100 SCALE."

With that, Tom dwindled to nothing. Then she stood, and with

tremendous force, brought her tennis shoe down on the spot on the

linoleum he had occupied. Then, for good measure, drug the foot.

"CLARIS," she intoned, cocked her head, and smiled.

I was trembling. She turned back to me, and my stomach flipped. I'd

witnessed a vigilante killing. A just one, but still. "NOW, WHAT

AM I TO DO WITH YOU?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question.

"YOU ARE BLAMELESS. YOU EVEN AGREED WITH ME ABOUT THE FATE A

RAPIST DESERVES. I COULD JUST LET YOU GO, RETURN YOU TO YOUR NORMAL

SIZE."

For a second, my heart leapt. But it sank moments later.

"NO, I CAN'T DO THAT. YOU'VE SEEN ME, YOU KNOW WHO I AM. IF I

LET YOU GO, YOU COULD LEAD THE AUTHORITIES TO ME."

"They'd never believe me," I said, trying to persuade her.

"Besides, I know if I told anyone I'd risk Tom's fate. You can

trust me."

She looked at me, and I could see she was torn. But she shook her

head, sadly. "NO, I'M SORRY, BUT I CAN'T TAKE THAT RISK. I'LL

HAVE TO DISPOSE OF YOU."

She started to set me on the floor. I was crying, but I knew I had no

choice. I thought I might try to run as soon as I hit the floor. I'd

have to try to live, even if only mouse-sized. It was a long shot,

but the only chance I had.

But before we reached the floor, the hand stopped.

"I CAN'T DO IT. I CAN'T KILL YOU," she said, one tear

running down her cheek. "YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING. BUT I CAN'T LET

YOU GO, EITHER." With that, she rose back up to her full height,

and opened her purse.

"I'M AFRAID YOU'LL HAVE TO STAY WITH ME. I CAN'T RISK ANYONE

FINDING OUT ABOUT MY SECRET."

With that, she unceremoniously dumped me into her handbag, and

zippered it shut.

* * *

As the handbag swayed and I tried to avoid motion sickness, I tried

to wrap my head around this bizarre turn of events.

This afternoon I'd been a normal guy. Now, I was smaller than a

smurf, prisoner of a probable serial killer. Because this woman was

almost certainly The Coed, the vigilante who'd been kidnapping guys.

Now I knew why they were disappearing.

Were they all rapists? If so, I sure felt okay about her killing the

bastards. Heck, I might even offer my assistance. If she'd unshrink

me, I could talk to guys--hey, guys talk. Maybe I could offer her

that....

No. I had to face reality. I was probably going to be stuck at three

inches for the rest of my life.

I tried to think of what this meant, and struggled to. Images of

Gulliver's Travels swam in my mind, and The Borrowers. But they were

all wrong, I knew immediately. The world was a big, scary place, and

one lone person was going to have trouble surviving in it without

help.

Somewhere in this, the image of my captress pushed its way into my

mind. So big, so powerful, so beautiful. Out of my league. But she

was going to take care of me. I was going to stay with her.

There was a bright side to this.

It was pretty dim, but it was brighter than the other side.

* * *

It had been a few hours. I'd been set down--the purse had, anyhow,

and I heard talking between my captress and another woman. I had

tried to sleep a little, but my sleep was fitful. Well, I shouldn't

have been surprised--I was trying to sleep in a purse. Finally, the

purse began to move again, before it was set down. The sky

parted--well, the zipper, anyhow--and the face of the woman looked

down on me with concern.

"I'M SORRY TO LEAVE YOU IN THERE SO LONG. I DIDN'T WANT MY

ROOMMATE TO SEE YOU. I FINALLY GAVE UP AND HEADED TO THE

LOUNGE." She reached in and gently hoisted me out, and set me on

the table in front of her.

I was just below breast level, which afforded me a spectacular view.

