The Realm of the Giants Ch. 01

I've always been big. I was over nine pounds at birth, and always the tallest in my class. I knew the reason for this for my whole life, but it was a secret I kept from most people.

My parents were a very mismatched pair. They never married or even involved with each other for any length of time; they were always clear that it was a brief fling, and when I came along they both agreed to do the adult thing and share custody of me. I spent most of my summers and many weekends with my father, who always treated his time with me as special. Getting to him, though, was a strange journey.

Today I hiked, as I had many times, through the national park and up into the hills. There was a path worn there now, not easy to find, but it was so entrenched in my memory that I dreamt about it frequently. It led to the mouth of a cave, which required a bit of climbing to get into. Inside was a level, easy-to-traverse path into the mountain. You only needed a flashlight for the first little bit; then you would find yourself surrounded by an eerie glow, and could shut the flashlight off. I picked at some of the glowing lichen on the wet walls of the passage, rubbed it between my fingertips, enjoyed the spark of glowing green light that came up.

As a child, I understood all of this as magical. But as a teenager I started to become fascinated with science. No scientist had ever studied this place, but I had, with my limited abilities and tools. I'd seen this lichen under my microscope at home; it was closely related to a lichen that lived natively in my world, in the area around the cave. I suspected that the glow came from some sort of symbiotic bacteria. While I had long ago traded the sense of magical wonder for scientific curiosity, I found it no less inspiring or beautiful. And there were many things I still didn't understand, such as how this cave worked.

New light came up ahead; after about twenty minutes through the cave, I emerged from the other side. This realm looked a lot like my mother's world, but the sky seemed a little further toward the purple. The trees spread out beyond the cave entrance were the same as the other side. Many species were the same, or very similar; there were a few that were unique to either ecosystem.

My father was waiting not far down the path. I ran up to him and threw my arms around his waist. He leaned down, put his big hairy arms around my shoulders and give me a kiss on top of my head.

I may have inherited some of my father's extraordinary height at 6'7, but he still loomed over me at 10'2. I still felt like a little kid when I hugged him. To most people he would seem impossibly huge, but I was used to him. I'd been familiar with him my entire life; I'd been held in those long, thick arms many times. Even as a teenager he could still pick me up and swing me around, and I loved it.

"Happy birthday, my boy. How was the trip?" he asked in his deep, smooth voice. He had a strange accent, a little like Russian. His big vocal chords and thick tongue gave his speech a deep, heavy sound. Most of his English he'd learned from me, while he'd taught me the language of his people when I was young.

"The trip was easy. It's nice weather on the other side. Nice weather here too."

"It sure is. I was thinking of going for a swim in the lake before supper, if you'd like to join me."

"I'd love that." We walked off together, down the path to his hut. He walked with practiced casualness; his usual pace would easily leave me behind with his long strides.

"I'm making your favorite for supper. There's cake, too."

"You didn't have to do that," I said sheepishly. I knew he must have gone into town for it; he wasn't much of a baker.

"Of course I didn't have to," he said with a smirk, and patted me gently on the back with his huge hand, bigger than a dinner plate. I felt my cheeks flush warmly.

I call my Dad's place a hut, but maybe cabin would be a better description. Like most of the huge people of this realm he lives very simply. When I was a teenager obsessed with technology I insisted on attaching a solar panel to the roof, which was all the electricity he had. I would usually bring my laptop, so I could amuse myself with games or watch some movies. My Dad would curl up with me and watch, bewildered. He didn't know much about my mother's world, and understood less of it. But he was so patient. He didn't care what was going on in that tiny screen, he would just wrap an arm around me and cuddle, and he was happy that I was happy.

Lately I'd grown to appreciate my Dad's way of life more. I learned to love cooking on his cast iron stove. I would read books with him by the light of his oil lantern. I even brought him some, which he would read with his huge magnifying glass, turning the pages with his thick but deft sausage-sized fingers. He enjoyed books about my mother's world more than movies.

