COMMISSION GIANTESS OFFICE
Just someone growing to be a giantess
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F giantess transformation growth
Description: Just someone growing to be a giantess
Tag: Giantess, transformation, growth, solo.
To say the air was dusty would be an understatement. One could probably press paper from all the particles in the air. They could be seen, floating about the slow current that wound its way through the large warehouse. Ribbons of sunlight shone down through skylights before being drowned out by the harsh, unnatural, buzzing florescent lights that hung several feet below the high ceiling. The sounds of the ceaseless tapping of keys, heavy filing cabinet drawers slamming, and paper rustling filled the rest of the air that wasn't already choked with dust.
Rows of desks filled one section of the cluttered warehouse. Everywhere else was filled with file boxes. Stacks and stacks of boxes, each stuffed full of papers and manila file envelopes. Overfilled, the boxes threatened to burst at the seams, and each time a worker picked up a box and dropped it off at one of the desks, the temp workers sucked in a tight breath and winced. It was their job to sort through the files, filling their filing cabinets until the metal groaned in protest. Only then would the cabinets be carted off on a dolly and packed into ever denser configurations. Every once and a while, one of those boxes would rupture; sometimes, that was the only excitement in a day otherwise filled with sneezes and paper-cuts.
Shantel was one such worker. A short woman at only five-foot two-inches, she was otherwise curvy. Her thick, wavy, hair was dark brown, suiting well with her light brown skin that hinted at a mixed heritage. She had thick eyebrows, full of character and expression, and rich, soulful, eyes. Her smile was big, and her white teeth were perfectly straight. She possessed a plain beauty that could be highlighted by the smallest application of makeup.
Today was not a day for makeup. Dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans, she was dressed for comfort rather than glamor. A purple shirt added a splash of color to an otherwise unassuming ensemble. Finished off with simple sneakers, she was clearly not dressing to impress, even though her lacy black and red undergarments did give her something to smile about inwardly.
Shantel's work was piling up. Tapping away at the phone in her hands, she largely ignored the growing stack of files, choosing to take yet another break to read her news feed. She told everyone about how lame her job was, not only to her friends but to her coworkers too.
"Anyone else hear about Miley Cyrus?" she asked, glancing back at the other workers, all young men and women like her. Valuing their jobs more than her, they kept their heads down. "It says she's posing nude for some magazine cover. Wasn't she on a kids show? That's so weird."
Her words fell on deaf ears, and were soon drowned out by the sounds of shuffling and tapping. Shantel rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, slouching and shifting to find a comfortable position on the old wooden seat. She slid around upon the chair, it's arm rests far to wide for her smallish form. Resigning to put her phone into her pocket and open a file box, she finds a pair of legs standing next to her desk.
"Shantel?" a tall, imposing woman said. Shantel finds her eyes traveling up the woman's body, dressed in a plain, blocky pantsuit, her hair tied back in a tight bun. "Your shift is almost over, and you've hardly done anything. You're half behind your quota. If you don't pick up the speed, we're going to have to rescind your contract."
"No, please," Shantel pleaded, "I need this job. I'll work faster, I promise. It's just ..."
"No excuses Shantel," the manager cut off, "Your coworkers are working three times faster than you. We understand the work is boring, but that's what it is. Work. Not social media time." The manager checked her watch. "You clearly aren't feeling well. Clock out, go home, get some rest, and come back ready to work. Got it?"
Shantel nodded, dejected, as she picked up her things and headed out, unknowing what the next day ahead of her would entail.
The next day, Shantel arrived early for work. She was dressed in the same clothes as the day before. Her hair was disheveled. After punching in, she walked straight past the break room where a few other early birds stood around a coffee pot, trading stories. Any other day, Shantel would have joined in, whether the others wanted to or not. Today, she headed right for her desk, undaunted by the seemingly endless pile of work ahead of her. She needed to make a good impression. Her job depended upon it. Her mother depended upon her.
Humming to herself as she pulled files out of the boxes, she followed procedure nearly to a T. Checking the file label, she thumbed through the papers to see if they all matched. Typing in the file's name, she stuck it into the cabinet alphabetically, to be referenced later if she found stray papers to which it belonged. Having no background in medicine, she couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on here. The words "test", "experiment", and "trial" showed up frequently. Long, polysyllabic words scattered the pages, chemicals that meant nothing to Shantel, or anyone but the doctors for that matter.
Keeping her phone checking to her breaks, Shantel made progress through her stack of work. Unable to catch up in just a day, she at least made an effort. She needed the job.
"Doing better," said the same amazonian woman from the day before as she walked past Shantel's desk. At least she was getting recognized. Hurrying to put her phone away, Shantel thanked her manager and reached back into a box to pull out another file.
