~A New Story

BY : Keith
Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Gulliver's Travels
Dragon prints: 1327
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, based on Gullivers Travels by Jonathan Swift. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental.

"What, AGAIN?" she called.

Toby stepped back into the living room and groaned.  He hadn't minimized the word processor when he got up.  Twyla was reading the screen, slowly scrolling down.

"It's my new story!" he said.

"I see that," she growled.  "I think you should throw out, I dunno, about every third size adjective."

Toby drank from his soda, stalling for time.  Twyla didn't really like his fetish, but she was a good sport, and very smart.  It would be stupid to dismiss her comments out of hand.

"What do you mean?" he asked, coming back to the desk.

"Her giant fingers crushed him to her mammoth breast, his face centered on her enormous nipple.  He grabbed it with both hands and squeezed.  She laughed at his puny efforts," she read aloud.  And snorted.

"Toby, you established that she was a giant when-"

"GiantESS," he corrected.  She ignored him. 

"When she broke his airplane in half with her bare hands.  And plucked him out of the wreckage with two fingers.  And stepped over the retaining wall to wade across the dam."

"Yeah," he said.

"Well, we already know she's enormous.  And her nipple is enormous.  And her enormous nipple rests on an enormous tit." 

"That's why I varied the adjectives," he said.

"Riding the thesaurus key isn't writing," she said, not unkindly.  "But seriously, you're pounding home a message that's already been made."

"My readers like to be reminded that the man is in the hands of a giantess," he said.  He took another sip.

"Your readers like to see a man at a woman's mercy," she said, "preferably inserted into one or another orifice.  They revel in the fact she's a giant.   Ess," she added, hand raised, just as he started to open his mouth.

"But you can be a better writer, Toby, I know it.  This part, she's holding an entire adult male in her hand.  That's selling the idea of her size right there.  You don't need giant fingers.  Her fingers crushed him to her breast, his face centered on her nipple.  That's good.  The relative sizes are clear, and your readers are already three words closer to the climax." 

She kicked the scroll up the page.  "Okay, here?  Crushed under the weight of her massive breast?  That actually makes sense.  The massiveness is important to the action of the scene.  Do you know what would be better?"

"What?" he asked.  He was a little thrilled.  The smartest woman he knew said he could keep 'massive' in the scene.

"Well, if you moved it around.  It's the massive weight of her breast that's holding him down, right?"

"Can I ...?" he asked.  She made a 'welcome to it' gesture and moved aside.  He sat and made the changes.  And considered the paragraph.  "Hmmm.  I still think the fetish readers will prefer 'weight of her massive breast' to 'massive weight of her breast.'  You know?"

"Toby, your readers already gush because you use dialogue and paragraphs," she said.

"Don't be snarky," he replied.  He moved through the text, changing and removing.  She nodded in approval.

"It's not snark.  They loved 'And then he tried the sex thing in her and she said it wasn't bad but she wanted more and he screamed but she already had thrust him inside her and he nearly drowned and they made love for the rest of the night until morning when she restored him and kicked him out and said thanks for the night.'  Remember?"

"Pocketpal, yeah," he said.  "Well.  I do try to make the scene work, make it clear in the reader's mind.  For their sake."

"And that's good," she agreed.  "But you shouldn't just write hamfisted storyboard directions in short story format."  She waved at the screen.  "This will be better.   Wider appeal.  You don't have to keep reminding the fetishists that they're visiting a giant world. 

"The reason they read your work is to find themselves in a giant world.  They've done half the work for you."

"I guess that's right," he said.  He glanced at her and winked.  "And I guess you know what that's like."

He went on highlighting and typing.  She walked over and jumped down off his keyboard, sitting on the end of the remote for the TV.

"No shit," she muttered. 

She sat and watched him work.  He kept smiling and nodding to himself.  Clearly he'd started to finally understand her point.  A lighter hand on the big huge enormous vast gargantuan adjectives made the ones he did use that much more powerful.

He looked down at her and smiled a few times, once patting her on the head.  Oooooh, she thought to herself.  I feel like a great big helper, now!

She just didn't feel like he might be so grateful as to kiss her.

Twylassatsen sighed and stood up.  She probably should be ashamed of herself.  Toby wasn't bad company.  After the exploratory airship crashed, he'd taken her in, nursed her back to health and become a good friend.

It was just a little frustrating that the universe had dropped a Lilliputian hooker in the back yard of a giantess fetishist.  Fucking universe.

She had no idea where she was, exactly.  The Duke's expedition had been fully staffed with navigators that took care of those details. 

She'd just been assigned to the wardroom, to keep the officers amused, relaxed and to share any signs of mutiny with the Duke.

So after the plague broke out, and men started dropping like flies, she'd had no chance to teach herself navigation or the way back to Lilliput.

The crash had finished off the last four survivors.  She was alone on a distant shore.  And even the shores were days travel from here.

