The Collector

I can’t believe I’m even considering this, much less doing it,“ he said to her.

She laughed, leaning back on the bed. “I’ve heard that before.”

He was a human in his mid-twenties, with short-cropped brown hair and matching eyes and a build which was—if not athletic—handsome enough. And he was tall, three inches past six feet. She was a raccoon, at least ten years his elder but in fantastic shape, with the lithe form of a dancer, long straight black hair and dazzlingly blue eyes. She was also tall, but on a different order of magnitude: she stood at least eighty feet high.

While he wasn’t native to this land, he’d grown used to the Furred, and—like a surprising number of the human immigrants—found them attractive. However, he’d never quite grown used to the idea that the Furred were, in fact, this land’s least fantastic elements. You didn’t encounter the truly wild stuff very often—the magicians, the faerie folk, the dragons—but you quickly learned it was there.

And, of course, giants.

He’d seen them off in the distance from the right parts of the city he lived in, but for the most part they didn’t mingle with the “littles.” He’d never found out if that was due to law, threat of force, or just unspoken custom—when your paws were bigger than cars, it behooved you to stay away from populated areas—but he’d enjoyed watching them, and found places where you could get closer to them. Where you could see that they came from equally giant towns. And where some giants might even come over and say hello.

He and the other giant-watchers were never quite sure what the giants thought of them. Yes, in theory, people were people, and that’s what giants would say if you asked. Yet it was hard not to look at people who could hold you in their hand as something more than you were, which made it hard not to wonder if they saw you as something less then they were.

At the moment, she was, in fact, holding him in her hand. How he got here was a blur to him. Bolder flirting than he should have made, and a giantess who held out her hand by him, palm up, giving him a “come hither” look with eyes bigger than his head.

“It seems like—uh—anything we do could be…dangerous.”

“It could,” she agreed, bringing her other hand forward and running a huge finger delicately down his chest. “You’ll have to trust me.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “You’ve done this before.”

“I have, sweetie.” She gently lowered him down to the mattress where he felt nearly lost in the huge folds of the sheets. “Take off your clothes, hmm?” Without waiting for a reply, she started to pull off her blouse.

He stared up stupidly as she undid the bra, freeing her breasts. Proportionately, she would be—what?—a “C” cup. He thought. When a single breast was bigger than you were it was hard to tell.

After a few more moments of staring, he scrambled to unbutton his shirt.

“Careful,” she said in a sing-song voice. “You have a very nice shirt. You wouldn’t want to rip it. Silk, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Armani.” She was right; it was over two hundred dollars, and he should be careful with it. Even so, he tossed it to the side and fumbled out of the designer jeans.

The raccoon giantess leaned forward slightly and picked up both shirt and jeans, moving them to the side table, then gently picked him up again and brought him to her muzzle. “Now give me a kiss, and I’ll give you one,” she whispered.

He tried not to shiver at the feel of her breath, and pressed his lips to her lower lip in a quick, nervous peck. God, she was beautiful, but his view was all close-up fur and black lips and white teeth—

“Like you mean it,” she murmured teasingly.

Taking a deep breath himself, he leaned forward again and rubbed his hands over that soft, wet lip, giving it a longer, lingering kiss.

She made an mmmmm noise that vibrated through his body, and parted her lips a fraction, letting the upper lip slide over his head, and kissed him that way—his whole head between her lips, his tongue against his face.

When she let go he stumbled back and fell against her palm, almost panting. He stared up wide-eyed.

“Was that bad?” she murmured.

“N…no,” he got out. He couldn’t sort out his feelings—he was highly adrenalized, a little terrified, and had a raging erection now.

“Good. Just tell me if you want me to stop, hmm?” She brought her hand forward, and traced her tongue slowly up the front of his body, knees up to shoulder, leaving his skin glistening.

She met his eyes a moment, then did the same thing, more slowly and firmly, now leaving him squirming. Her expression was mischievous as she waited to see if he would say stop.

He didn’t.

After a few more seconds she parted her jaws more widely and pressed her tongue to his front, slipping her mouth down around his torso. He made a cry of surprise as her lips sealed, and she dragged them slowly back up his body, finally freeing him and leaving him panting once more.

“Oh my God,” he got out.

“Stop?”

“No! God, no!”

She laughed. “That’s what I want to hear.” The raccoon’s lips slipped down around him again, and this time her tongue curled between his legs and she lifted her head up, taking him out of her hand.

His legs kicked wildly for a moment, awkwardly, but what she was doing with her tongue quickly caught his full attention, even as he stared around from his sprawled position on her tongue. Oh my God, I am in a woman’s mouth.

He wasn’t completely in her mouth then, but she slowly drew him in, legs disappearing between those smooth black lips as her tongue kept up its sliding, slipping pressure. She could taste his increasing excitement and fear mingling.

“Yes,” he gasped, even though her saliva made him splutter. Without fully thinking about it, he found himself pumping himself down against her tongue. He was rewarded by another bone-rattling chrrrrr from the giantess.

It was just a few more seconds before he shuddered, and with a cry he spasmed, coming harder than he could remember ever having done before, in the amazing, surreal slick, hot wetness of her mouth, sliding toward her throat as she tilted her head back—

Even as he kept spasming, he screamed. “Stop!”

She tilted her head back enough that her nose was pointed toward the ceiling, that he faced straight down, head and shoulders in his throat.

“Stop!” he screamed with all his might.

He didn’t hear the laughter she gave in reply as much as feel it. He kept feeling it even after she swallowed, as he slid down her throat, still alive.

She licked her lips, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. “Humans always feel so nice going down,” she murmured.

After his taste faded, she got up and picked up his clothes, then walked over to her dresser, opening the display case on its top, where dozens of sets of clothes were pinned in careful arrangements. She pinned the pants and shirt in place, and stepped back to regard her collection with a smile. “It is a nice shirt, with those subtle silver stripes across the blue.” She rubbed her chin. “I need more red, though. I think that little vixen I’ve seen wears red occasionally. Hmm…”