DP
The door swung open and Justine walked out, strutting a little, and she looked amazing. I'd almost had to duck, going through the door to my bedroom. I was used to it, being six foot four in a six foot world, especially after fifteen years of living in cheap old buildings in cheap old neighborhoods. Justine DID have to duck, because she had chosen to be six foot four, a perfect match for me- then added five-inch heels. Looking straight ahead I was confronted with her lips, could not see any sign of lipstick, did not care. Tiny silver earrings flashed above a simple looped necklace of the same shiny metal.
Her blouse was thin white silk, so thin I could almost (but not quite) see through it. It had buttons, though the top three were open, allowing the collar to spread wide, calling attention to a hint of cleavage. Her skirt was black and very, very short. Her legs were resplendent in dark tan stockings and her stiletto pumps were black. I didn't try to hide my stare, just drank in the sight of her.
She looked down into my eyes, looked a little further down. "Oh, Con, you have to learn a few things before we let you back out in public."
She swayed towards me, intimidating in a whole new way, sparking old memories. I had discovered the giantess subculture ten years earlier while browsing through assorted archives, looking for something that appealed to me. It had clicked; the file April had mentioned, in which the giantess crushed the Earth inside her at the end, was the best file by far that I'd found that night, but in the years that followed I had tried a thousand scenarios. I had dated three women who were into the scene, spent virtual nights with many more, but I had never been in a relationship with a woman who was taller than me in real life. I knew this was a trick of her implant, but her presence and confidence, her subdued strength and power, had as great an impact on me as the discovery of JKW_EarthCrush.HST so long ago.
I inhaled as she stepped close to me, smelled her personal scent of roses and leather, shivered. She reached for my throat, leaning forward, giving me a perfect view of her breasts down the loose flimsy blouse. She said, "You don't have to button the shirt all the way up, Con." Deft fingers unbuttoned the top and second ones. "Hmmm... let's show a little of that chest hair." She unbuttoned the third one, leaned closer, breasts brushing against the skin she'd just exposed, pressing her warm thigh against my crotch. She rubbed her stockinged leg against my hard-on (THERE it was!) through my pants.
She whispered in my ear, "Took some more replenitex? Good boy," and stepped back.
Justine looked at me expectantly. Her husband was looking at her the same way from behind. He had one elbow held out in a funny bend that looked a little familiar. Not noticing Mr. Smith's gesture, still looking at me, she did exactly the same thing. I still didn't get it, but I hazarded a guess and repeated the gesture. Justine turned around, fell in beside me and took my thus-offered arm. "That's something else we'll need to work on."
She guided me with soft subtle pressure towards the stairway to the ground floor. "We'll make a gentleman of you yet, young man." We walked past Mr. Smith and Justine ignored him. I glanced away, feeling guilty, but caught his face reflected in the glass front of the trophy case. He wore a mask of profound frustration. Then Justine snapped her fingers and he smiled eagerly, scurrying after us like a faithful hound. Or was the eagerness the mask, the frustration the truth? I did not know. In her stiletto heels she towered eleven inches taller than him; when she was two stairs ahead their heads were on the same level. She had no difficulty with the heels on the stairs; I had known (and dated) women who could just barely manage that, but her hand on my arm was merely a formality. Of course she needed no help from the likes of me.
I had walked through a long dining hall the night before, a huge room lined with a second-floor balcony, but we entered a much smaller, more intimate chamber. A small but rectangular table was set for four people, two on one side, two on the other. Justine walked to a seat and this time I knew what to do; I pulled her chair out for her and she sat down with a murmur of "Thank you." The modern chair adjusted itself slightly to her great height.
April walked in from the opposite hallway, scrubbed pink and glowing with health. Her hair looked freshly blow-dried and there was a streak of black among the shoulder-length mass of yellow. She wore a dark red, long-sleeved turtleneck shirt with a matching knee-length skirt. Both were very tight. Her fine legs emphasized by small-mesh black fishnets; her fishnet-stockinged feet were shown off to good advantage by strappy high-heeled sandals. She was her pre-implant height, the same as her father's, and her heels only added three inches to that. "Hi, Daddy." She kissed Mr. Smith on the cheek. "Hi, mom." She approached the chair next to Justine, struck a come-hither pose. "Hello, sailor!"
I smiled back and moved towards her chair but Mr. Smith was already there. He seated his daughter and they exchanged a warm, genuine smile. He circled the table, approaching the seat across from his wife; she was silent until he had pulled it out, then lazily said, "Frederick, dear, why not let Mr. Conrad sit there tonight... I want to watch his table manners and see what rough edges need polishing." Dejected, he stood and stepped away.
