I’m pleased to share the second part of a story I wrote for my good friend @giant_micro back in January 2020 as a gift. I’m revealing it slowly over three weeks, in three parts. Start with “Dear Professor: Part 1.”
Stay tuned at the end of the story for a special treat from a talented artist in the community!
Read the story
Dear Professor: Part 2
By Elle Largesse
Copyright 2021, all rights reserved.
Ryan works hard to please his massive friend, shrinking in her bra and down her panties while she works out at the gym, but can he do what it takes to satisfy her?
This F/m story contains shrinking to sizes under a millimeter, breast play, body exploration, insertion, anal, sex toys, entrapment, falling from a height, domination and submission, humiliation, praise, some mind control elements, and aftercare. There are also hints of fear play and dubcon (dubious consent), and processing emotions like anger and helplessness. Not all themes will be present in all parts.
There came a point where a braver man would have jumped from her fingertip to the nipple as she hovered her digit above her areola. But he balked at the distance. She had no idea how far of a drop that was to him. It felt like she was expecting him to jump off the roof of a one, possibly two-story building. Fear lurched in his stomach as he heard the sound of skin on skin and looked over his shoulder to see a thumb larger than a two-ton pickup truck barreling down on him. She was going to slide him off the edge!
“I promise you’ll bounce, wimp.” Before he had the chance to talk himself into the jump, her thumb had shoved into him like an avalanche carrying him off the cliff. He screamed into the open air and had time to almost, but not quite, panic.
He had never jumped stomach-first into a trampoline, but the give of her soft pink-brown skin felt like a cartoonish version of just that. He landed in the space above the nipple and was shocked at both how far into the flesh his body pressed, and how far back it launched him into the air. The laughter of his friend resonated through her flesh as he came to a rest on the smooth slope of areola. He began sliding down with each chuckle that moved with her breath.
“That nipple had better be spotless by the time I hit the shower, Professor.” And with that, she let the stadium-sized fabric of the bra snap tightly above him. He actually shouted at the concussive slap of the wave of nylon. The light was dim, but he could see the shape of the nipple, a half round sculpture rising up before him. Should he get to his feet and try to climb to it now? He was hit with the rushing sensation of her rising into the air and distantly he heard the slam of a car door, the jingle of keys.
His whole world lurched and fell. Lurched and fell. Not merely up and down, but in a swaying, organic, almost elliptical pattern. Up and down and around, up and down and around. She came to a stop and he heard the beep of her signing into the gym. She didn’t bother with the locker room, but went straight to a treadmill and cranked it up. Within minutes he was riding a bucking bronco, clinging to the tit flesh as it tried to throw him.
The air inside the bra was already hot and close. Soon it became thick and humid as beads of sweat began to form on the soft skin under his hands and knees. He found himself slipping closer to the nipple with each downward motion. Desperate, he tried to lean into the motions, like a sailor trying to stay on deck of a ship tossed in enormous waves. If he could make it to the nipple, he could maybe wedge himself into the space between the tit and feel some measure of safety—or maybe at least a break from the absurd rodeo.
He’d been clinging tightly to her pliable skin and it took more desperation than bravery to make him open his hands and let go. He timed it on an upswing and, his whole body slick with beads of sweat, he slipped right off her tit. It couldn’t have been far, but he felt as if he’d been launched right up into the air. His back hit the tight weave of the fabric and knocked the wind right out of him, then sent him plummeting back down to the moving target below. His ass and the backs of his thighs smacked into the soft, huge nipple and he tumbled backwards. As he dragged hot steamy air into his lungs while scrabbling for purchase on the slippery skin, he was grateful that this indignity was hidden beneath the fabric. She could feel his fear and embarrassment, but at least she couldn’t see it. Besides, the laughter would make this so much harder.
He ended up wedged on his side between the nipple and the fabric. He was still being launched up and down and around, but it was more stable now. He counted her breaths to catch his own.
“Did I say you could take a nap?” The immense voice was barely panting. “Start licking, or start shrinking.”
Eyes wide, he maneuvered his body with some difficulty so that he might be able to put his mouth on the nipple. But the up and down and around motion was strong and he fumbled, slipping down a little down to the underside of the breast. Fuck! His legs were pinned.
The nipple was the size of a bean bag chair. Instantly, it doubled in size.
Or, he shrank to half a millimeter. A drop of sweat trickled off it as he stared in mute horror, and hit him straight in the face with a wet, musky splat. He coughed, and as he struggled in the up, down, around sway to free his legs and climb the weave of the fabric, it hit him again.
