FA+
Shop
1619
Views
Views
40
Favorites
Favorites
Category
All / Macro / Micro
Species Gazelle
Size 869 x 1280
File Size 243.2 kB
Report this content
More from Pipolla
Listed in Folders
I am on fire this weekend. Here's another profile.
Height: 16’ (4.9m) and rising
Age: late 30s
Abilities: None (rampant hormones); sizeshifting paraphernalia
Occupation: Front desk receptionist of Micron Corp.
Appearance
Micron Corp. reception. A sea of corporate suits churn and roil around you, above you. Faceless giants of capitalism rush to and fro in the race to boost their quarterly profits, their careless strides threaten to drown your poor ass in gray cashmere and trample you beneath shoes worth more than your paycheck. Your only refuge from the relentless deluge of macroeconomics is the front desk, a towering eight-foot slab of lacquered wood standing between you and your appointment. Knocking on its smooth surface hurts your knuckles, your muscles strain from jumping, shoulders sore and stiff trying to grasp the lip just out of reach. All just to get the receptionist’s attention. The towering gazelle above ignores the shouting, your pleas for assistance fall on deaf ears and an incessant scraping sound creeps over clacking heels and the background corporatese scratching at your ears. So you risk it; you dive into the deep end of creased pants and pressed skirts, falling soles and thumping heels to find the overbusty antelope filing her nails, more engrossed with her manicure than helping you. All she offers is an annoyed glance up and a heavy sigh when she finally spies the runt that’s been pestering her. “This better be good.”
History
If you were to crack open the family album and look through Annette’s old photos, you’d be shocked to see a short and wholly unremarkable child. You wouldn’t find anything in those dusty pages hinting at the lazy and overgrown gazelle she is today. There’d only be memories of childhood innocence, a proud student with good grades, a girl who enjoyed playing with other girls rather than roughing it up with any boys. Turn the page, and you can see when puberty struck. That’s when she grew. And grew. Come jr. high, a seven foot Annette towered over her parents and siblings, her classmates and her teachers. All the boys battling their own rampant hormones wanted to ogle and date her, and all the jealous girls ostracized an awkward teen who only wanted to be their friend. The pressure to fit in sent her grades plummeting. Her parents struggled to keep their growing daughter clothed when everything they bought a week ago no longer fit. By high school she was ten feet tall and showed no signs of slowing down. But as her body developed, her grades began picking up. All those Ds and Fs became As seemingly overnight. All the embarrassing parent/teacher conference requests disappeared to her family’s relief. Annette had found her solution: put those gawking boys to work. The smart ones did her homework and projects for her in exchange for the pleasure speaking to her or filing her cloven nails. Others got smart and joined in. Faculty could only turn a blind eye to the gazelle turning their classrooms into her academic sweatshops. What could they do to stop a giant of a student who was getting taller and taller by the day? Resigned, they shrugged and endured, knowing she’d leave in three years and they’d never have to put up with her again.
Her body had yet to cease growing after graduation. Ten feet became twelve, then fourteen. Her bust strained through the alphabet, her clothing flew through double digits as she coasted into her first job, passing the interview without even saying a word. She found work no different from school: the men did the heavy lifting for her. Her nails needed filing, her girlfriends needed texting – celebrity gossip to catch-up on – far more important than any of that job junk. And there she stayed, until she simply grew bored of her fawning throng and left. The cycle of expanding and “working” and unemployment would repeat itself over the years, until one day, she saw an ad that Micron Corp. was looking for a front desk receptionist. “Why not?” she thought. Annette got the job when her breasts crashed through her future supervisor’s door.
Abilities
Since her hormones have never received the memo to stop puberty, Annette’s height and proportions continue to swell steadily larger as she ages, an embarrassment she’s learned to turn to her advantage. She’s become accustomed to using her absurd size to get what she wants. It’s easy to persuade a cop to drop a speeding ticket when you present them the opportunity to stick their upper half down your cleavage. A quick flash of her monstrous bust is all she needs for the steep discounts and freebies to come rolling in. Being sixteen feet tall means crushing anyone underhoof who dares to get in her way of her shopping, overwhelming the heads of taller folk with her massive breasts and threatening outright suffocation under gazelle booty if she wants people’s seats in a theater. Annette is not above leveraging her sizable assets to exploit people’s crippling weakness for thicc to keep her job either.