Still, I forced my head northwards--I did not want to be caught

ogling her. "I'M LIZ," she said, simply.

"Jake," I replied. "Jake Thiessen."

"WELL, JAKE, WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU?" She

had a different countenance than before. Her face was softer, and her

eyes were clear. "I WISH I HADN'T SHRUNK YOU."

"I wish I hadn't been in the room. If I would have hung out in

the lab half an hour more...." I paused. "No, if I'd have

waited, I wouldn't have interrupted Tom. And that girl would have

been raped, not just assaulted."

She looked surprised. "YOU'D TRADE THIS FOR HER SAFETY?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, I think I would."

Liz looked down at me, stunned. She'd later tell me that at that

moment, she started to have feelings for me. But she simply said,

"YOU'RE A GOOD PERSON, JAKE. I'M SORRY TO DO THIS TO YOU. ARE

YOU HUNGRY?"

"No, I'm not. Thanks, though."

"WELL," she said, "YOU'RE PROBABLY TIRED. HERE, COME

WITH ME, I'LL FIND YOU A PLACE IN THE ROOM TO SLEEP."

She picked me up in her hand, and cupped the hand around me. The

flesh was soft and yielding, and I felt utterly safe. She carried me

gingerly back to the room, and suddenly, opened the hand, dropping me

into a drawer.

The cliche in Giantess fiction is that the man is made to sleep in

the Giantess' underwear drawer. I had no such luck. She put me into

her desk drawer, and dropped in a handkerchief. She mouthed

"Good night" to me, and seemed to wait just a second, as if

she had something more to say, before she shook her head and walked

away.

The lights were doused a few moments later, and I was left in

darkness to wonder what fate had in store for me.

* * *

There was silence between Scott and Jake for a moment or two.

Finally, Scott said, "I never knew how your sister died. I'm so

sorry, Jake."

Jake sipped his scotch, and looked at his watch. "I'm really

tired, Scott. What say we continue this tomorrow. We'll clear the

decks right away, and I'll continue regaling you with stories of my

youth. Hell, bring Sarah. She probably could stand to hear the story,

too."

"Okay, boss. You want to settle up?"

"'Son me," Jake said, as he dropped a hundred dollar bill

on the table. He rose, and headed out to his car. Time to head home,

give Teri a call, and see how she was doing.

And hope the dreams didn't come.

Chapter Four

"Jesus," said Sarah, as she listened to the story Scott

relayed to her.

"No doubt." Scott felt like he'd been run over by a truck.

And not just because of the four beers. He'd never seen Jake

so...well, so down. D.X. was the sort of guy who was generally

upbeat, the sort of guy who could take a six irregulars into the

heart of the League, and make everyone believe that they could win.

"Good thing I don't have class tomorrow morning. I think I

probably need to be there. It sounds like he needs some people to

talk to."

Scott sat down next to her. And then quickly embraced her. Jake's

story was also bringing up some old wounds. Scott had been orphaned,

too. And shrunk against his will. At least he'd found Sarah.

Thank God he'd found Sarah.

* * *

"So do you feel better for telling him?"

"A little. I just want to get free of it. There's a piece of me

stuck there, Teri. And I've been trying like Hell to free it. I just

want to free it. Or cut it off."

"No Jake," said Teri. "You don't want to cut it off.

You don't want to lose your connection to Madison. It's part of who

you are, and part of what you do."

Jake sighed. "Teri, I love you," he said into the phone.

"I know," she said, quietly. "I love you too. Pick me

up at the airport at five?"

"I'll be there," said Jake. They said their goodbyes, and

he hung up the cell phone.

He looked at the gate of the cemetery. It had been a while since he'd

been here to visit her. It was late, and the gates were locked, but

that was hardly a problem. He shrunk the car until he could drive it

under the gate, and proceeded a ways in before restoring it to the

size of a remote control car.

He drove the paths by feel. He knew exactly where he was headed.

