Prompt of the Week - Week 86

TAGS: Unconventional Narrative, Size Difference, Macro, Guilty Pleasures

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Derrin packed away his things, getting ready to head home for the day once again. It was a ritual at that point, and not one he particularly enjoyed; paying the bills was a necessity, and an unfortunately burdening one given where he lived, but at least it’d be somewhat more reasonable if he actually derived any level of pleasure from what he had to do to make a salary. Alas, punching numbers into a screen all day didn’t exactly rank that high on his list of wants, and it was only the thought of what he was going to do after returning home that kept him going.

One would think a great many things on looking at Derrin. Seven feet of muscular, near-hulking lion with a mane luxurious enough to serve as a thick carpet around him certainly brought to mind ideas most commonly associated with blushing faces and locked doors with conspicuous moaning noises coming from behind them. And for his part, the lion himself, while he never outwardly encouraged these rumours, did nothing to help dispel them either; indeed, one could say he deliberately went out of his way to not address them, allowing them to fester and mutate until everyone in the office “knew” he was some kind of hyper-successful sexual entrepreneur of sorts.

The reality of it was… significantly different, and the reason why Derrin did what he did to keep everyone thinking he was something he most definitely was not. In his home, a shitty little apartment just outside the downtown area where rent control had kept things at least somewhat affordable, was a computer. His computer, though not one he used with his name on it; it had cost him a pretty penny, and to some extent he occasionally figured it was unnecessary, but whenever he considered the possibility of someone, anyone finding out about that side of him, then him buying a whole new computer just to have a different name on the registry didn’t feel as excessive.

On getting home, his proper daily ritual began: shirt off, pants off, everything else off, into the bath. Clean up, apply conditioner, get out, dry himself off, psych himself up, psych himself up some more, close the door to his bedroom and go sit in the living room for an hour, remind himself that he’d done this a million times before and nothing bad had happened, then finally sit down at his desk. Sighing, he placed his headphones on, made sure his chair was at the right height to keep him from slouching, and then, and only then, did he turn his computer on.

Derrin had… urges. Everyone did of course, that was perfectly natural; there was nothing strange about him wanting to do things to get off, that was something that e-well, not everyone, but it was still natural! He had a sex drive, thus, it was only perfectly normal that he would like to fulfill it, and it wasn’t his fault that his brain wires were crossed in such a specific manner that what he happened to like was somewhat off-set from what other people thought he’d enjoy. It wasn’t his fault that he was born with the right combination of genetic sequences that turned him into what he was; everyone else was to blame for forming opinions on what he “had” to like just because he happened to be an enormous lion!

Yeah, there was nothing wrong about it! And surely, if he kept repeating that to himself over and over again, maybe some day he’d actually believe it, and wouldn’t need to go through the whole rigmarole every single time he sat down to use a computer he built from the ground up to ensure anonymity. Baby steps though; eventually he’d be enough at peace with himself that he could move onto other, more complex mental gymnastics, and then he could concern himself with whatever the hell else came after self-acceptance.

Halfway across the city, in the middle of a gated residential area built specifically for people of her size, Tilly was occupying herself with staring out at the sky. Again. It had turned into something of a habit for her, whenever those thoughts began flaring up; she couldn’t quite act on them without finding someone willing to play the other half of the equation, and she wasn’t exactly the most upfront when it came to speaking her mind and admitting what she wanted.

Granted, being an eighty foot tall mouse didn’t help things. Her kind wasn’t known for being that big to begin with, and the incident of macro-scale growth was so low it didn’t even reach a single full digit percentage. Tilly could personally count on one hand how many mice she knew that went beyond ten feet, and she’d still have fingers to spare; her own extreme case was not just an anomaly for her species, but for macro folk in general.

Hence, why she was stuck living somewhere on government dime. Getting her life back on track after her twenty-fifth birthday brought her from doorknob height to being able to sit on buildings as casually as someone else would sit on a chair wreaked havoc on her plans, not to mention her bank account; it was just her luck that programs existed to help people like her, or else she’d be well and truly fucked with how little work there was for folks of her scale.

Honestly, she’d assume that there could be a million and one applications for someone who could literally lift small apartment blocks with nothing but their bare hands, but apparently not! That, or the insurance payoffs involved in making sure everything was up to scratch just didn’t justify the inherent risk of having a macro working anywhere, forcing her to look for anything she could do from home… and for a computer system she could actually use now that her fingers were large enough to smush large tables if she wasn’t careful.