Everything doubled in size. Panic, panic. Would she even be able to feel him at a quarter millimeter? He scrambled up the nylon threads like a net on a pirate ship, and pulled with all his might. He reached the nipple just as he shrank again—the injustice of this hit him harder than the sweat drop had, and he let out a sob of frustration as he clung to a wrinkle of her skin.
At one-eighth of a millimeter, he finally set his mouth at the base of her towering nipple and began licking. Sweat tasted the same at this new size. Salty, wet, musky, with a hint of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was almost sweet. He coughed and forced himself to go back to licking immediately, lest she take it as an excuse to shrink him again.
It didn’t make sense for her to be able to feel his tongue and mouth sucking on the hot, bouncing flesh. Yet somehow, her nipple was getting hard. He was so small now that he could see the cracks and crinkles of her skin, the little wet rivers of moisture coursing underneath him, mingling with the small hairs on his body as he pressed into her slick skin and smothering heat and blood-pumping immensity.
He licked until his tongue was numb. He drank so much of her sweat that he felt dizzy drunk. It took him a long moment to realize that the endless swaying had somehow come to an end. His aching arms and neck twitched with exhaustion. He considered leaning back against the fabric but the panicked thought of shrinking to half his current size drove him to continue. Lick. Lick. Lick. It was his mission in life, keeping this nipple hard and clean. He could do this all night.
“Well done, my dear Professor.” Her voice was distorted, it was so huge. The bond between them opened enough to admit a heady rush of approval and pleasure. It nearly melted him on the spot, but he doggedly forced himself to keep licking. After all, she hadn’t told him to stop.
Endorphins rushed into him as her pleasure increased. He had impressed her! She was so huge to him now, so gargantuan, that he couldn’t even really wrap his head around the concept of her anymore. And then, to have impressed someone that large! It felt like a huge achievement.
He had completely forgotten in his struggle before, but here in this heady, hot experience, an older part of his mind remembered the healing powers of praise with this collar. He panted, grinning as he felt strength return to his arms and hands and suffusing his body with energy.
Praise. What wouldn’t he do to win her praise? If it could make him feel like this…
“You liked that workout, did you?” With only a second’s warning, a fingertip the size of an office building descended into the confines of the bra, crashed into him, and slicked around the sweaty slope of the breast. The drops of sweat pulled him into the huge groove of her fingerprint and adhered him there, as thoroughly as if it was glue holding him in place. He struggled for a second, but remembered the praise of her. This mountain of a woman. How good it had felt, to please her. He ran a hand over his face, wiping her sweat and his own from his eyes, until he could see the world swooping around him.
An eye. An eye larger than anything he could conceive. He cowered into the groove of her fingertip, shocked and caught in a surreal mental loop of extreme disbelief and intense desire to please her. She was so much more than a mountain. The world beyond her was meaningless, and she was the only landscape that mattered to him any more.
“Confusion. Fear. Desire. Eagerness. Interesting mix, little one.” The immense eye pulled away but remained near, watching. “Let’s make a wager, shall we? I’ll bet that you can’t get me off at that size. If you win, you get to orgasm too, and I’ll return you to normal size. I’ll even praise you… praise you so much that your whole body will feel sexier and healthier and happier than you have in years.”
He found himself nodding and radiating a sense of “yes” with enthusiasm. She laughed. “I admire your eagerness. Alright, it’s a bet. I’m going to go do some stretching on that yoga mat. You have ten minutes.”
He plunged down, down, down, into the wide dark chasm of her workout leggings, down into the heavy musk of her trimmed bush, as wide as a jungle seen from a helicopter at nighttime.
She deposited him in that jungle, on the slope that led down to the big, beautiful folds of her vulva.
Only then did he realize that she didn’t explain what she’d win in their wager if he couldn’t get her off.
Surely… Surely she wouldn’t keep him like this?
Ten minutes. He took a deep breath. The air was redolent with her musk. Humid, cloying, thick with sweat and the scent of her body wash, something with vanilla that must have seemed subtle to a human nose and was nearly overpowering at this size.
No time to dwell on it. The clit was still so far away! Even had she put him right on his goal, what were the odds he could get her off in ten measly minutes?
He bolted across the forest. His feet pressed against the strange oily, bouncy surface of her skin, as if across an alien landscape. Sloping downward? Yes! But just when he thought he had finally caught his bearings, the mountain of a woman moved.
Disoriented, he flung his arms out and managed to cling to a thick rope of pubic hair. He held for all he was worth, aching and straining. His world shifted, and the sky above terrified him. It made no sense until he reminded himself it was the fabric of her leggings rushing closer. She must have lowered herself to the yoga mat, that was it. The fabric getting closer meant that she was stretching. That’s all. He laughed a little at his overreaction, but was glad he’d managed to stay close to his goal.