Finally, he stopped at a corner of the cemetary, near a stand of

willows.

He exited the car and restored his height to full.

"Claris," he said softly. The guard was watching TV, and

eating pizza; it would be a while before she did a round. He walked

forward, and saw them.

Donald Andrew Thiessen, born July 8, 1948, died August 12, 1991

Mary Elizabeth Thiessen, born October 4, 1948, died March 4, 1988

Melinda Elizabeth Thiessen, born March 11, 1970, died December 4,

1989

And Jake fell to his knees, and he cried.

* * *

And the dreams came.

"Little One," she said to him, "did you never love

me?"

"Of course I loved you."

"Then why did you try to kill me?"

...Try to kill her. There it was again. Her insistance that she was

alive. In his dream, he tried to initiate the "Claris"

spell, but to no avail. No, she was surely dead.

"It doesn't matter, Little One. Only a few more days."

* * *

The office was a little more somber than usual. Scott and Sarah were

chatting about the daily news, the run-up to war. They had barely

noticed the time--had they, they would have seen that D.X. was late.

That's unusual.

A few minutes later, he appeared, bearing a box of Krispy Kreme

donuts and some juice. "Sorry, guys, it was a weird night last

night. Here, enjoy," he said, dropping the food on the

conference table.

Scott and Sarah filed in, both took a donut, and both sat down. And

waited. D.X. smiled. "So...story time, eh?"

Scott chuckled. "Well, I've brought Sarah up to speed...."

"Oky doky. So let's see," said D.X., munching a donut.

"Where were we?"

* * *

I awoke disoriented. I sat up, and instantly regretted it.

I was still in the drawer that Liz had put me in.

I had been secretly hoping she'd unshrink me while I was asleep,

leave me to think that it had been some odd dream. But she hadn't.

The drawer was open a crack. Carefully, I crept to the edge. I could

reach the top if I stretched. Doing my best, I pulled myself up. I

found to my surprise that it was not as difficult as it would have

been if scaling a similar wall full-sized. I pulled myself onto my

elbows, and looked around the room.

It was a pretty standard dorm room in Elizabeth Waters Hall, the

all-women's dorm. "The Virgin Vault," I snorted derisively

under my breath; of course, that wasn't quite true. And, backtracking

in my mind, I realized that if my sister had been living in an

all-women's dorm, she might be alive today.

Liz was nowhere to be seen; she must have awakened and headed to

class. I was surprised I hadn't awakened when she had.

The door swung open, and I prepared to drop--if Liz was returning,

she might not be happy to see me halfway out of the drawer.

But it wasn't Liz. Instead, it was a gorgeous Asian woman with her

hair wet, wearing a robe and carrying a massive container with bath

products.

I probably should've called out to her, but I was too stunned.

Especially a few moments later, when she took off her robe.

The woman--I would later learn her name was Sue--looked thoughtful

for a moment, and then walked over and locked the door. Walking back

to her bed, she laid down, and spread her thighs, and dropped a hand

between them.

I gasped as I watched her work on herself. She was just

masturbating--but it was awe-inspiring, watching this giant beauty

work on herself. As she finished, I found myself rock-hard, gasping

for breath. She simply finished, and after a moment or two of

afterglow, she got up and dressed, and unceremoniously exited.

I dropped back into the drawer. I wasn't sure what the implications

of this were. I didn't want to be three inches tall forever.

But I didn't mind the show.

* * *

It wasn't too much longer before Liz entered. She walked over to the

drawer, and smiled down at me. "GOOD, YOU'RE UP. SORRY TO NOT BE

HERE, BUT I HAD CLASS."

I looked up at her, awed by her beauty. She had obviously just gotten

out of bed and rushed off to class--her hair was pulled up in a pony

tail, and her face was bereft of makeup.

"No problem," I replied, stretching. "I just woke up a

few minutes ago."