Working for a faceless money-grubbing soul-destroying size-based corporation occasionally has its perks. Once in a while the R&D department hands out goodie bags – soft launch gadgets as teasers of new product releases, or failed but relatively harmless rejects of a manufacturing test run that in no way violates any of the occupational health and safety clauses on page 42, section 4, subsection 20 of the employee contract or the post-employment confidentiality agreement. Rather than lace the cafeteria food with Sneez n’ Shrink™ to prank her fellow worker drones, she keeps a stash of these contraptions at her desk to deter any bothersome clients, who risk being shrunk to specks should they choose to bother her.
Personality
‘Surly.’ ‘Incompetent beyond measure.’ ‘Failure to meet and engage client focus as per Micron Corp. standards.’ ‘Insulted the CFO’s tie.’ ‘Declined after-hours socialization request.’ Just some of the flattering disciplinary action notices she has received during her tenure as the front desk receptionist. Annette pays more attention to filing her nails than filing any paperwork. Inbound calls fill the reception hall while she texts away, the few she answers are forwarded to random departments; clients heading to meetings are given directions to the utility closet on the 21st floor, to the frustration of her superiors. VIPs are met with a heaving sigh and the rolling of her eyes as she’s forced to actually do her job. And guests on the short side are outright ignored. Her faithful metric is her trusty eight foot high desk: if she can’t see you, you’re not worth talking to. Complaints pile up, and the gazelle shrugs them off, knowing her lecherous supervisor will always clean up her messes for a pat on the head and a tantalizing nuzzle of her chest. In short, she has no idea how to do her job, nor the inclination to learn. Work is a means to and end for the gazelle: Annette holds no loyalty to the Micron Corp. family, and possesses zero drive to improve and ascend the byzantine corporate ladder. She does the bare minimum, if it can be called that, to stay employed.
Her home life is equally apathetic. Clothes and trash litter her apartment while she lounges in her underwear, too lazy to clean or put away her things. She rather lay on the couch or in bed and watch her chick flicks and gorge herself on empty calories than lift a finger and do anything resembling productive. That’s what Flint is for. All of this is for a reason, or so she claims: she is merely preparing herself for her retirement – lazing in the lap of luxury in the tropics beneath an umbrella, her every whim tended to by her army of scantily-clad beefcakes. Whether anyone buys it is none of her concern.
Hobbies & Interests
Being glued to her bed or the couch, armed with her laptop and piles of snacks, mindless binge eating and show watching make up a lazy weekend. She is content stuffing her face and watching her favorite dramas. The calories pile up as she crams cookies and chips into her mouth and texts her bffs between shows, while her poor captive crocodilian, Flint, cleans up after her. On days he’s been especially good, she’ll give the burly reptile some of his size back so he can do her nails, feed her, and clean up all the things he had been too small to handle.
The days she feels like going out, she hangs out with her girlfriends and they all go shopping, clubbing, or go out to bars and cafés for drinks to catch up and gossip about their jobs. Those days she trades corporate gray and green blouses for revealing tops and skintight leggings. Her favorite place is the spa, so she can live out her retirement fantasy. The staff considers the gazelle and her entourage a huge pain due to her sheer immensity and her constant demands that she and her gal pals be waited on hand and hoof.
Unfortunately for everyone, work occupies a vast portion of her time. So she gets even by infuriating her co-workers and teasing her supervisor to keep her brain from going numb between bursts of rapid-fire texts and nail filing. Some days she’ll smuggle Flint inside, tucked safely away between her enormous breasts. She’ll plop him on her desk, what little that isn’t smothered by her chest, then pass the time by toying with him, forcing him to dodge her drumming fingertips, watching him scurry away from eraser shavings and paperclips and literal mountains of paperwork. If questioned by curious spectators, Annette jokingly asks if they’d like to join him. There’s plenty of room in the terrarium at home, she insists as they back away. Sadly nobody’s taken up her offer.
