Bigger girls equals bigger profits, right?
Sketched by the amazing Tsukishima97
—
You arrive at Solution Giants with your résumé tucked neatly under your arm, posture straight, tie adjusted, confidence at a comfortable hum beneath your ribs. This is the kind of company you’ve always dreamed of—sleek glass building, modern signage, the kind of place that radiates opportunity from the moment you step inside.
The lobby feels normal enough. Bright lighting, crisp air-conditioning, gentle music piped through unseen speakers. You walk up to the front desk, give your name, and the receptionist—who seems perfectly average-sized—checks you in without so much as glancing up.
“Have a seat. The interviewer will call you shortly.”
You thank her and sit down, tapping your foot lightly to keep the nerves from settling in too long. It feels like any other interview you’ve been to. Clean floors, clicking keyboards, the faint smell of coffee drifting through the air. You let your thoughts wander into pleasant territory: how well you prepared, how promising this position sounded, how good it will feel to land a job at such a reputable company.
You’re grounded. Controlled. Certain.
At least… until the elevator dings.
—
The doors slide open, and out steps a woman so tall you instinctively think she must be on stilts—except she isn’t. She strides forward with the casual confidence of someone used to being well over three meters tall, her heels striking the marble floor with a resonant thoom that you feel in your chest.
She’s enormous.
Not just tall—massive in every sense. Her proportions are exaggerated hourglass curves wrapped in immaculate business attire that seems to hug and emphasize every impossible line of her body. Her blouse strains around her chest; her pencil skirt rides the boundaries of physics; even the ID badge clipped to her hip looks tiny and overwhelmed.
Your eyes dart away immediately, cheeks warming. Professional. You need to stay professional.
But then another one walks by.
And another.
And suddenly you realize every single woman in this lobby is built the same way—towering over you at three, maybe four meters in height, each with curves so dramatic they look sculpted, each with deep, resonant voices that rumble in the space like distant thunder.
Their footsteps shake the floor ever so slightly.
You sit very still, gripping your résumé just a little too tight.
What… what is this place?
You try to focus on your breathing. You try to keep things normal, rational. But you can’t shake the creeping sense that you’re the only person here who isn’t carved out of some giantess fantasy.
Your thoughts stammer.
Why would they hire someone like me when they clearly prefer… this? Am I… underqualified? Or just undersized?
You swallow hard, watching another towering woman stroll across the lobby like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
—
Before you can fully process the situation, the interview room door swings open.
A woman—no, a colossus—steps out, practically bouncing with joy. She must be pushing four meters tall, even among this workforce of titanic women. Her curves are even more dramatic, her bust straining against the limits of professional attire, her hips brushing the doorframe.
“Oh my gosh, I got it!” she squeals, clapping her massive hands together. The sound is thunderous. Heads turn. Some of the larger employees grin and congratulate her with deep, approving rumbles.
You shrink back instinctively, heart sinking into your stomach.
She got the job.
Of course she did.
She looks like she was hand-crafted to be here. Like this place was made for her and women like her.
Your confidence—so bright and steady just minutes ago—fades into something tight and uncertain in your chest. You try to shake it off. You try to remind yourself that you’re qualified, that you prepared, that you’re capable.
But as the giant woman squeals again and strides past you, towering over you like a moving building, you suddenly feel very, very small.
And far less sure of your chances.
—
The door closes behind you with a soft click.And for the first time since stepping into this building, you breathe a little easier.
The interviewer is… normal-sized.
A man in a perfectly tailored suit sits behind a sleek black desk, tidy hair, silver tie clip, sharp features. Most importantly, he isn’t three meters tall, nor shaped like a living monument to curves. He looks at you like you’re just another candidate, and like he was genuinely looking forward to talking with you.
“Please,” he says, gesturing. “Have a seat.”
You follow his hand and immediately falter.
The chair is gigantic. Clearly meant for those giantess ladies he had seen outside.
But, you couldn't let such a minor thing ruin your chances at a new job. You practically have to climb into it, feeling a ridiculous heat creep up your neck as your feet dangle far above the floor. You haven't felt this small in years.
The interviewer notices nothing unusual.
“I want to reassure you before we start,” he says with a pleasant smile. “You’re basically already hired. I just need to confirm a few details for our records.”
Relief floods through you, warm and genuine. Finally—finally—something’s going right.
“Let’s begin,” he says, glancing at a form on his desk. “First: you are a woman, correct?”
The question hits you strangely, like stepping onto a stair that isn’t where you expect.
There’s a tug deep in your body, soft and warm. Your shape shifts subtly, pressure dissolving between your legs, hipbones rolling wider. Your chest tightens, not like pain, but like the world exhaling through you.
You suck in a breath.Blink.It stops.
No… nothing happened. You must’ve imagined that. Of course you’re a woman. You have always been a woman.
“Yes,” you say confidently. “Correct.”
“Excellent.” He checks a box. “And you have very long and sexy legs?”
Your calves tingle first. Then your thighs. Your entire lower body stretches gently, like fabric being pulled smooth. Your toes brush the floor for one dizzying moment before your legs grow past that point, sliding longer and longer beneath you in an impossible, elegant extension.
You gasp softly.
But again, the sensation evaporates the moment you try to focus on it, leaving behind only certainty.
You’ve always had long legs. Gorgeous legs, actually.People have complimented them for years… haven’t they?