This one was heavy. After pulling it out, she found the folder to be wrapped and sealed in strange, green tape, reading "classified" along its length. A warning sticker was slapped crooked on the front and the back.
"Do not open," it read. The tab, the only part that wasn't mummified in plastic, read "Incident 382". Shantel weighed the folder in her hands, and even gave it a little shake near to her ear. Something rattled around inside, like plastic or glass. What could it be? Her curiosity peaked, she nonetheless opened the filing cabinet and stuck the folder in the front, with the other files that began with numbers, before heading off to lunch.
Returning to her desk, her stomach filled and her mind recaffeinated, she plopped down at her desk, ready again to work. Each time she opened the top drawer of her cabinet, she found that green wrapped folder staring back up at her. Each time, it got harder and harder to not pull it out again. A few times, she reached for it, drawing her fingernails along the puckered seam, testing the seal's strength. She peaked around nervously, but found the other temp workers to be focused in their duties.
Pulling the forbidden file from the cabinet, she placed it down on her desk before digging a pen into the edge. The tap popped with finality, and it protested as she drew the pen down the length of the folder, cutting into the tape. Upon opening the file, a glass slide, sealed in plastic, fell out. Bouncing off her thigh, the slide landed flat on the hard floor with a solid clicking sound.
She reached down to pick up the dropped slide, her hand shaky with fear. Turning the slide over in her hand, she found an obvious crack running down its length. Bending the protective cover, the slide cut through the plastic. The slide appeared perfectly clear, making it look brand new, sealed and ready for observation subjects. She held the slide up and smelled it. It smelled sweat and syrupy.
After stuffing the slide back into the file, she peaked around for one final check before thumbing through the pages. More boring writing. Scientific processes, tests and observations, and self-aggrandizement filled the pages. A few words stood out. Growth. Feral. Giantess. Monster.
'Upon achieving full size, the subject went on, to lack a better word, a rampage before it was finally stopped.' Pausing, Shantel read that line again before flipping back through the file. It made no sense. Aside from the words that made no sense, it read like a bad B-movie script. Finding the beginning of the account, Shantel continued to read on.
'The subject arrived at the hospital reporting to have grown a full foot in the matter of an hour. The claim was unexplainable, but the subject was dressed in clothes several sizes too small. At first, doctors thought the claim was a prank, but the patient began to grow before their eyes. Within the span of an hour, she had doubled in size and reached a height of ten feet.'
'With every spurt of growth, which seemed to come in waves, her mental faculties fell. Fear and worry were replaced by anger and hunger. Doctors administered sedatives, but they only temporarily succeeded in halting her growth. She was running a tremendous fever, burning through any drugs given to her.'
'After passing ten feet, the patient's growth accelerated. The hospital was evacuated. Within minutes, the girl continued to grow until she leveled the hospital. Continuing on through the city, she ignored police gunfire. It took the intervention of the military to bring her down.'
'Her body was recovered for study. No one has yet been able to determine the cause of the growth, or the mechanism. Her mass increased as she grew, but she did not have to consume anything to fuel her growth. Included are samples of the subject's sweat, which like her mass seemed to come from nowhere.'
Shantel laughed. What the hell was this, some kind of joke, she thought to herself. What were they filing anyway? Movie scripts? Shantel continued to laugh as she went back to her work.
Minutes past, and Shantel was continuing to make progress though her papers. The forbidden file had been placed back in the cabinet, hoping that her managers wouldn't catch it before her contract was up. She peaked down at the time on her phone, checking when her next break was coming. Still an hour away, she groaned and tried to focus on work. Her attention was lost as the air grew warm. The air conditioning in the building was atrocious, prone to cycling off; apparently, it was a system feature of older units to keep them from freezing over. Whatever the reason, Shantel tugged at the collar of her sweater, seeking to let some steam off.
The heat quickly became unbearable. Getting up from her seat, she walked past the other desks holding the other workers.
"Is anyone else hot?" she asked, fidgeting as she stood in place.
"No," was all she was met with, though not without a few eye rolls. As she stumbled off, growing increasingly uncomfortable, she heard a single voice.
"Probably trying to get out of work again," someone said from amongst the workers.
Trying to not let her reputation get her down, Shantel retreated to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face brought her some relief. She had been sweating, apparent from the dark rim around her collar. Cupping her hands under the running water, she took gulping mouthfuls. Nothing seemed to cool her down. Exiting the bathroom, she made her way back to her seat to try and get some work done; no using proving the naysayers right.
The entire way, her body ached. Her chest felt tight. She tugged at the collar of her sweatshirt, letting air in. Again, walking past her coworkers, she braced for their snide remarks. But this time, instead of being called lazy or slacker, there was only hushed silence. People leaned out from their desks to watch her walk past, confusion stricken over their faces. That only made Shantel feel worse as she hurried past and ducked back into her desk. What she didn't notice was her bare ankles extending down past her pant legs, or how she looked down upon the people she walked past.
