Fainan thought climbing a mountain would be easier as a giant. But he wasn’t even properly gigantic yet, and he found himself stopping every ten minutes to gulp the frigid air and rest his sore, stretching body on the sloping earth. He would dig his toes into the damp earth—feeling, sometimes, the soil being pushed apart by his inexorable expansion—and scour the valleys and mist-mantled ridges for any sight of Gjalda. Fainan could not believe he would have missed a giantess of her scale. She would have been waist-deep in a bank of vapor if she waded through it in his direction that very moment. And, Fainan realized, he would still not even come up to her waist, would struggle to wrap his arms around its womanly width as he had dreamed of.
“Sorcery,” he grumbled in his deepening voice. A slow second adolescence for a man who none of the factory girls thought had escaped his first. Maybe now that he had outgrown them… would soon outgrow the factory…
Fainan’s groin throbbed as if Zigrane were again fondling him. He could still see the sorceress’s wide green hooded eyes looking down at him, feel her strong fingers caressing his trembling arms and her tremendous tangled mane tickling his chest, blocking out the light of her candles but trapping their heady scents.
He had watched as she undid the clasps of her robe like she was unwrapping little candies, and what treats she had for him! Zigrane, old as she was rumored to be, was bountifully endowed. Her fingers had moved from her robe to his trousers, working below his waistband with the same dexterity.
“I’m sure you planned on saving some of this”—she squeezed him—“for your big missus in the mountains, but believe me, there will be plenty for her and whoever else, once I’m done with you.”
Fainan had, indeed, plenty for his Gjalda, and plenty for himself, to stroke as he reclined against the mountain, feeling it shift under his expanding back while he did so to the memory of Zigrane’s embrace.
“Quite a plan you have,” she had purred in her strange, wonderful accent, purred into his ear as she slid off his trousers and mounted him. “Frankly, I could have charged you more for this ritual, considering what you’ll be getting from it.”
“It’s…” Fainan could barely respond. Too enraptured by the feeling of entering Zigrane’s wet folds, her wide hips beginning to swivel against him. “It’s for the public g-good, really.”
She had laughed sweetly. “What a generous boy! Of course, this is all for the township, yes? Seducing the giantess for our safety, very sweet of you. Ha, but you won’t be a boy once I’m finished.”
“You mean once I’m finished?”
“Funny, but no, not exactly.”
His penis had exploded in size, fired up into Zigrane with force, and Fainan almost shouted with joy (as had she). “It’s working! I’m growing!”
“Mmmm, indeed, my little chalky boy.” (The township did extend to the chalk-rich country, but moreover Fainan was as pale as anyone in Yattsborough, and a startling contrast when naked against dusky Zigrane.) She tossed her mane back and the candleflames lengthened with Fainan, and in their light her tattoos darkened from faint imprints to the distinct coils of a serpent winding across her voluptuous body.
It turned to look into Fainan’s eyes from Zigrane’s collarbone.
“If you were not a virgin, I would not be able to—mmff—make this Pact of Shifting,” she said. “Virginity is such a treasure of untapped power in sexual magicks. You are going to be so, so large, dear Fainan.”
He had been so excited at the prospect that he had pulled her roughly onto him, kissing her hungrily. She had returned his affection with a fervor that overwhelmed his; like most people, she was bigger and stronger than Fainan… but he was being driven mad with desire at the thought of that changing.
He had become lost to the rhythm of Zigrane’s gyrations atop him by the time he heard the footsteps in the distance and felt them through the floor of the cabin.
“Gjalda… I need to go see her, right now!”
And yet on focusing his vision through his haze of pleasure, Fainan had been confronted with an impassable tower of Zigrane. The already generously-built sorceress now occupied space that did not exist minutes before; enough to account for a woman at least four times Fainan’s size.
Fainan became dizzy from all this. With all his blood rushing to one place, suddenly whipping his head upward had been a poor decision. “I don’t understand, aren’t I—”
“Your turn is next, my dear client,” Zigrane had thrummed. She gently lifted his head to her clitoris (her womanhood now took in most of his body, and her clitoris peered from its hood right before him) and bade him suck. “I promise I will make this quick, so you can go declare your love for the Scourge.”
Her arms bracing against the ceiling-timbers of her impossible cabin, Zigrane had ridden down onto him with force that would have crushed him into nonexistence if their fornicating were not magical. Her eyes glowed, the ink serpent shone and slithered over her curves, she moaned an incantation, and with every bounce she shrank onto Fainan’s member. Her body’s every ripple flowed straight to his core and he keened, ready to climax for the first time with a woman. She shrank past normal size. Fainan felt like his penis was being gripped in a vise, until the sorceress cried out with pain and pleasure and flew off of him with a pop.
And when he saw the tiny furniture around him, he realized that at some point Zigrane had begun to fuck her size into him.
The sorceress had sighed, rolled her glowing eyes, and slumped into a chair for which she was slightly too capacious. “Go ahead,” she said with a wave, “go catch Gjalda, if you can.”