"Mom, you can see his table manners just fine in the other seat. It's only three feet further away!"
Mr. Smith said, "That's all right, dear, I'll sit with you." April answered his tentative smile with her bright one.
I wasn't perfectly at ease with all this, but it wasn't my house. I took the offered seat, felt it adjust to my height just as hers had. It looked like five foot ten was within the "normal" range for this furniture, as April and Frederick's chairs remained silent and unchanged. The moment we were all seated the room lights dimmed by about half.
A house robot rolled in on almost-silent wheels, opened its split-dome, extruded several tentacular metal arms and set up two long candles on silver candlesticks. As soon as it had lit the candles the lights dimmed another step, leaving us in a romantic circle of firelight. The walls of the room, the rest of the house, all were lost in shadow. The room seemed smaller and larger at the same time. Soft music, mostly strings and woodwinds, began to play somewhere. I had no idea what it was but it sounded nice.
More robots came, two of them moving in perfect unison. Each one came to one end of the table and produced a pair of round bowls pressed together. The robots shook the bowls vigorously, then twisted their rubbery fingers, catching equal amounts of salad in each. They put down the bowls and exited, retracting their arms with a flourish. I looked after them, bemused, then smelled the dressing. It was raspberry viniagrette. The salads were made from three kinds of lettuce, no other vegetables, no croutons, nothing fancy... I waited for someone else to start eating. Justine picked up her salad fork, stabbed a few leaves, brought it to her mouth for a bite. I did the same.
Despite its simplicity it was the best salad I'd ever tasted. Was I just hungry? I applied my investigative training in an unexpected way. Separating reason from emotion as I devoured the delicious salad I decided it really was that good. I was done in no time; everyone else was just getting started. They were all looking at me.
Mr. Smith figured it out first. "Oh... Mr. Conrad, please accept my apologies on behalf of all of us. We never told the robots to feed you."
I scraped the last bit of dressing on the edge of my fork, sucked it off, swallowed. "It's okay."
"You see, Mr. Conrad, we do not need to eat, as such. For us, dinner is a social ritual, part of what keeps us together as a family, as humans. Or post-humans, if you will."
I spotted a small basket of rolls that had escaped my attention earlier, took one, split it with a knife and spread creamy butter over its warm center. "It's really okay. I never thought about it until a few minutes ago."
"We will of course see to it that your biological needs are properly met. Computer, please ensure that Mr. Conrad has full kitchen control priveleges and prepare standard default breakfast and lunch for him until otherwise instructed."
The computer said, "Acknowledged."
"I hope we didn't forget anything else."
I thought about it, reviewed what I had seen. I remembered a few little things but I could talk to the house later. The house system had gotten a little rusty, or rather its expectations had been as scrambled as my own. Two months tending to this family could drive even a computer a little crazy!
A serving robot wheeled in, offered me more salad and produced another bowl when I said yes. I dug in, more slowly, eating like a civilized person again.
"That's an impressive trophy case," I said to no-one in particular.
"It's oak," replied April. Her mother shot her a look and she said no more.
"Thank you, Con. The fruits of a misspent youth."
"Misspent?"
Mrs. Smith smiled, took a sip from her water glass. "In retrospect I wish I'd spent less time gallivanting around a court and more time destroying cities."
"That was right at the start of the holotac revolution, wasn't it?" That seemed right.
She said, "Correct. As you know, Mr. Smith and I met on the Internet, which was in the last stages of Lamarckian collapse by that time. A dozen competing networks had sprung up, all arguing over protocols, connections and standards." She raised her glass to her husband, who took over as she sipped more of the water.
He smiled a little sheepishly. "Holotacs were still big-ticket items back then. A school could get them but consumers would have to pay far more than either of us could afford."
Justine continued, "I had one because I was in a new major- I was, in fact, the only woman in holotactical coordination and implementation programming. So I had a holotac... they were so awfully clunky in those days, huge gauntlets and that ridiculous full helmet... but they could deliver some sensation and they were the newest, most amazing thing I'd ever seen."
As she said this I felt a stocking-clad foot slip up under the cuff of my right pantleg, caressing my bare ankle. I looked from mother to daughter, but both had turned their attention to Mr. Smith. It didn't feel like fishnet...