"I BROUGHT YOU SOME BREAKFAST. SCRAMBLED EGGS. I HOPE YOU LIKE

THEM--THOUGHT THEY MIGHT BE EASY FOR YOU TO EAT."

"Thanks," I said, meaning it. I was hungry. I had another

urgent need, as well.

"I also kinda, uh...."

"WHAT IS IT? DID YOU WANT SOMETHING ELSE TO EAT?"

"No! No. It's not that. It's...."

"OH. OH! OF COURSE. UM--ARE YOU TOO MODEST TO USE A PLANT?"

* * *

After I saw a man about a horse, we sat down to breakfast. Me,

perched on the edge of a plate from the cafeteria, eating handfulls

of egg; she, seizing pieces of egg the size of my torso. We talked

about her powers, about their source, about what she'd done.

"Any chance I can see the scroll?"

"HAH. NO, SORRY JAKE. THE LAST THING I NEED IS FOR YOU TO FIGURE

OUT THESE TRICKS TOO."

"Hey, we'd make a good team. Between the two of us we'd pretty

much have the state of Wisconsin covered. If we found some people we

trusted, we could branch out. Sort of like the Superfriends."

She smiled a bemused smile. "I DON'T THINK SO, JAKE." Then,

her face fell, just a bit. "NO, I WON'T DO THAT TO YOU."

"It's a burden, isn't it?" I asked, after a few moments.

"OF COURSE IT IS," she snapped. Then, sighing, she simply

said, "I MEAN, I KNOW I'M DOING THE RIGHT THING."

"But it doesn't always feel right."

She just looked at me for a minute, like she wanted to correct me.

Instead, after a moment or two, she smiled, and said simply,

"ENOUGH OF THIS. SO, JAKE, TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF."

* * *

It was late evening when we finished talking. We were down by the

lake, me tied into her hair so I wouldn't get lost. We'd talked about

just about everything--her rape, my sister's rape, the upcoming

election, our mutual interest in the new "alternative"

music, whether she should fork over money for an email account, how

cool gopher was, whether the Badger Herald or the Daily Cardinal was

a better paper, whether American democracy was simply a means of

impressing a patriarchal system upon the masses--the basic things

young students at Madison talked about when they were falling in

love.

We were silent, now, looking out over the lake. She broke the silence

in a most unexpected way.

"YOU KNOW," she said, "I HAVEN'T BEEN WITH ANYONE

SINCE I WAS RAPED."

"I would think not," I said. I wasn't sure how you could be

intimate with someone after that kind of violation.

"IT'S NOT LIKE YOU THINK. I'M NOT AFRAID OF INTIMACY, OR EVEN OF

SEX. I'M NOT EVEN AFRAID OF NOT BEING IN TOTAL CONTROL. I'M JUST

AFRAID OF NOT BEING AT ALL IN CONTROL. "BUT THERE'S SOMETHING

THAT'S OCCURED TO ME," she said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I HAVE ALL THE CONTROL I EVER COULD NEED." With that, she

untied the knot of hair that held me in place, and brought me up to

her face, and without a word, she kissed me.

To say I was startled would understate the point completely. I was so

startled that I failed to enjoy the kiss--at first. Indeed, I

struggled and pushed her away. Well, tried to.

Actually, she backed off quickly. "OH MY GOD, I'M SORRY, I NEVER

MEANT--"

"No! No no no!" I cried, realizing quickly my mistake.

"I was just surprised. Had I been expecting it, I mean...."

"OH, LIKE IF I HAD SAID 3...2...1...."

"Yeah, that would have oomph!" She kissed me again at zero.

This time, I didn't struggle. Her plush lips played over my entire

body, covering me in saliva. Her tongue pushed out slightly, licking

me. I was bathed in her hot-pungent breath. I did my best to kiss her

back--not that I think she noticed much. But when she finally broke

the kiss and pulled her head back and smiled, I gasped and smiled

right back.