The door swung open for Fainan, and the sorceress called after him. “But you had better find your way back here next time you do something this foolish again, understand? Your foolishness has truly improved my afternoon.”
And so Fainan had run in search of the fading footsteps, sore with the need to release, pounding across the foothills several times his normal size, and still growing, yet still smaller than a true giant.
And so he lay in mist, up in the mountains, ready to finally bring himself to climax at the thought of the gargantuan paramour he had missed. He was impressed that he’d managed to nearly double in size in one session, and hoped the factory girls, at least, would be impressed if he stayed a giant until he returned to Yattsborough. He pressed his head back against the stony soil, ready for the tension to flow from his new muscles and leave his perfect new form a toppled monument, ready for some explorer to stumble across and compose a poem about. A sexy poem.
“You better not waste a drop of that on the mountain,” said the voice of the shadow standing over him, blocking the sunlight.
A strong hand wrenched his own away from his throbbing member (proud and tall and red as the tallest trees he had passed in his climb) and yanked him to his feet.
He looked up, from midriff height, into the eyes of Gjalda.
Or… no, it wasn’t, was it?
“Gjallana,” the giantess said, in a voice as rough as Gjalda’s, as booming, as terrible and beautiful. “Her sister. Only younger by two harvests.”
She looked so similar, down to the matted auburn hair, scar-flecked skin (the left side of her neck appeared to have acted as a pincushion for a battalion’s worth of spears), and a face as lean and forbidding as the rest of her. Except she was slightly smaller, and her eyes were red instead of yellow, and her body language was suddenly the opposite of forbidding. She wore loose hide undergarments over her bust and crotch, and the latter were torn in her haste to be rid of them as she straddled Fainan on the mountainside.
“I saw you growing. Sorcery?”
Fainan nodded, his pale freckled face turning red, his new, strong jawline trembling.
“I figured. A human boy trying to be a giant man.” She wagged his penis obscenely about her belly. “Are you a man yet?”
“I… s-sort of, but I didn’t—I mean, I heard footsteps, and I ran before—”
Gjallana shoved her hand over his mouth.
“Thought it was my sister coming to toy with your town, eh? Hoped she’d rather toy with you?” Gjallana’s laugh was unpleasant, but accompanied by a carnal sneer that kept Fainan tall as a watchtower. “Plenty to toy with. Giant rod is hard to come by in these parts. She’s scavenging on the other side of the range. She goes through my territory, I come to hers.”
Gjallana ducked down to his crotch and sucked hard on him without warning. Fainan howled and clutched at the back of her head, pushing her onto him as he exploded larger in her mouth. She shook him off and stood up.
“Where’s your town?”
“Won’t hurt it, little fool. Where? Do you not want to rut? Do it and I’ll keep my sister away from your little people.”
The people of Yattsborough were drawn to their windows and doors by the thunderclap beyond the northern gates, from the foothills, that turned out to be a pair of giants tumbling to the ground in the throes of passion. The factory and market stopped dead and hundreds of hands clapped over the eyes and ears of dozens of children all over town.
“Be grateful, morsels,” the giantess announced amidst her panting and snarling, “this big boy is buying your safety with his rod!”
“Y-yeah!” Fainan had lost his capacity for talk, dirty or otherwise.
Fainan, now as big as any giant ever seen, as big as Gjallana, looked over the town wall at the gaggle of girls hiding their mouths outside the factory gates, and thrust hard into Gjallana’s greedy quim once for each girl he stared at in turn.
The giantess noticed and laughed. “Think of them when you fill me, big man!”
Fainan pulled her face to his and growled into her ear. “Think of me, little woman.”
Gjallana roared and drew blood from his broad back as she climaxed, and Fainan reached his full size, overtaking his lover and spilling enough seed to fill a lake, so much that it spilled out of her onto the path that lead to Yattsborough. He rose to his knees, flexing and admiring himself in the late sunlight, while Gjallana massaged her spread thighs and cooed in her afterglow.
“We do this again next moon, human,” she said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Say my name.”
She rose up to wrap her arms over his shoulders (he had dwindled slightly and was now stably at her height) and spoke in a husky parody of love. “Faainaaannn, oh my sweet, sweet human lover…”
Fainan pulled her in for a kiss which she returned and then ended by biting his tongue and seizing his spent genitals.
“You are ready for me next moon, this size, or I do worse than my sister. Factory fire, the works. Make a date with your sex witch.”
Gjallana wiped a trickle of jism from her leg and flicked it into Yattsborough (to a mass cry of horror from the crowd, ducking for cover as one) and tramped up into the foothills.
Fainan made it as far as the north wall before collapsing to the grass in a state of sexual exhaustion. He pushed himself against it so he could look into Yattsborough and its astonished rabble.
He cleared his throat.
“So… hero’s welcome?”
Gjallana and Fainan illustrated by Curanto.