I should note, my father's world wasn't backwards or primitive or anything like that. In the bigger cities they had atomic energy. There were vaccines, submarines, scientists, explorers. They never went to the moon, not because they lacked the technology, but because they were so practical-minded that they hadn't really figured out a reason to go yet. Despite all of their science and technology, they lived very simple, minimalist lives.

And mostly, I'd learned to love the pace of his life. The people on this side of the tunnel were never in a hurry. They worked, and took their work seriously, but spent about ten to twenty hours a week on it, when they felt like it.

Most of the time they just enjoyed themselves. This world was abundant in resources; nobody had to toil for food. Their days were spent in very simple luxury.

When we got to his porch he stripped off his simple clothing- wool pants and a worn cloth shirt. As he waded out into the lake that his cabin overlooked, I took the opportunity to admire his thick, broad, muscular back. I had a theory that the people on my father's side were descended from the same ancestry as my mother's side, but with much more intermingling with Neanderthals or maybe Denisovans. They were certainly strong and beefy like Neanderthals, and their proportions similar. They had thicker brows, thicker bones, bigger muscles. They tended to be very hirsute. And as my mother and father had proven, they were the same species, capable of interbreeding. I don't know where the height comes from, though. My Dad is fairly average for a man on this side; I had met men who towered even over him, outliers in the eleven to twelve foot range.

I took off my clothes too. One of the things I love about my father's culture is the very relaxed attitude to nudity; I never had to suffer with clothing in the heat, though my Dad always fretted over my lighter skin, which burned so much easier than his. I sometimes hated being on my mother's side of the tunnel, where I had to wear clothing and act modest.

I splashed into the water after my father, who turned back to smile at me. I couldn't help my eyes wandering down his round, furry belly to his crotch. Because of the relaxed attitudes about nudity, I knew that the average man on this side was more well endowed than on the other side, even accounting for scale. I had inherited some of those genes too; I knew I had a big penis for a man in my mother's realm, but even for this realm my father's cock was enormous. He was better endowed than my uncles, or most of the other men I had seen. It hung from his crotch, swaying like the trunk of an elephant. I found it breathtaking, not just for its size, but it seemed so masculine and beautiful.

He saw me stare, and smiled. The sexual mores here were far different; culturally, my father's people were like bonobos. They had sex frequently, with no barriers on gender or social role. It was considered polite, friendly behaviour, like shaking hands or hugging. Even among family members. It was normal for siblings to enjoy each other, for adult parents to bond with their adult children. It was particularly common for men to enjoy themselves with their sons. The only real mores were against family procreation, and underage participation.

"You like it?" he asked, grabbing his flaccid cock in his meaty hand and swinging it around with a laugh. "You're of age now. Go ahead and touch it, if you like."

I stood there, knee deep in the lake, and reached out. I felt some of the shame and guilt from spending so much time in the other realm; but I knew this day was coming. I'd looked forward to it. He towered over me, his cock hanging at about my chest level, though his foreskin ended somewhere around my belly button.

I held it in both hands, lifted it gently, enjoyed the weight of it. It was surprisingly heavy. I looked up at him. He was smiling proudly.

"I know that things are different where your Mom lives. I know this might seem strange for you. Take your time; I would never demand anything from you."

"It's okay, Dad." I lifted his cock to my mouth, kissed it gently, rubbed it against my beard. I could feel it starting to get hard in my hands, twitching and getting stiffer.

He gently held the side of my head in his hand, as he often did. He was so sweet and tender.

He was about half hard now, his cock starting to point towards me it's own strength., but I still held it and caressed it gently. Veins and sinews began to show and bulge.

I stared at it wide-eyed now. His cock was bigger than my forearm; thick and long. I felt a surge of inadequacy; there was no way I could ever wrap my lips around it, let alone take it inside me. It was what was expected of me, but more importantly I wanted it so badly. I wanted to pleasure him- even to serve him, to offer him my body to use, to belong to him. That was an urge I'd understood from the other realm; here, power dynamics in sexual play were far less common. I didn't know if he'd ever understand how badly I wanted to submit to him.

He gently took my arms away from his throbbing flesh, and smiled down at me. He seemed to understand my trepidation about his size, even if he probably didn't guess about my unusual desires.