“Yes,” you say, even a little proud. “I do.”
“Wonderful.” He smiles approvingly. “Now, just to confirm—your height is around 3.2 meters, correct?”
Something inside you pulls.
Your spine lengthens.Your shoulders drift upward.Your entire perspective tilts as though the room is shrinking. The desk dips lower beneath your gaze, and for a heartbeat you swear you are rising—growing—shadow stretching wider across the floor.
You feel like you should be eye-level with him.A strange, instinctive expectation.
But no… no, that makes no sense.
You’re tall, but not that tall.
Except you’ve always been extremely tall. Comparable to the other women outside. It would be silly to think otherwise.
“Yes,” you say smoothly. “That’s correct.”
“Good, good,” he murmurs. “And you also have a massive behind and thighs so thick that even on that chair, you spill over both sides?”
Heat surges through your lower half, and you shift instinctively.
Your hips swell outward in a slow, rolling wave.Your thighs thicken, pressing warmly against each other.Your backside pushes outward, heavy and plush, overflowing the already enormous chair until you can feel your weight billowing generously over its edges.
You inhale sharply, cheeks burning.How… rude of him to phrase it that way.
But… he’s not wrong.Your thighs are thick.Your behind is generous.It has always been a bit embarrassing how large it is.
“…Y-yes,” you mutter. “That’s correct.”
“Lovely,” he says, checking another box. “And lastly: you’re sitting at a comfortable H-cup, yes?”
The change hits your chest all at once.
Your breasts swell like rising dough, heavy and warm, pushing forward with a slow, insistent weight. Your blouse—had it always been this snug?—stretches to accommodate them, fabric tightening over rounded curves that rest solidly atop your lap.
Embarrassment prickles across your skin, but not surprise.
You’ve always been this size.H-cup is… normal for you.
“Yes,” you say, trying not to look flustered. “That’s right.”
“Perfect.” The interviewer folds his hands, smiling warmly. “Now, you’re applying your incredibly pretty face to the Sales Department, correct?”
Your cheeks flush instantly.
Your face heats, tingles, reshapes—cheekbones rising, eyes widening subtly, lips softening and plumping. Your hair brushes your shoulders, longer than it was a moment ago… wasn’t it?
You suddenly know you look stunning.Being called pretty just helps you accept it.
“Yes,” you say with a bright, confident smile. “Absolutely.”
“Excellent! And you’re aware of the dress code? Pencil skirt and high heels at all times?”
Your clothes shift before you can even react.
Fabric flows around your waist, tightening into a sleek, form-fitting pencil skirt that hugs every exaggerated curve of your hips and thighs. Your shoes lift you higher on slim, glossy heels. The outfit feels both professional and intensely alluring—like it was made for your massive, voluptuous frame.
You breathe in, the skirt hugging you perfectly.
“Yes,” you say automatically. “Of course.”
“Wonderful,” he says, closing the folder with a satisfied snap. “In that case—welcome to Solution Giants.”
A thrill of pride sweeps through you.
You’re hired.Of course you are.You’re exactly what they look for.
—
The moment you step out of the interview room, the world feels different.
No—you feel different.
Your high heels click sharply against the polished floor, each step punctuated by a subtle, confident tak… tak… tak that echoes down the hallway like you own the place. Your legs move in long, powerful strides, impossibly elegant, each step a model’s glide made natural by the sheer length of your towering limbs.
You can feel your hips sway—slow and heavy, mesmerizingly so.Your massive butt rolls behind you with each step, the tight pencil skirt hugging every curve like it was tailored with worship in mind. The fabric constricts you just enough to remind you how big you are… and how good it feels.
Your chest shifts with every breath, two heavy, perfect weights rising and falling beneath your blouse. The fabric frames them flawlessly, never slipping into impropriety, but absolutely impossible to ignore.
And your face, your beautiful face…You can’t stop smiling.Not a polite smile, not a nervous smile—A smug, radiant grin that practically lights the hallway.
Why shouldn’t it?You’ve never felt better in your entire life.You're a tall, stunning and powerful woman who just got the job she really wanted.Being exactly the kind of woman Solution Giants is proud to hire did help of course.
You glide down the hall, each step sending a warm ripple of self-satisfaction through your enormous, curvy frame.
It’s only when you pass the waiting chair that you notice him.
A guy, normal-sized, small in comparison to you, sits clutching his résumé. His knee bounces anxiously. His eyes dart between the door, your chest and the floor. He looks so… earnest. So hopeful.
You feel a twinge of sympathy.You really do.
You got the job, and you’re thrilled, and part of you genuinely hopes this guy finds the same joy.
But another part of you, the part that knows this company now, the part that feels the weight of your massive hips, the sway of your long legs, the bounce of your H-cup chest, knows the truth instantly.
Solution Giants only hires women.Big women.Curvy, towering, breathtakingly huge women with bodies like goddesses and confidence to match.
You glance down at him, your shadow falling over his entire chair.
Unless he can magically become… well, this, he doesn’t stand a chance.
You offer him a kind smile anyway.It feels like the least you can do.Then you continue strutting down the hall, heels clicking proudly, hips swaying like a metronome of victory, chest rising with every exhilarating breath.
You can’t wait to start working here.You belong here.And the smile on your face promises it’ll never fade.