Becky

By D.X. Machina

Author’s Note: this story was inspired by Ilayhu’s collage of the same name (archived at multiple places, including http://www.giantess.com/theboard/getimage0.cfm?t=becky.jpg&uid=5971).

Andrew stumbled as he came out into the light, trying desperately to maintain his balance as he climbed.

He didn’t know how it had come to this, and it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that he had to climb, he had to reach his destination or he would surely die.

The ground underneath him shuddered, and he held on with all his might. He couldn’t tarry. He had to climb.

He looked up at his destination—the gorgeous face of an enormous woman, light brown hair framing a kind countenance, and providing what he hoped would be a path to her ear.

She was his only hope now.

He climbed.

* * *

Becky watched television, tired after a long night out. She leaned back on her well-worn couch, trying to let go of the evening.

She had broken up with Scot four months ago, and her friends kept trying to convince her that she should get back out there. She was only a junior, they said. She needed to get back in the game, they said.

But she didn’t want to get back in—not yet, anyhow. And the club had just proven that to her. Damn meat market, men trying all the lame pick-up lines they could, nobody she could just be herself with.

It wasn’t that she hated men, far from it—Becky was an enthusiastic connoisseur of the rougher sex. But truthfully, she wanted someone who would depend on her—someone she could care for, could help out. She didn’t want the kind of guy who would pick you up at a bar.

So she leaned back in the couch, wearing just the bra—the blouse had been peeled off due to the acrid smell of cigarettes and marijuana and sweat—and she flipped on the television.

She ignored the odd sensation on her breast—a little itch. Instead, she watched Adult Swim.

* * *

He had found his way to her quite by accident.

He had just gone to the bar to dance, maybe try to pick someone up—not that he had much luck with that. Mainly, he just needed to get out of the house.

It had come as quite a surprise when he suddenly found himself a half-inch tall, standing on a barstool.

She had appeared a vision in a white blouse and a plaid pleated skirt. Unfortunately, she was a titaness, and she had no reason to expect that a tiny man was sitting on her stool. So as she lowered her immense behind on top of Andrew, it was all he could do to avoid being crushed.

Instead, her skirt landed bare inches from him.

He sat, gasping for breath, looking up at her. And he knew he had to get in touch with her.

It had been easy enough sliding along the outside of her thigh to her panties, and he was climbing easily to her waistband. If he had interest in what lay inside her underwear, he kept it hidden well. Instead, he made a note to check it out someday in the future, when this nightmare was over.

And then, suddenly, the nightmare increased—she was getting up to dance.

It was hours of up-and-down. Somehow, he managed to get inside the blouse, and to make slow-and-steady progress to the bra.

But then, disaster struck; she executed a move that sent him flying backwards between her two breasts. He lost consciousness as he impacted on her sternum, and he slid down into her left bra cup.

He would awake there a few hours later, pinned to the inside of an enormous tit. He slowly climbed up it, until he burst out into the world, and finally got that look at her face.

* * *

As funny as “Aqua Teen Hunger Force” could be, Becky was watching a different show.

It took about five minutes of itching before she finally looked down at her left breast. Maybe it was an insect, or a loose piece of fabric.

She saw the creature crawling, and prepared to grasp it between her fingers when suddenly, she stopped.

The creature had only four limbs. And it was wearing clothes.

It was a tiny person.

Becky watched the person climbing, and smiled, slightly. She wondered what it was like for him, crawling on her tits. My God, she giggled to herself, they must be huge to him! She smiled inwardly at the thought; she wasn’t flat-chested by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn’t a D-cup, either.

She supposed she should be angry at him, but she couldn’t work up anger. Instead, she watched, bemused, as he tried to climb her.

She wondered if she should help him.

No, she thought—for now, she’d just watch.

* * *

Andrew had to admit that he would be moving faster if he was climbing a shoulder.

The breast felt so wonderful beneath him, heaving slightly with each breath. They carried the faint aroma of the woman’s perfume and sweat, a heady scent that made him want to bury his face in the ground and never come up.

But he had to climb. He had to get her attention. He didn’t know if she’d help him, but she was all the chance he had.

He looked up at her face again, and stopped cold.

She was looking down at him.

And suddenly, her bemused smile broke into a wide grin.

* * *

She looked down at the tiny man, who was frozen, staring at her.

She wanted to scare him—only for a moment—by making him think she was angry that he was touching her breasts. But truth be told, she couldn’t care less. Instead, she simply said, “Hello, little man, my name is Becky.” And she thought to herself, little man, I think you and I are going to have some fun.