"Don't worry about that now. We'll figure out something, we'll have some fun later. I'm looking forward to exploring that. For now, let's have a swim."

I nodded, relieved, and followed him further into the lake, where we dove in and splashed around. I loved my Dad's childlike sense of fun. He splashed at me, dove in and swam around, poking me from underwater. At one point where my feet couldn't reach the bottom, his could, and he picked me up in his strong arms and laughed that deep hearty laugh, and tossed me back in with a big splash.

Once we'd had our fun, we floated for a while, and waded back out of the water. We rinsed in the cool water he pumped up from the well, and checked each other over for leeches. Dad put on a pair of loose pants, and I pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans. People here rarely wore shirts unless it was cold, so I got to admire his big strong arms, thickly furred chest, and round belly.

Growing up in two different cultures, I had two favorites of just about everything. Here in my father's world, there were far fewer birds, so nobody had ever bred a chicken or knew the ecstasy of having it deep-fried and battered. In the world that loved to boil things in oil, nobody knew how good trilobite tasted roasted with goat butter over an open fire. My Dad knew how to cook it perfectly, and we both smiled at each other through beards coated in grease. It was an important part of the culture here to show genuine enjoyment of sensual delights, from messy eating, to gasps and smiles at art, to orgasming with a loud roar- it didn't matter if the whole village heard you, in fact, they would smile and nod and appreciate that you didn't hold back. There was never any showboating or exaggeration, though. Because they were so genuine with their enjoyment of pleasure, the idea of pretending it seemed alien.

Cake here was very different, too. Here it was made with yeast instead of sodium bicarbonate, and liberally sweetened with caramelized sugar. It was delicious.

After we were done, Dad smiled at me. I knew what was on his mind. He wasn't pressuring me, wasn't expecting it. Just offering it, and knowing how badly I wanted to take him up on him.

He sat on his bed- a simple mattress on the floor, and gestured me over. We were always comfortable with each other, always cuddled when I came to visit. There was no awkwardness there, but I did feel the uncertainty of opening up new activities with him.

I came as he asked, and sat beside him. He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, looked lovingly in my eyes.

"I love you, son. I'm very proud of the man you've become. I'm very excited to welcome you into manhood."

"I'm excited too, Dad. I'm nervous though. And I feel bad that I won't be able to do... everything with you."

He smiled and grasped the cylinder that was plainly visible in outline through his pants.

"That's alright. If you're really determined, and willing to be patient, maybe we can get there eventually. Your mother was much smaller than you, and eventually we were able to make it work... you're the proof of that."

He was so welcoming, so available, that I worked up the courage to reach out and stroke that huge cock. It was incredible to think that this gargantuan member had pumped out the seed that made me. I wondered how much cum my father could produce. I was determined to find out.

"I just want to pleasure you, Dad."

"There's many ways to do that."

"I know, but... I really, really want to...."

He could see that I was struggling to phrase what was on my mind.

"You can tell me, son. I won't judge you. I know you spend a lot of time in a different place, with different ideas about sex. Whatever it is, we can work it out together. I'll be open minded, you know that."

I thought about all of the strange things I'd carried through that tunnel over the years, so eager to show my father, so excited to introduce him to the wonders of my birth world. I'd carried some of that greasy chicken, still somewhat warm, which he'd tried so patiently to separate from the bone with his big fingers and teeth. I'd laughed and peeled it apart from the bone for him, and he'd chewed thoughtfully on the little mouthfuls. He didn't hate it, but it was very strange for him. I'd carried over sweet chocolate- among the giants they only drank it as a hot, unsweetened beverage, which was awful to me but more popular than coffee. He looked at me with a very peculiar expression as an entire slab of chocolate melted on his tongue. He didn't judge me for liking it, and was very gracious in not saying how much he hated it. Giants have a very different taste for sweet.

Then, all those comics and movies and video games. He had thoroughly enjoyed the books I brought him, and patiently sat through the movies because it was quality time, but his fingers were too big for controllers and comic books were too peculiar to another culture, a visual language he had a hard time wrapping his mind around.

