Wicked beauty Roxy, a wisp of a woman with eyes like molten gold, was anything but delicate and she was about to prove that with some serious giantess magic. Her beauty was a cruel mask, hiding a heart twisted by perverse bitterness. She had spent years simmering in resentment, watching worthless men trivialize her, dismiss her beauty as frivolous, and underestimate her intelligence. Now, with a potion brewed under a blood moon, she was no longer a delicate flower. She was a towering behemoth, her skin the color of storm clouds, her hair a tangled mass of obsidian.

The men, once so bold, now cowered under her shadow. Giantess Roxy plucked them from their homes, each one a pathetic miniature plaything in her immense hands. She stripped them bare and dropped them into glass jars, tiny universes of terror, where she could observe them, dissect their fear, and play with their wee bodies as she saw fit. They were her man toys, her tiny dicked trophies, a testament to her power. Roxy, the witch, had become a giantess queen, and the world was her twisted little playground.

Find out how giantess Roxy tortured the wee men

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