Despite everything, I was the happiest man on earth.

* * *

I went to bed that night trying to envision what it would be like to

be with her in the biblical sense. I tried to imagine what it would

be like to make love to a woman with a vagina the size of me. It was

an awesome possibility--one I'd never really considered before. I

found myself excited by the prospect. I hoped Liz would allow me the

opportunity.

Certainly, she seemed like she cared for me. She'd kissed me good

night, and stroked my hair tenderly. Of course, I was still in her

desk drawer. But things would come together, all in good time.

* * *

"That's just sweet," said Sarah, munching on the burgers

Scott had brought back from Andy's for lunch.

"Yeah, Jake," said Scott. "It's a little like our

story."

"Except I had nothing to do with your shrinking, and we didn't

kiss until later."

"It's just like us," said Scott, grinning wickedly.

"Jake was even spying on a woman while she--"

"Oh, we're going there, eh? Am I to surmise that you'd like me

to morpheus you right into my insole again?"

"Hey, come on, I'm just teasing. Put your hand down. Hey--don't

make me parry--"

"You won't parry. Not if you know what's good for you."

Scott and Sarah dissolved into hysterical laughter, falling back

against the chairs and giggling until their sides hurt. Scott knew,

of course, that Sarah really would turn him into her insole as

punishment later--it wasn't like she hadn't done it before. But he'd

go along with it, especially since they both knew damn well that he

didn't mind it a bit. Later, he might turn her into something. And if

not, he'd probably just turn himself into himself, only smaller. It's

good to know what you both like.

Jake smiled, and rocked back in his chair. "Are you two

finished? I'm trying to tell a story here."

"And a sweet story it is, boss. Liz seems like a nice

girl."

"Oh, she was. She was one of the top five women I've ever met.

If that asshole hadn't raped her, she could've become anything."

At this, the room fell silent, and Jake's face hardened for a second,

before softening again. "It would get worse later, but that

time--the end of 1992--that is one of the happiest times of my

life."

He smiled, and said simply, "I've got to check the report quick.

I'll be right back."

As he entered his office, Sarah looked at Scott, and said, for the

eight thousandth time, "Honey, I'm sorry about New York."

"I know, Sarah. I know. I just thank God things turned out

better for us than they did for D.X. and Liz."

"So...you want to be my insole tonight?"

He grinned. "Only if you want me to, my love."

Sarah laughed, and said quietly, "I do."

Chapter Five

D.X. returned from the office slightly vexed.

"Anything wrong, chief?" said Scott, turning his thoughts

away from merging with various articles of his wife's clothing long

enough to notice his boss' concern.

"Don't think so. Just a bit of a spike in activity in the upper

midwest."

"Huh. Sarah and I weren't really parrying or anything there, you

know...."

"Don't make me go God-teacher on the bit, Scott. I know you two

rapscallions were just engaging in a GTS version of a PDA. Which

reminds me, when exactly are you planning on settling down into a

boring, staid marriage?"

"Right after Proteus strips us of our powers," said Sarah,

matter-of-factly.

"Last week it was Gaia," teased Scott.

"Really, Sarah, you need some internal consistency. You had told

me it was Loki."

"Truthfully, if Gaia, Loki, or Proteus show up and want to strip

me of my powers, they can have them. Though it will destroy my dream

of being Inch High Attorney at Law."

Scott smiled. "I think I speak for men everywhere when I say I'd

prefer Attack of the Fifty Foot Lawyer."

"Okay, you two, get a room. Sheesh. Anyhow, I don't thin

Sitio recomendado:Giantess videos

Giantess Stories: Madison Prologue by D

Men rarely (if ever) manage to dream up a god superior to themselves. by D.X. Machina by D.X. Machina Prologue Prologue Madison Madison

giantess18

en

2021-08-01

Acording with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”), Pub. L. 105-304 If you believe that your copyrighted work is being infringed, notify our team at the email [email protected]