Luckily for her, there were plenty of haunts online for those willing to dig deeper than usual. Plenty of spaces where individuals who wanted to be treated the way Tilly wanted to treat someone would go to, hoping perhaps to find someone who wasn’t just pretending to be large enough to do so. Plenty of spaces that she was vaguely aware of, in the same sense that someone was aware countries existed but never quite worked up the courage to visit; she certainly wasn’t going to deep dive into those websites without at least several dozen layers of security between herself and… wherever those things were hosted. Not when her name was on the line.

Of course, nothing was stopping her from using the computer system provided by the state to do so. It wasn’t her name on it, it was some random serial number issued by the government for her personal use, so it was perfectly fine! Granted, that did mean that some bureaucrat somewhere was probably aware of the sort of searches she was going through on a daily basis, but Tilly rationalised that away by assuming that they were probably not looking too deeply; not like anyone was ever paid enough to look at any one person for longer than five seconds unless they could get away with calling them a threat to national security.

Meanwhile, Derrin’s daily perusal of specialty content had to be put on hold so he could vent himself. One of the unfortunate realities that came with having a body like his: much as he hated how much it played into people’s stereotypes surrounding him… well, he was definitely as virile as others liked to believe he was. Good reason why he had that pump installed in his bathroom as well; if he didn’t plug himself before bed every night, there was a good chance he might wake up to a serious flooding problem in his apartment, and the one below, and possibly the one up above as well!

It did make it harder for him to justify going after what he did though. To a certain extent, he felt like he should be playing the role of the alpha male; he was clearly possessed of the right body type, virility, and productivity. If he wanted to, he could easily take on the role of a breeder and likely make millions without even trying, but that would require being at least somewhat at peace with himself, and that cost far more than any fertility treatment company would ever pay him.

Just the thought alone was enough to make his skin crawl: him, on top? That was a violation of the natural order as far as Derrin was concerned, nevermind how he was a literal seven-foot lion with a package that regularly bloated to reach the ground and drag along it whenever he walked. All he wanted was for someone several times his size to come down on him and make him feel like an insignificant, puny speck of dust underneath their heel, perhaps even literally if they were up for that as well; that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? Surely there were people out there who’d be happy to pay good money to have someone like himself at their beck and call, an obedient little kitten who desired for nothing more than a chance to be obedient and do whatever it took to pleasure their master. Or mistress, he wasn’t picky.

Instead, he had to make due with aliases and websites with less than stellar security practices. Never his real name, never anything less than multiple layers covering his bank account whenever he needed to use a disposable cash card, but still; it felt wrong, in the sense that it was so… impersonal. Words on a screen, spelling out a fantasy scenario that, for some, was actual reality; no matter how vivid he and others could make it, it was never the same, nor could it be the same. Perhaps it would’ve been easier if what Derrin wanted was just outright impossible, but he knew it wasn’t; ultimately, this was what killed him, the knowing that he could be having it, yet lacked the courage to take the steps needed to get it.

Tilly, for all that she liked to think that she had her head screwed on straight, found herself in much of the same position, though without nearly as many security measures in place to keep people from finding out who she was. Her personal computer platform was likely infested with viruses and worms, but she didn’t care; if her government handlers wanted to complain, they knew where she lived. Just as long as they didn’t stop her from finding little ones wanting to be stepped on, then she was cool with it.

Not the actual stepping though, heavens no. Just the thought of it was enough to leave her cheeks burning hot enough that she could practically use them to cook barbecue; hell, the simple act of visiting any of the many websites she had bookmarked catering exclusively to that sort of content was often everything she needed to… well, she spent a lot of money on cleaning supplies, to put it lightly. Some days she even managed to put in a search in the little bar on the top right; on very good days, Tilly went as far as to watch a video or two, maybe peruse the galleries for pictures. Most of the time though, it was the mere idea of it that caused her to go loopy on the spot, not that she’d put it in those terms.

That night though, she had something different in mind. One of her friends had mentioned a chat platform that they frequented, and suggested Tilly hop on it as well; it wasn’t technically meant for kinks alone, it just happened to have a very large, very well-developed section that served nothing but kink content that was also, purely coincidentally, the main source of revenue for the service. Sure, maybe the safe-for-work public channels barely saw any use, but that hardly meant anything; it was still a convenient excuse and a magnificent way of rationalising away most of her fears, and Tilly wasn’t about to say no to something like that. Freedom in exchange for some occasional ads on the side? Absolutely.