After all of that- what would he think of the strange, foreign desires I had? "I want to make you feel good."

"Of course. We'll make each other feel good."

"I mean... I want it to be about you. About... me serving you. I want to submit to you. Does anybody in this world have sex like that?"

He nodded thoughtfully. "Sometimes. I think it's a little different. Sometimes it's fun to have rough sex, like angry animals. Even inflict some pain. Usually one partner ends up submitting to the other. Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

"It's sort of like that. In the other world, there are dominants and submissives. They don't fight for domination, the subs just happily submit and do as they're ordered."

"The dominants are their bosses?" He struggled a bit with translating the concept between language and culture barriers.

"Kind of." I continued gently stroking his cock through his pants, enjoying how it was getting firm again. I liked to think that the ideas we were talking about were part of what was getting him excited. I know I was getting rock hard from this conversation.

"It's an intriguing idea. What does the sub get from this?"

"For a sub, serving their dom is all the pleasure and satisfaction they need. Good masters reward their subs, too. But it's not all about that. The reward is knowing they've done a good job."

"What kinds of things do the subs do for the dom?"

"Sexual things. Letting the doms use them, use their bodies for pleasure. Like toys. Or taking out their sadistic urges, like tying them up and hurting them- spanking them, using hot wax, that kind of thing." I knew this kind of sensory play was done here, but with less of the power dynamic.

"And you are like this? You are submissive?"

"I think so. I fantasize a lot about submitting to you, Dad. About following your orders and letting you enjoy my body however you want."

"It's interesting."

"Do you find it disturbing? Gross?" I wasn't sure how the giants would interpret this kind of fetish; was it so foreign that it would be taboo? Or just so unheard of that it would be considered nonsensical?

"No, not gross. Not at all. Strange, maybe. But intriguing. The idea of ordering you around and making you do whatever I want is kind of fun, actually. Like a game, yes? A sexual game? As you can probably tell, it kind of turns me on."

I smiled, feeling his now fully engorged cock. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"We will try, of course. You're my son; I love and respect you, and want you to be happy. Maybe we'll both enjoy it and have a great time. Maybe it won't work out, and we'll do something else. There are hundreds of ways to have sex, it's only important to find ways we both enjoy."

"Thank you, Daddy," I said. I laid my head on his massive chest, feeling his chest hair rub the side of my face.

"My pleasure, son." I felt his big hand gently stroke my body, and I felt so little and taken care of. His fingers were so long that his whole hand could cup my entire backside, and he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you ready for your Dad's orders, boy?"

"Yes, Daddy. Whatever you want."

"Get on your knees," he said firmly. He spread his legs. I clammored to kneel before him, his huge thighs on either side of my my face. I felt his big hand move up my body to cup the back of my head, and he pushed down towards his crotch. He pulled the waistband of his pants down, and his enormous hard-on bounced up and nearly slapped me in the face. But he wasn't aiming me there; he pulled his cock aside and pushed my face into his beautiful big balls instead.

"You need to learn my scent," he told me. "Imprint on it. Crave it. Get your nose in there."

His balls were like big, hanging avocados in his hairy sack. I held them gently in my hands and buried my face in them. He smelled wonderful- so natural, a little musky but clean. Men here didn't trim or shave; I ran my hands through his soft thick pubic hair, caressing and touching him. It was heavenly.

"Get a good lick. I want you to know my taste." I did as he said, savouring him. I felt dizzy with the smell and taste of his crotch. I could feel his jutting cock twitching against my temple, and I craved it so much.

I felt his meaty fingers stroke the back of my head, and it felt wonderful. He sighed with pleasure. I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be, doing whatever he told me, letting him use me.

Suddenly he pivoted his hips and lifted his legs up. He pulled his pants off, revealing his hairy legs and thick muscular ass. His pink hole turned to face me, surrounded by a forest of hair.

"Lick it," he ordered, and pushed my head down. Unhesitating, I stuck my tongue out and stroked his puckered hole like an ice cream cone. He let out a little moan, and pushed my face harder into his ass.