At least she spoke the language.  Being fluent in Gulliver's tongue had probably been the reason she was purchased for the trip.  Just in case the man's wild story of nations of giants had borne out, the Duke wanted a translator on hand.

Of course, no one really expected there to be even an island of such creatures, so he hadn't bothered with the expense of a scholar.

A whimsical fate had ensured that the only person who could talk to the giants they did find lived to tell the tale.

Same fate that made sure she could never go home to tell it.

"Alright," Toby said, drawing her attention back to the present.  "That's uploaded.  Now to wait for reactions."

He sat, staring at the screen.  His mouse moved up to the reload screen.  Twyla didn't fully understand what an internets was, or anything about how it worked, but she did know about people.

"It's forty pages long and you uploaded it forty seconds ago," she said with a laugh.  "Any comments you get will have nothing at all to do with the story."

"I suppose you're right," he said.  The cursor paused but he didn't let go of the mouse.

"Well, check once, if you must," she said.  "Then let's go do something."

"Ugh," he groaned.  There were no changes to the page as he clicked it.  But... "Oh!  Look!  Four people are reading the thread!"

"And in half an hour, you'll know what they think.  Let's go!  Get up!  You were going to show me that hiking trail!"

"The hell I was," he muttered.  But he stood and offered her a hand.  She smiled and climbed aboard.


He slipped her casually into his pocket and walked out to his car.  She sat comfortably in her little space, waiting patiently.  She'd been waiting patiently for men most of her life.

When she first arrived, Toby had spent some time trying to explain why she had to remain hidden.  The human philosophers would take her apart and other reasons. 

She'd just shrugged.  "You own me, now.  Tell me to stay hidden, I'll hide."

For a long time he'd argued about that, saying he hated slavery and she was free.

"Great.  Can I get my own apartment?"


"Your freeing me won't change much, will it?"  Lucky for Twyla, Toby wasn't stupid.  Once he got used to the idea of keeping her, like a pet, he eventually just gave her orders and expected obedience.

 It matched her expectations and gave her a sense of security.

"I think I'll go to the mall," he said.

"Wouldn't you really rather go to the park?  It looked like such a sunny day through the window," she suggested.  "Even if we don’t go on the hiking trail.  Kids playing, birds singing, breeze blowing..."

She   didn't mention college girls sunning themselves on the grass.  That was her goal, not a negotiating tactic.

"Yeah, well, we'll do the park, first, then the mall."

"For lunch!" she agreed.

"Exactly!  And then maybe the Game Bag." 

"Whatever," she said.

She poked her head out a little bit when they got to the park.  She missed tended fields of grass, but it wasn't worth encountering dog droppings the size of a pony.

The grass looked good, though.  "Ah, SMELL the fresh air," she called out.

"Quiet!" he ordered.  She let out an 'eep!' of regret and dropped obediently out of sight.  A moment of disobedience let him give a manly order and she obediently complied.

He walked around a bit, telling her when it was safe to look.  He showed her a blue bird feeding her young, a dog trying to eat a Frisbee and a baby laughing at a fountain.

He sat still for a while and she risked a glance out of the pocket.  Toby was facing a group of girls in swimsuits, playing volleyball.  Perfect, she thought.

Maybe by staring at babes 1/12th the size of his private fetish, she could recalibrate him to at least one babe a twelfth of his own size.

"I think I'm getting a story idea," he said. 

"Really?" she asked, more than a little excited.  She raised the flap higher.  Over the heads of the volleyball game, a billboard portrayed a giant woman.  Her hand stretched out of the image towards a 3-D model of a bottle of soda.  "Oh.  Really," she muttered.


After the park, she curled up in his pocket to doze as he went to the mall.  People were too close for him to talk to her privately.  She thought it was odd, as half the people in the place were talking to thin air.

He said that was different.  She accepted his statement, based on his tone.  It was one she associated with royal (or lesser nobles') command.

Lunch was McD's.  She heard him order chicken nuggets and resisted the urge to squeal.  He didn't get her favorite dipping sauce, but she could forgive that.

Then there was the maddening mystery of the drink.  He chose varying flavors based on his mood.  Some were exquisite.  Some tasted like the stuff in a ship's bilge.

She chewed her lip and resisted the urge to peek.  Last time she did, he spilled the pretend-orange all over the place.

Which would have been a 'win' if he hadn't just gotten more out of the dispenser.

He gathered his order and went out to his car.  She sat patiently as he sat and arranged everything.

"Milady, will you be dressing for dinner?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she called back.  Which is not to be a slight on current company!"  She wriggled through the flap into his hand.

"The pleasure of your company prevents any slight from even being recognized, much less taken," he said gallantly, lowering her to the seat.  The nugget was broken in half on her napkin, her cup dipped in the soda.

It was a pleasantly dark color.  She hoped for Coke, but braced herself for root beer.

It was Coke!  She smiled up at her host and licked her lips.  "That's great, but...  There's something..."