Relations
Annette’s supervisor is the only person in Micron Corp. keeping her from getting fired. The doberman smooths over the ruffled feathers of clients when she’s offended them, and sooths the rage of her superiors when she’s tossed out their mail or shredded some important document. Her incompetence has left him more than a little frayed after having to endure threats of termination day in and day out. Why, then, does he put up with her ineptitude? What does he gain from keeping such a terrible employee around? That body of hers is what keeps him going. Asking her to retrieve this and that so he can watch her gigantic tits jiggle and massive ass thrust in his face on command every time she stuffs his tiny office, an old security room brushing against her territory, front desk reception. The horny dog has kept its solitary feed functional: one camera directly above her, zoomed in on the expanse of her cleavage. He’d hate to lose such a massive asset to the corporation, whose presence has massively improved his physical productivity. His heart and loins would sink if she ever left! She’s well aware of his lecherous nature and uses it against him, pinning him to his desk, suffocating him beneath one tit as thanks for covering for her yet again, all just to butter him up and demand another raise.
Her Flint is the hulking brute of a crocodile she keeps under her thumb in more ways than one. He showed up one day, another annoyance pestering her about some application. Which she promptly faxed to HR (read: shredded). But his imposing size and rugged physique caught her interest. Rather than dismiss him, she shrank him and took him home. Now he is herminiaturized slave vertically challenged housekeeper who only has a foot at most, enough to handle the towering gazelle’s laundry and clean an apartment fit for a giant, which only makes his tasks even harder. He fights back now and then – calls her a crazy bitch and threatens to run away or call the police – a trait she’s found endearing. She’s rather fond of hunks who can put up with her. In her purse she keeps a switch. Whenever he’s unruly, all it takes is a press of a button, and the collar around his neck shrinks him smaller. Somehow she found out Flint is the drummer of City Thrasher, some punk band she’s never heard of. With her boy toy so small and helpless, she’s grown bolder and more assertive with his handling, going so far as demanding a hefty cut of his earnings from their shows – an investment in her early retirement portfolio. Acceptance was the only way he’d be allowed to return to normal. But she attends his shows, standing in the back with earplugs, thumbing the device in her purse while she texts her bffs. Her presence is a physical reminder of who has the leash. And she isn’t afraid to yank on it hard.
If you haven't figured it out yet, the order I'm going in is based on groups. Every character in a group is related to each other in some way: Vivian's family and friends; Maxine and her guinea pigs and a few employees at her future job. There's one more in this batch, after that it's off to another group.
So, why this order? Cuz they got art :v I have a lot of characters and many of them don't have artwork yet. Everyone in a group has got to have a picture, or their batch won't get worked on. A lack of visuals keeps me from working on some of the more interesting folks. If only knew who to throw money at!
If you've made it this far, grats again. Let me know what you think!
Annette appears in: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/19900834/
Art done by
sybilthesnake / SizeSnake on Twitter
Annette belong to me
Flint belongs to Sybil
Height: 16’ (4.9m) and rising
Age: late 30s
Abilities: None (rampant hormones); sizeshifting paraphernalia
Occupation: Front desk receptionist of Micron Corp.
Appearance
Micron Corp. reception. A sea of corporate suits churn and roil around you, above you. Faceless giants of capitalism rush to and fro in the race to boost their quarterly profits, their careless strides threaten to drown your poor ass in gray cashmere and trample you beneath shoes worth more than your paycheck. Your only refuge from the relentless deluge of macroeconomics is the front desk, a towering eight-foot slab of lacquered wood standing between you and your appointment. Knocking on its smooth surface hurts your knuckles, your muscles strain from jumping, shoulders sore and stiff trying to grasp the lip just out of reach. All just to get the receptionist’s attention. The towering gazelle above ignores the shouting, your pleas for assistance fall on deaf ears and an incessant scraping sound creeps over clacking heels and the background corporatese scratching at your ears. So you risk it; you dive into the deep end of creased pants and pressed skirts, falling soles and thumping heels to find the overbusty antelope filing her nails, more engrossed with her manicure than helping you. All she offers is an annoyed glance up and a heavy sigh when she finally spies the runt that’s been pestering her. “This better be good.”