The sweating hadn't stopped, and neither did the aching. It was like her whole body was on fire. Taking a deep breath, she found the hot air now cold in comparison to her body. She brought her trembling hands up and placed them on the desk, trying to steady herself as dizziness overcame her. It felt like her clothes were tightening. She could hardly bend her legs anymore. Was she swelling? She tried to remember what she had eaten that day; maybe she was allergic, but nothing stood out. In fact, she was having difficulty remembering anything.
There was a thud to her side. Her manager, that same tall woman in the manly pantsuit, dropped another stack of folders into her box. Confusion was painted over her eyes. Where she once seemed to tower over Shantel, her manager now seemed average. Confusion turned to concern.
"Shantel," she started, "are you feeling alright? I don't need to remind you that if you need to go home early, we'll have to cancel your contract with the temp agency ..."
"No, I'm fine," Shantel heaved, taking all her effort to speak. Her chest was tight. Every breath was a struggle. "It's just an allergic reaction. I took something. I'll be fine. I can finish." She lied.
"Good," the woman said as she walked away, continuing to glance over her shoulder from time to time at Shantel.
Where the woman had once towered over her, she now seemed to have shrunk. She was the same height as Shantel. The realization only succeeded in adding to Shantel's disorientation. It didn't make any sense. She must have had a fever. Sometimes fevers disoriented people, right, she asked herself, trying to make sense of her situation.
Shantel tried to focus upon her work. With a trembling hand, she reached out for a file folder and looked at the label. It didn't make sense. It was like a random series of numbers and letters. A code maybe? She opened it and tried to find something to tell her where to file it, but the whole thing was simply garbled text. Shaking her head, she turned to her computer to search for the file's name.
The computer screen had the same problem. So did the keyboard. Everything was mixed up. Shantel slowly tried to type out the file's name, but a search came up with nothing. It was as if the letters on the monitor were moving around, changing shape, turning from recognizable symbols into little shapes and scratches. She found it impossible to type one key at a time. Shaking hands caused her to slip and mash two or three keys at a time.
She reached into her pocket to pull her phone out. She really wasn't feeling well. Maybe she should call her mother and have her pick her up. Maybe she should let them fire her. Her health was more important, right? Shaking, she held up her phone and tried to dial. But this wasn't her phone. It was tiny. She couldn't hit the buttons on the screen with any accuracy. Tapping at it, she mashed her finger against the screen, but only succeeded in pushing her phone out of her hand. It cracked with an impotent thud as it hit the ground. It remained, ignored, as her attention was drawn elsewhere.
Using the back of her sleeve to wipe the sweat away from her brow, she gasped with fatigue and exhaustion. Fumbling for hem of her sweatshirt, she pulled up on it and tried to pull it off. She found it too tight. The material was stretched to its limits, and she couldn't even pull it up an inch. No wonder she was having a hard time breathing. Flailing this way and that, she knocked over the box of files on her desk. Paper and folders spilled upon the floor, drawing the attention of everyone in the warehouse.
Clawing at her sweatshirt, Shantel tried to tear it free. She could feel it tightening around her neck. Digging her swollen fingers inside, she struggled to pry her collar open. She could feel the material tightening, pinning her fingers against her neck. Everywhere grew tight. She felt like she was going to be squeezed to death. This was the end.
Suddenly, something popped, drawing an surprised cry from some of her coworkers. A seam along the side of her sweatshirt ruptured, giving Shantel instant relief. Calming some, she put her hands on her desk and tried to control her breathing. But the aches continued. She groaned out in pain. Sweat continued to pour from her pours, soaking her clothes so deep that it looked like she had just taken a shower. Her thick curly hair was matted down against her head. Rivers of sweat ran down her forehead. Panting came from her lungs. Tightness continued to overcome her.
Next to tear was her shirt. It tore with the sound of ragged scissors upon thick fabric. Cool air blasted her bare skin, granting momentary relief to the searing heat building inside her. Clawing at her shredded garments, she threw the ragged remains of her sweatshirt and t-shirt to the floor, leaving her in a lacy black and red bra that seemed several sizes too small for her ample chest.
She could feel her toes tight in her shoes. They too must have been shrinking. Trying to wiggle her toes free, she felt the tips of her shoes tear open. Her socks split. The sole of the shoe barely seemed to fit the bottom of her foot. She felt cold concrete, hard and smooth, against her bare feet. Bending to look under the desk, she slammed her knee against the underside of the desk. The whole piece of furniture bounced and lurched, as if it were made of foam board.
