I invite my two hottest goth giantess friends over to show off my pride and joy: the tiny farm I’ve been working on every day to keep running perfectly. These tinies are raised for one purpose, and I’ve been refining this newest batch to be extra tasty, extra helpless, and perfectly obedient. The moment my friends see them, their eyes light up with hunger. We lean in close, looming over the tiny world like three dark goddesses, listening to the panicked screams that start the second they realize what’s about to happen. I let my friends pick their favorites, teasing the tinies first, making them watch as we decide who gets to be next. Their voices shake, their bodies squirm, but none of it matters. One by one, we lower them toward our giantess mouths, savoring their terror and their helplessness, enjoying how small and tender they look between our fingers. There is nothing sweeter than a tiny’s final screams before the inevitable. Say goodbye, tiny. You exist to fill our bellies.