"I added a shot of lemonade," he said with a smile.  "Since they only give you lemons if you order iced tea."

"Brilliant!" she shouted, sipping again.  The cup had been salvaged from the airship.  It had the ducal crest but it had never had a drink like this in it.

She wrestled the nugget into her lap and started to eat. The outer crust was so think it was almost like armor.  Still, she loved the feel of cracking it in her teeth.

Twyla alternated between bites of breading and bites of the meat.  She'd never imagined meat made into a wheel like cheese.  If she ever got home, she'd have to figure out how to make these. 

The realm would go crazy.

There was no way to replicate her French fry, though.  Unless she smuggled a human potato home?  She imagined building a dugout canoe from a single spud and setting out for home shores. 

But that would involve leaving Toby.  She smiled up at him once more.  He popped some fries into his mouth and smiled back.

"Okay," she said after the leading edge of her hunger was dulled, "what's your story idea?"

"Well, I only have a scene at the moment," he admitted.  And paused.  She obediently made encouraging sounds and a 'give it' gesture.

"Okay, so, I see myself hanging like a necklace between two breasts."

"Right here?" she asked, pressing her sternum.

"Um...lower.  Yeah, there.  Anyway, while she's wearing me there, another giantess comes up and starts licking the boobs.  Sucking on them, but keeping eye contact with me."

"And squeezing them?" she asked.  She pressed her breasts together, fondling herself.  "Like, she squeezes the woman's boobs like a lover, but she's aware of you, and trying to please you, too."

"Hey!  That's a great idea!" he said.  He stared out across the parking lot and thought. 

Twyla waited for a moment, then released her own overlooked boobs.


After lunch, he went back into the mall to look at software and games.  She dozed contentedly in his pocket, belly full and drummed to sleep by his heartbeat.

She woke as he pulled into the driveway, then waited patiently until he made it to his computer desk.

He respectfully put her down before opening his packages.  There was a new game and a disk full of copyright-free images for his collages. 

"Oooh, do they have giantesses?" she asked.

"They will when I put a tiny man in there," he said.  She watched as he put the disk in and started the install.  While it was loading he turned her around and turned on the TV. 

"What time is it?" she asked.  Her favorite syndicated show was just starting.  She sat down on the edge of the desk and swung her legs.

After a lifetime as a kept woman, she could just imagine being kept in the manner Mr. Sheffield kept Miss Fine.  The clothes, the setting...  Although her dream employer would need more servants.  And fewer children.

Or maybe the kids could be trained as servants?  She'd have to look into that.

They whiled away the afternoon.  Her watching opulent homes on the TV, him swearing at image manipulation software.

Then it was Time To Write.  Someone had told Toby that the essence of creativity was a steady schedule.  So the hour that was assigned for writing, that was when he wrote.

And there wasn't shit on TV right then. 

She got up and walked to the side of his keyboard.  He started with creating a new word file for the cleavage dangling scene he wanted to explore.

He typed, 'I hung there....'   Then it was time to get a soda from the fridge.  She dipped another tankard in the glass and sipped.  Mountain Dew.  He wasn't finicky with meals, but writing required something that looked like urine.

At least, that was her estimation.  She sipped slowly.  The first time she'd drunk a carbonated beverage on this nation had been the Dew.  The amount of sugar in the drink had been dangerously fascinating.  She'd chugged six tankards of the stuff and had vibrated so rapidly that he couldn't see her.

It was two days before he could even hear her voice and another three before she slept.

Toby deleted his short story.  All three words.  "She put me in a five point restraint and hung me around her neck."  He typed as he spoke.  She watched his fingers move, confident and quick.  Too bad the narration sounded so tentative.

"Is he dressed?" she asked. 

"OOoh.  She stripped me naked.  No.  Wait.  That evening, she came in and wordlessly plucked me up out of the terrarium.  I started to ask about her day.  She flung me face down on the..."


"No, that's too intimate. I want clinical, but not too uncomfortable.  Mousepad?"

"Soft for you, maybe," she said.  She walked over to stomp her foot on the rubber sheet.  "I imagine this is how a bed made from car tires would feel."

"Hmmm."  He stared at the screen.

"What about a folded towel?" she suggested.

"That would require she does something for his comfort," he murmured.  "My readers like giantesses that can't be bothered."

"An old winter mitten she found," she said.

"Perfect.  She pinned me to the back of an old winter mitten she'd found on the subway.  It still smelled of the first grader that had lost it, crayons and glue.

"Then she tied me up with yarn."

"Eugh," Twyla sneered.

"What?  Yarn's soft."

"Not if the fibers are three times as thick as your skin," she said.  "Do you want him scratching ever time she moves?"

"No," he said.  "But I used kitchen string in my last story."

"Dental floss," she tried.

"I used that."

"Then add a detail," she said.  "That flavored stuff you said would make you gag?"


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