History
If you were to crack open the family album and look through Annette’s old photos, you’d be shocked to see a short and wholly unremarkable child. You wouldn’t find anything in those dusty pages hinting at the lazy and overgrown gazelle she is today. There’d only be memories of childhood innocence, a proud student with good grades, a girl who enjoyed playing with other girls rather than roughing it up with any boys. Turn the page, and you can see when puberty struck. That’s when she grew. And grew. Come jr. high, a seven foot Annette towered over her parents and siblings, her classmates and her teachers. All the boys battling their own rampant hormones wanted to ogle and date her, and all the jealous girls ostracized an awkward teen who only wanted to be their friend. The pressure to fit in sent her grades plummeting. Her parents struggled to keep their growing daughter clothed when everything they bought a week ago no longer fit. By high school she was ten feet tall and showed no signs of slowing down. But as her body developed, her grades began picking up. All those Ds and Fs became As seemingly overnight. All the embarrassing parent/teacher conference requests disappeared to her family’s relief. Annette had found her solution: put those gawking boys to work. The smart ones did her homework and projects for her in exchange for the pleasure speaking to her or filing her cloven nails. Others got smart and joined in. Faculty could only turn a blind eye to the gazelle turning their classrooms into her academic sweatshops. What could they do to stop a giant of a student who was getting taller and taller by the day? Resigned, they shrugged and endured, knowing she’d leave in three years and they’d never have to put up with her again.
Her body had yet to cease growing after graduation. Ten feet became twelve, then fourteen. Her bust strained through the alphabet, her clothing flew through double digits as she coasted into her first job, passing the interview without even saying a word. She found work no different from school: the men did the heavy lifting for her. Her nails needed filing, her girlfriends needed texting – celebrity gossip to catch-up on – far more important than any of that job junk. And there she stayed, until she simply grew bored of her fawning throng and left. The cycle of expanding and “working” and unemployment would repeat itself over the years, until one day, she saw an ad that Micron Corp. was looking for a front desk receptionist. “Why not?” she thought. Annette got the job when her breasts crashed through her future supervisor’s door.
Abilities
Since her hormones have never received the memo to stop puberty, Annette’s height and proportions continue to swell steadily larger as she ages, an embarrassment she’s learned to turn to her advantage. She’s become accustomed to using her absurd size to get what she wants. It’s easy to persuade a cop to drop a speeding ticket when you present them the opportunity to stick their upper half down your cleavage. A quick flash of her monstrous bust is all she needs for the steep discounts and freebies to come rolling in. Being sixteen feet tall means crushing anyone underhoof who dares to get in her way of her shopping, overwhelming the heads of taller folk with her massive breasts and threatening outright suffocation under gazelle booty if she wants people’s seats in a theater. Annette is not above leveraging her sizable assets to exploit people’s crippling weakness for thicc to keep her job either.
Working for a faceless money-grubbing soul-destroying size-based corporation occasionally has its perks. Once in a while the R&D department hands out goodie bags – soft launch gadgets as teasers of new product releases, or failed but relatively harmless rejects of a manufacturing test run that in no way violates any of the occupational health and safety clauses on page 42, section 4, subsection 20 of the employee contract or the post-employment confidentiality agreement. Rather than lace the cafeteria food with Sneez n’ Shrink™ to prank her fellow worker drones, she keeps a stash of these contraptions at her desk to deter any bothersome clients, who risk being shrunk to specks should they choose to bother her.
Personality
‘Surly.’ ‘Incompetent beyond measure.’ ‘Failure to meet and engage client focus as per Micron Corp. standards.’ ‘Insulted the CFO’s tie.’ ‘Declined after-hours socialization request.’ Just some of the flattering disciplinary action notices she has received during her tenure as the front desk receptionist. Annette pays more attention to filing her nails than filing any paperwork. Inbound calls fill the reception hall while she texts away, the few she answers are forwarded to random departments; clients heading to meetings are given directions to the utility closet on the 21st floor, to the frustration of her superiors. VIPs are met with a heaving sigh and the rolling of her eyes as she’s forced to actually do her job. And guests on the short side are outright ignored. Her faithful metric is her trusty eight foot high desk: if she can’t see you, you’re not worth talking to. Complaints pile up, and the gazelle shrugs them off, knowing her lecherous supervisor will always clean up her messes for a pat on the head and a tantalizing nuzzle of her chest. In short, she has no idea how to do her job, nor the inclination to learn. Work is a means to and end for the gazelle: Annette holds no loyalty to the Micron Corp. family, and possesses zero drive to improve and ascend the byzantine corporate ladder. She does the bare minimum, if it can be called that, to stay employed.