He gritted his teeth as the fabric pushed closer, flattening him and his curly rope of pubic hair against the floor of the forest below. A low humming noise permeated the humid air. He realized she was moaning, or perhaps groaning into the stretch.
He groaned in his own turn, as he climbed down from his perch and made his way as quickly as possible to the place he thought must be his goal. He felt like an explorer, or maybe some unlucky—or strangely lucky?—contestant on a strange reality TV show, wending his way through the moving thicket of her pubis mons.
He was out of breath by the time he beheld the enormous swollen red dome of her clitoris. Like some throbbing ruby the size of a stadium. He didn’t give himself the time to think about how impossible his task was, but forced himself forward. Climbing. Footholds in the clitoral hood, handholds slippery with her arousal and sweat. Up and up, aching and straining once more. The thought of her praise pushed him onward. What wouldn’t he do for that praise? Those healing words, lifting the pain from his tired muscles and wheezing lungs. But more than that, he thought, throwing his whole body against her clit, it was a true desire to please her. To be known to her as the reason for a moment of ecstasy. Even a moment. He fought hard, pummeling her clit with his fists and throwing himself at her with all his strength. Harder, harder! He had to try, had to make something happen here and now, for her!
He collapsed against the base of her clit, barely even caring when a rivulet of her juices cascaded down her skin and carried him out of reach. He coughed in the musky floral scent, almost tangy, almost salty.
A roundness larger than the clitoris appeared as if by magic. Ridges. He slipped right into the ridges and was momentarily shocked to see another round shape pummeling into him from the opposite side. Fingers. Thumb and forefinger. He clung to the ridges of the fingertip the way he’d clung to the pubic hair. But with more anger this time. “Not enough time!” He shouted up at the body, this enormity that was still somehow a human he could direct his anger toward.
“Not fair!” He shouted up at the eye, which loomed into view like a spaceship. “You make me too tiny to do a damn thing, then expect too much of me!”
“Aww, how cute,” she said. Her voice was distorted by size, but he could hear the amusement and it made him angrier than ever. “What makes you think you weren’t successful?”
Hope flared in him. And, surprisingly, arousal. The thought he might have actually gotten off a goddess with his own two hands—
“Don’t get your hopes up too much, pipsqueak,” she said, bringing him up short with a laugh. “I’m sure you did your best.”
Her thumb came down on him, trapping him in place against her finger. Dim orange light radiated at all sides as he felt a lurch, then swaying similar to a rollercoaster, or the ride on her breasts. He clung to the ridges, tried to cling to his sanity, his anger, even the sense of humiliation. Panic creeped in at the edges of his awareness.
A small touch of reassurance traveled down their bond, like a tug on a leash, like the feel of a riding crop on his backside. Firm. A gesture of power, but also an anchor. She was here. She could feel him.
The swaying lessened in intensity, and his stomach caught up with him. Maybe she held him closer to her body? He heard the distant clanging of metal and wondered if they were in the locker room.
The light and pressure changed around him, opening to the cooler air. He braced himself, opening his eyes a crack. Why did everything at this size look so alien?
He’d guessed correctly. Long metal lines rose like strange angular mountains, but he could almost make his mind believe they were lockers. Closer, a gym bag rose like a different kind of mountain peak, obscuring his view of the rest of the space. Or rather, obscuring him from anyone else that might walk by. He wasn’t sure if he found that reassuring or ominous.
A shocking snap sounded above him, percussive, like a strange firework. He looked up and saw Elle snapping the fingers of her other hand above him. “Up here, pipsqueak.”
Elle. He tried to take her all in, and failed. She was huge and beautiful and powerful and she was talking. He tried to understand.
“You lost the bet, fair and square. I find it hilarious that you agreed before asking what I’d get if I won! Well. Don’t worry your little head over not being man enough to get me off, even though I practically put you on my goddamn clit. You’re going to get me off. Hard. Know how I know that?”
She moved him with a downward lurch, into view of something pink.
He squinted, but couldn’t make out the strange cylindrical shape that loomed above him. All too soon, her fingertip pressed him against it. The pliable warmth of her fingertip spread around him, then lifted. He marveled for a moment at the way this silicone—that’s the only thing it could be—felt velvety soft at any size.
A sex toy? Laying on its side?
He didn’t even think. He leapt to his feet and ran.
Shortly after Part 2 went live, Giantess Tina felt inspired to create this gorgeous render of Ryan scaling Elle’s body to reach her massive clitoris.
“This alien world,” she wrote. “I ought to represent this minuscule professor climbing up hope, climbing up a potential and salvatory praise.”
I am absolutely awed by her creation, her poetic words, and I am grateful to her for granting permission for me to feature it on my website. Thank you, Tina!
Looking for more? Read Part 3 here.