He said, "I had a holotac in my room because I had managed to convince the Computer Science department at Columbia that I needed it for important experiments."
Justine caught my eye, held my gaze with hers. She slowly raised her fork, a single dressing-drenched lettuce leaf dangling from its tines.
"Don't be modest, Daddy," said April. "You were their pet supergenius and whatever you asked for, they gave you, no questions asked."
Justine licked the leaf, slowly, sensuously, making it last. Her foot slipped out of my pantcuff, traced a path up to my knee, moved purposefully to my groin.
Mr. Smith looked at his half-finished salad, tapped his fork against the side of his bowl, said nothing, looked back up at April.
"You're a supergenius, Daddy, like Wile E. Coyote except your stuff works."
Justine applied a little pressure, all five toes wiggling against my hard-on through my pants. I felt the teeth of the zipper press against the underside of my shaft, felt the metal grow warm from my own heat and the heat of her foot.
"My husband does not take compliments well, Mr. Conrad." She kept up the pressure, grinding my erect cock with her toes. "He is shy."
As she said "shy" she rubbed my cock with the ball of her foot, hard. The leaf on her fork was clean, glistening green. She put it back in the bowl, swirled it around.
April went on, "I've seen pictures of Daddy's dorm room. It was a triple room but he was the only one in there. There was a bed, one chair, and all this equipment, spread out, wires everywhere."
He spread his hands, salad forgotten, eyes on his daughter. "I never took any pictures at the height of it, young lady. The room you saw had plenty of room to turn around, even with the holotac gear on."
Justine raised the leaf again with a new load of dressing. She closed her lips on the top half, half-closed her eyes and sucked gently on it. Her foot retreated to rest comfortably on my knee, then her other foot curled over my other knee.
"Geez, Daddy, how come your lab is so clean now?" April chased the last bit of salad around her bowl, trying to catch the tiny scrap, too small to stab, too dressing-slick to scoop up.
"Meeting your mother was the best thing that ever happened to me," he said, looking worshipfully at Justine. She didn't seem to notice; her eyes were still locked with mine. Both her feet slid along the insides of my thighs; one foot came down in the middle, the other slid over it. For a moment I could hear the sexy slither of stocking on stocking.
As Justine's ten perfect toes began to rub me again, April said, "You two made a heck of a team."
I hadn't taken a bite of my salad in some time. Reaching for my water glass, I almost knocked it over, caught it on the way down, spilling only a little.
Justine said, "You have good hands, Con."
Mr. Smith was oblivious to our exchange- or else politely ignoring it. He went on, "I was the ultimate geek, buried in a few things to the exclusion of all else. If I hadn't met Justine at the right time..."
I put my hands in my lap, reached under the table, began to stroke her luscious nylon-clad feet. I could feel the slight difference in texture where the toes and heels were reinforced. With one finger I traced the sexy seam running along Justine's left calf. She used both feet, one on each side, gripped my penis between them right through my pants. This was no shapechanging trick- this was pure tarsal skill.
"...and how our relationship blossomed. Justine was in just the right major, learning all the skills to create holotac scenarios..."
I stopped rubbing her feet and looked at her with new eyes. My hands rose, slowly, and came down gripping the edge of the table.
She had been squeezing my cock between her feet; now she stopped, their warm pressure still there, waiting. April and Mr. Smith had continued talking but now they stopped, looked at my finger, looked at Justine. She sucked the rest of the dressing off her chosen leaf, raised her eyebrows, waited for me to finish.
"You're JKW! The default giantess... was you! You're the reason I'm into giantess fantasies... all these years it was your body, your voice, almost your face!"
Justine said, "I had to change my face a bit for the scenarios, little guy. I didn't want anyone I knew to recognize me." She lifted her fork then, opened her mouth, bared her teeth. Her ten stockinged toes clasped my penis, moved up and down, up and down, jacking me off in my pants.
"So... how many times did you die inside my pussy..." her toes jerked me harder- "...with the rest of the Earth?" She bit down, slowly and deliberately, cutting through the leaf and shearing through the metal fork with equal ease, at the same time pushing me against myself, almost crushing my balls with one foot while the other sole rubbed my entire cock.
I unloaded what felt like pints, quarts, gallons, befouling the inside of my pants, squirming as though my entire body was caught under those feet, thrashing as I realized that all those times, all those wonderful times, my mind had been inside of her.
Justine released me from her toe-grip, slid her feet away from me, made pleasant conversation with the others for a while. By the time I was coherent again the steaks had arrived.