Groaning out in pain, everyone now looked up from their work. Shantel clutched her head, clawing at her hair, trying to wipe the sweat out of her eyes. She swung her arms around wildly. Batting her computer monitor, it flew across the room and shattered against a filing cabinet. She could hear the others talking, but they didn't make sense anymore. Nothing did.
Grasping her desk, she felt the wood crush and splinter within her hands. Bringing them to her face, she saw the ragged remains of the wood in her hands. They were so small, like toothpicks.
The tightness returned, this time to her legs. It was like her jeans were painted on. Stretched to the breaking point, the material clung tightly to her curves and musculature. She could see the outline of her knee cap. She could see her calves and ankles extending out from the bottom of her blue jeans. Weren't they longer this morning?
Pain was released as her jeans began to tear, revealing her pale brown skin underneath. Kicking at the ragged cloth, she found her legs naked, leaving her only in her bra and matching panties. Both seemed impossibly small now. Her bra struggled to cup her massive breasts. Her panties did little to hide her nethers. Like the tiniest thong, the fabric bit into her flesh and was hidden within the curvy half-globes of her ass.
Anger coursed through her. Why was this happening to her. What did she do. Yelling out in pain, her cries turned into roars. Panting. Groaning. Growling. Grunting. Her breathing became ragged, raspy snarls. She could hear everyone screaming and running. Furniture was pushed out of the way. People were knocked over. The sounds of their fleeing excited her.
With a sudden jolt, her chair broke beneath her, sending her to the floor. Banging her knees on the underside of the desk again, her legs no longer fit under the tiny office furnishing. Her feet smashed into the desk in front of her. That desk burst to a million pieces, sending computer parts and papers crashing to the floor. The desk behind her pressed up against her back and ass. Sitting on the floor, it looked like was the same height she was when she was standing. Taller even. The entire building around her was shrinking smaller and smaller with every second.
Crushing her tiny desk before her, she placed her hands on the floor and slowly lifted herself up. Her tight thong popped, pinned between her thick thighs. She was left entirely naked, the cold, dusty warehouse air offering much needed relief to her sweaty, searing skin.
Realization finally hit her. Everything wasn't shrinking. She was growing. That file. The slide. The same thing was happening to her. How was she going to get out of this. Could they cure her? What could she do?
Those were her last thoughts.
Roaring, she stood up to her full height. The lights which once dangled high above her banged into her head and tangled into her hair. As she stepped around, some desks were crushed and others were sent flying. Splintering wood couldn't penetrate her skin. It didn't even hurt. Like crushing a sand castle, the growing beast of a woman stomped about as she stumbled this way and that inside the warehouse that was ever becoming a smaller and smaller home.
Screams came from all around her as people fled, searching for any exit they could. Sparks flew as computers were crushed and lights popped. Growling and roaring, the building shook from the power of her voice. She took newfound joy in crushing the desks. Stomping and thrashing about, she lept this way and that, ensuring that no desk remained standing.
People crowded against one final exit, realizing too late that it was locked and no one could open it. Taking the few steps needed to them, Shantel grinned horribly and sent a mighty kick into the door, people, and all. People went flying, only to fall still dozens of feet away. Screams and falling rubble were soon joined by a multitude of sirens in the distance.
Her head burst through the roof and the skylights. Stumbling, she crushed through the roof, causing it to collapse, leaving the walls a ragged ring of brick and mortar around her. The walls didn't last long, as they drew her ire. Ponderous, lumbering kicks were sent into every yard of wall, sending bricks flying into the adjacent buildings. Glass crashed. Stone crunched. And still, people fled and people screamed.
Next were the cars. So many cars. Shantel lept about the parking lot. Stomping. Kicking. Crushing. Grinding. Some of the wrecks burst into flames. Others lay there, lifeless. The cars that fled suffered the worse fate. Shantel, the giantess, picked up the squealing cars, smashing them in her hand before dropping them lifelessly to the floor. Wreckage littered around her as the naked beast crushed everything in her wake.
Soon, the buildings couldn't stand in her wake. Wild swings of her arms sheared the tops of the offices right off. Kicks of her feet and knees sent them collapsing to the floor. Glass shattered and steel girders groaned in protest. Everything collapsed around her like a poor cardboard set. Running from building to building, toppling the tall structures and stomping upon the short ones, the beast seemed to delight in their destruction. Anything that caught her attention was soon a smoking ruin. Then, an orange light caught her eye.
As she continued to grow, she soon towered over the high skyscrapers in the distance. Sweat poured from her flesh, raining misty droplets all around her. The setting sun set her naked skin alight with a million sparkles. Gold, fading to orange in the distance, the sun captured her attention, sending the beast storming off westward in chase as helicopters began to circle like birds following a rampaging beast.