Holiday Bonus

By Aborigen

Helen dreads her company's annual holiday party, with its drunken antics and office politics. Hoping to ride it out in a boozy haze, she instead finds a kindred spirit in intern Jerry, who makes her feel attractive again. Topping it off with the gift of a magical cocktail from a mysterious bartender that shrinks Jerry down to the size of a toy, and Helen indulges in an end-of-year bonus like she couldn't have dreamed of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aborigen
• Release date: Jul 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310173165

Aborigen

Aborigen has been a Size Erotica and Size Fantasy writer ever since his first keyword search for “giantess” in 1993, harboring a love of giant women and a sympathy for tiny men all his life. Over three decades he has become well-known within the GTS community, with over 300 short stories and series uploaded to his blog and various online forums. He hosted a popular flash fiction writing contest for four years, inspiring Size writers around the world to produce and refine their work. Aborigen’s stories explore themes of power, morality, and relationships, examining all forms of “othering” through size differential. His dedication to his craft and his willingness to push the boundaries of the genre make him a distinctive voice in the world of Size Erotica.

Book preview

Holiday Bonus

By Aborigen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Aborigen

Discover other titles by Aborigen at

http://j.mp/AborigenGTS

* * *

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * *

Helen King steered her aging Volvo through the dark woods, tires crunching on gravel with every turn. She picked her way down the winding road, unwilling to go much above 30 mph due to her car’s headlights dimming after years and years of use. Sleet falling from the night sky tapped incessantly against her windshield, blurring her vision and making it that much harder to navigate. Her wipers, also wearing with age and badly needing replacement, did little to clear up her vision.

What the fuck are you doing, she asked herself. You don’t want to go to this thing, and no one there wants to see you. You could be watching TV in bed, warm and cozy, getting drunk in the safety of your own home. Instead, Helen was risking her life, plunging into the hinterlands to find some unheard-of B&B a couple dozen miles east of Greenville, in the middle of the night and in this shitty weather.

And for what? Just to attend some stupid end-of-year party... This was what the owners of Castillo, Schneider & Schwartz called their holiday party. These festivities were part of their year-end bonus to all their loyal employees, with free drinks and a live DJ and everything.

Squinting through a narrow arc of clear windshield, Helen turned one last corner and the pines finally opened up before her. Riesenfeld B&B loomed before her, windows radiated a welcoming yellow-orange light, festive multicolored bulbs running all around the sills, doorways and edges of the roof. Her Volvo rolled to a halt as she stared at it, eyebrows raised. It was a very welcome sight after the last half-hour of harrowing driving, and she was impressed her bosses could front the kind of money to rent a place like this, all expenses covered for their employees.

Helen shrugged and craned around to look for some parking. All along the left and right of her were rows of late-model cars, their smug shimmer of wealth undiminished by the bleak late evening and the sleet. They gave each other respectful space, but there was no gap in the parking until very far from the building, where she’d driven in. Cursing, she cautiously reversed, eyes straining to pick out any expensive sedans or roadsters behind her, and fit herself into the very last slot.

She let her motor run and turned up her radio to drown out the hammering of ice particles on her roof. You could turn around right now. You could back out, crawl your way out of the woods, and be back home in less than an hour. The radio’s vintage dial was dimly lit, a yellowing bulb illuminating fading green ink on the plastic panel. No one would know you were here. Hell, no one would even miss you. Drawing a deep breath through her nostrils, Helen rested her head against the stiff plastic headrest and stared at the ceiling. Its upholstery was sagging and stained with exhaust, sweat, cigarette smoke from the previous owner. The radio was stuck on an oldies station, a tinny guitar barking over a 4/4 bass kick. Sleet continued to pelt the roof, showing no signs of abating.

She pursed her lips, shut off the radio, killed the engine, and cursed to herself as she sprinted—in heels, no less—up the gravel driveway to the broad double doors of Riesenfeld B&B.

*   *   *

The transition struck Helen as magical and complete, coming in from the dark and the rain and the chill. Immediately, dapper staff rushed to her, helped her with the door, took her coat, ushered her into the check-in table. The heavy doors closed solidly behind her, and the patter of inclement weather was replaced by the muted rumble of a large party in progress, just behind another set of double doors across the foyer from where she came in.

It was all a whir, a very welcome blur of activity, this entrance into a new world. All thoughts of her aging, decrepit Volvo melted away as she was shown the gold gift bags trimmed in holly. Her heels clicked on baked clay tiles, and the warmth from a small fireplace nearby began to reinvigorate her chilled flesh. Helen sighed with relief, even a little hope for the evening. All around her, young men and women in starched linen shirts, seasonally hued bow ties, and impeccable manners rushed hither and yon, tending to her needs or supporting the Castillo, Schneider & Schwartz end-of-year celebration. One young woman with bright eyes and an infectious smile stood beside the portal to the party, waiting to heave the doors open for her.

How do I look? Helen asked her, abruptly self-conscious. She smoothed out her scarlet silk skirt and tugged at the hem of her black velvet jacket.

The attendant laughed and waved Helen’s busy hands away from her. You’re going to crush this, Ms. King. Her voice rang clear and pleasant, and her little hands gripped the beefy door handle, and the massy dark oak door swung open and all chaos spilled into the foyer.

Colored lights flashed everywhere, strings of holiday bulbs around the bar on the left and strobing lamps around the DJ booth on the right. Holiday music covers competed with uproarious conversation and laughter. The party room had its own hearth, large enough for an adult to walk into without ducking, and its fire amplified the heat and light throughout the holiday party. The walls were lined with shelves holding trophies, German steins, taxidermy, and thousands upon thousands of classical-looking books.

Helen lost her breath for a moment, her hand lighting upon her chest. She knew all the people here, but this was such a heightened, splendid experience… Have a magical evening, said the attendant before closing the doors. Lost in a moment of rapture, Helen nearly completed the thought to wonder how the young woman knew her name and marital status. Instead, she decided to engage with the party in its own context and slowly went to the bar.

A strapping young man in a black silk vest backed in red velvet grinned winningly at her. And what’ll you have, miss? Helen nearly blushed, composed herself, and ordered two Mojitos.

These guys are the best! blared a round, fleshy face next to her head. Can’t stump ‘em, they know ‘em all! Helen turned to smile at Hugo White, a specialist in intellectual property and a lush given half a chance. I’ve asked for a Stinger, a Brandy Alexander, a Harpoon, but they know ‘em all!

Helen laughed and patted Hugo’s shoulder. Maybe you wanna pace yourself for the evening, old boy. Way back in the day, Hugo and Helen were informal drinking partners, always the two to close down the bar at any happy hour. At some point in her life, though, Helen decided she’d moved past that stage and went to seek other pleasures and pastimes, exactly as Hugo never had.

While the bartender muddled two doses of mint Hugo yelled at his back, "Hey kiddo!