Her home life is equally apathetic. Clothes and trash litter her apartment while she lounges in her underwear, too lazy to clean or put away her things. She rather lay on the couch or in bed and watch her chick flicks and gorge herself on empty calories than lift a finger and do anything resembling productive. That’s what Flint is for. All of this is for a reason, or so she claims: she is merely preparing herself for her retirement – lazing in the lap of luxury in the tropics beneath an umbrella, her every whim tended to by her army of scantily-clad beefcakes. Whether anyone buys it is none of her concern.
Hobbies & Interests
Being glued to her bed or the couch, armed with her laptop and piles of snacks, mindless binge eating and show watching make up a lazy weekend. She is content stuffing her face and watching her favorite dramas. The calories pile up as she crams cookies and chips into her mouth and texts her bffs between shows, while her poor captive crocodilian, Flint, cleans up after her. On days he’s been especially good, she’ll give the burly reptile some of his size back so he can do her nails, feed her, and clean up all the things he had been too small to handle.
The days she feels like going out, she hangs out with her girlfriends and they all go shopping, clubbing, or go out to bars and cafés for drinks to catch up and gossip about their jobs. Those days she trades corporate gray and green blouses for revealing tops and skintight leggings. Her favorite place is the spa, so she can live out her retirement fantasy. The staff considers the gazelle and her entourage a huge pain due to her sheer immensity and her constant demands that she and her gal pals be waited on hand and hoof.
Unfortunately for everyone, work occupies a vast portion of her time. So she gets even by infuriating her co-workers and teasing her supervisor to keep her brain from going numb between bursts of rapid-fire texts and nail filing. Some days she’ll smuggle Flint inside, tucked safely away between her enormous breasts. She’ll plop him on her desk, what little that isn’t smothered by her chest, then pass the time by toying with him, forcing him to dodge her drumming fingertips, watching him scurry away from eraser shavings and paperclips and literal mountains of paperwork. If questioned by curious spectators, Annette jokingly asks if they’d like to join him. There’s plenty of room in the terrarium at home, she insists as they back away. Sadly nobody’s taken up her offer.
Relations
Annette’s supervisor is the only person in Micron Corp. keeping her from getting fired. The doberman smooths over the ruffled feathers of clients when she’s offended them, and sooths the rage of her superiors when she’s tossed out their mail or shredded some important document. Her incompetence has left him more than a little frayed after having to endure threats of termination day in and day out. Why, then, does he put up with her ineptitude? What does he gain from keeping such a terrible employee around? That body of hers is what keeps him going. Asking her to retrieve this and that so he can watch her gigantic tits jiggle and massive ass thrust in his face on command every time she stuffs his tiny office, an old security room brushing against her territory, front desk reception. The horny dog has kept its solitary feed functional: one camera directly above her, zoomed in on the expanse of her cleavage. He’d hate to lose such a massive asset to the corporation, whose presence has massively improved his physical productivity. His heart and loins would sink if she ever left! She’s well aware of his lecherous nature and uses it against him, pinning him to his desk, suffocating him beneath one tit as thanks for covering for her yet again, all just to butter him up and demand another raise.
Her Flint is the hulking brute of a crocodile she keeps under her thumb in more ways than one. He showed up one day, another annoyance pestering her about some application. Which she promptly faxed to HR (read: shredded). But his imposing size and rugged physique caught her interest. Rather than dismiss him, she shrank him and took him home. Now he is her
If you haven't figured it out yet, the order I'm going in is based on groups. Every character in a group is related to each other in some way: Vivian's family and friends; Maxine and her guinea pigs and a few employees at her future job. There's one more in this batch, after that it's off to another group.
So, why this order? Cuz they got art :v I have a lot of characters and many of them don't have artwork yet. Everyone in a group has got to have a picture, or their batch won't get worked on. A lack of visuals keeps me from working on some of the more interesting folks. If only knew who to throw money at!
If you've made it this far, grats again. Let me know what you think!
Annette appears in: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/19900834/
Art done by
sybilthesnake / SizeSnake on TwitterAnnette belong to me
Flint belongs to Sybil
Category All / Macro / Micro
Species Gazelle
Size 869 x 1280px
File Size 243.2 kB
Comments