Through pure coincidence, Derrin’s own regimented approach to his own buttons being pushed had nudged him in the same direction that night. Through nothing but his paranoia, the lion insisted on never visiting the same website twice within a specific timeframe, forcing him to keep the rather limited number of available options on a strict rotation. He’d known about the chat platform for some time; he’d just never had any real luck there, apart from occasionally picking up a handful of good roleplayers he kept listed on the side whenever he had to refresh the schedule.

But he always kept hoping that maybe he’d find someone. He never did, and part of him insisted that he was simply deluding himself, that he’d never stumble on anyone that wasn’t faking their size for cheap kicks; but he kept on deluding himself regardless, because if he didn’t say it, then no one else would, and maybe a lie repeated enough times became truth in more than just his head. Plus, with enough macros out there, surely at least one would eventually stumble on that service; it was just a matter of playing the odds and hoping they turned out in his favour… that and keeping an ear to the ground for any interesting rumours.

Rumours like how “adoringtheview111” was actually a giantess in real life, and not just making it up for clout. Rumours like her being nearly a hundred feet tall and really friendly around strangers. Rumours that spread not just from that chat platform, but from several others where Tilly, unbeknownst even to herself, had left quite an impression without even realising it; one didn’t simply live life as an eighty-foot titaness and not, at some point, start leaving clues as to their true identity… especially not when she was as careless as she was.

Thus, it was with quite a bit of shock that she logged in for the first time and, after just a handful of messages exchanged in some very specific channels, saw passing references to her username on other websites being thrown around. Her immediate reaction was to flee; surely, nothing good could come out of being recognised online, doubly so when her real identity was a matter of public record. But, rather than lurid staring or the sort of comments that made her cringe almost as hard as they made her skin crawl, what she saw there on her screen was adoration.

Derrin, meanwhile, was trying his best to grab the attention of adoringtheview111, content in the knowledge that he was perfectly safe behind his wall of anonymity, and could thus afford to go a bit further than usual. He had all-but complete confirmation that she had to be the real deal: trusted contacts, cross-checked information with other websites, and just the slightest hunch that this was the big one… quite literally. There was a whole crowd around her, moving quickly enough that no message was left onscreen for more than a few seconds; he could only imagine what sort of goddess would attract that level of attention.

A goddess who felt overwhelmed enough that she had to get up and pace around her room, eyes closed, cheeks bright red, and a constant, low-pitch whine emanating from her as she came to understand just what was happening. Part of her wanted to sit back down and indulge, to show herself to the world in the one way she always wanted to; the rest was mortified by the mere notion and insisted that, as usual, she run away, that she hide, that she refuse to let others know just what her true identity was.

But there was something there. A hunch maybe, a stray thought, or perhaps just enough determination that Tilly could no longer ignore it. Three years spent being that massive and not once had she just sat down and admitted to what she liked to do, and now, after finally taking a step too big even for her, she was rewarded with a whole slew of admirers who wanted nothing but to make her feel welcome. Granted, so many of them that it circled back to horrifyingly suffocating, but they were trying, damnit, and that’s what counted!

Derrin had given up trying, though to his credit, he was at least ahead of the curve, seeing as the moderators had to step in and put half the channel on timeout to prevent the whole thing from turning into a cluttered and barely comprehensible mess. The demi-purge left a very small number of people active afterwards, making it relatively easy for the lion to directly interact with the purported giantess without having to resort to caps lock, bolding, or, heavens forfend, both.

Tilly herself came back to a much quieter, much cleaner chat, still filled with people who were eager to talk about what it was like to live as someone big enough that they could definitely flatten cars with just a single pawpad if they wanted to. Very… specific things were said, things which the mouse knew for a fact were uttered just to frazzle work; it worked as well, was the thing, and soon enough she’d be going with the flow and writing down words that she’d never thought she’d ever put down where anyone else could see them.

And Derrin, well, he was looking at a true-to-life macro with a predilection for the same sort of size play as himself! Really, if not for the fact that he had plenty of experience holding himself in check, he would have said something incredibly dumb. Instead, he opted to tag her, producing a quiet bloop on Tilly’s end of the screen.

CrocsAreCooler: “@adoringtheview111 Y’all actually fifty feet?”

adoringtheview111: “Oh god no. I’m eighty.”

CrocsAreCooler: “... hot.”