She stood on the outskirts of the city with her hands on hips and her long brown hair whipping in the wind; looming like a storm. She stood hundreds of feet tall; a colossus of a woman. She was undeniably powerful, perhaps a goddess. Her bare feet had, without effort, crushed several small residences, and were surrounded by debris and radiating cracks in the ground. The Earth itself had surrendered, quaked and crumbled beneath her casual step.  Yet there was evidence of her apparent humanity. Her tall, lanky body, while artfully sculpted, wore ordinary clothing, albeit of extraordinary size. Her massive, anxiously wiggling toes had their nails painted a bold, iridescent blue. She was wearing short-shorts (meters long) that accentuated her robust backside and towering legs and a thin tank-top which was plastered to her toned belly and hilly breasts. Her nipples poked shamelessly into the material and made it apparent to those minute onlookers before her that she was not wearing a brassiere.  And her sun-freckled face, gorgeous as a painting, was marked with mortal bewilderment. Her brow crinkled ever-slightly and her ocean-blue eyes wide with shock and wonder. And she was coyly biting her lower lip; though whether in anxiety or excitement, none could be sure…

Mere Minutes Earlier

She was sitting on her bed, in her stifling apartment, trying like hell to be productive and finish her paper on the exciting topic of women in power. It was for her Women’s Gender Studies class.  Thus far she was failing fantastically.  Her laptop rested on her crossed legs and her hands sat motionlessly on the keyboard. She HAD started her paper, but she had quickly grown bored and had started “stumbling” and ceaselessly checking her facebook, which was common practice for her. Now she was bored with that as well. She wanted to get up and be doing something fun. Her building feelings of boredom, longing for excitement (innocent or otherwise, especially otherwise) the fact that the humming laptop was relentlessly blowing hot-air on her already sweating legs, led to her completely abandoning any hope of writing her paper. So she powered the computer down and put it away. She looked around her room and frowned. Her bed was surrounded by an intimidating fortress of haphazardly stacked cardboard boxes. She had just moved to this new place and hadn’t really unpacked much yet.  She groaned and decided she should at least get her clothes put in the closet. She got up from her bed and searched through the stack for the box labeled “Closet-clothes” and upon finding it heaved it over to her newly-acquired closet.  She opened the folding doors with a creak and was happily surprised to see it was more spacious then she remembered, almost another room. She smiled and yanked the rusty chain dangling from over-head and a dim bulb crackled to life and bathed the closet in an aged, yellow light. It was in this light that she noticed a section of the wall looked funny. It was the same off-white color of the surrounding wall, but it seemed to be rippling, like water. “What the fuck?...” she whispered and set the box of clothes down.  She cautiously approached it and after a moment’s deliberation poked it with her finger, it wiggled and rippled in response. Wishing to further investigate she poked harder, and her finger went right through…

Which was somewhat unfortunate for one 747 and the people inside of it. It all happened very fast. Captain John Wagner and his Co-pilot, Thomas Gilborn were making naughty altogether inappropriate jokes about Stacey, the new raven-haired flight attendant.  Stacey had the double-bladed blessing/curse of being, as the layman would say, really fucking hot. As such she sometimes got things for free or at a discount, got smiled at frequently, and sometimes had very naughty, altogether inappropriate jokes made about her. Not a bad deal, all things considered. What WAS bad, however, was the wave of turbulence that shook the plane about half-way through the captain’s vivid description of something he would’ve liked to do to Stacey’s hind-quarters. The Captain, and friend, didn’t know what to make of it. One minute they were staring at the pristine blue summer sky, and then a crackling white light had appeared in the sky, almost directly in front of them. It brought with it the wave of turbulence. John and Thom stared disbelievingly at the light, paralyzed with awe. “A ufo?...” thought John briefly, “That sure is a pretty light…” thought Thom, thoughtfully. A shiny blue object began to emerge from the light, it was attached to something large and pinkish. Something pinkish with notable ridges on its underside and remarkably clear skin…it was like watching one of those picture puzzles of an object blown up when you’re supposed to guess  what the object is. The Captain was usually pretty good at those, a nano-second later and it clicked…”Dear God, It’s a giant finger!” The Captain proclaimed and finally, stirred by panic, attempted to dive the plane out of the path of the crackling light and the giant, and now he realized, feminine digit. Sadly, it was too little a little too late and the shiny blue fingernail sheared into the nose of the plan. It screeched metallically and crumpled, and the plane spun helplessly out of control. Stacey and Trisha (the other hot flight attendant) felt the disastrous rocking of the plane where they were naked and entwined in the lavatory. Trisha looked about, her face and wide brown eyes a font of worry. Stacey put a slender “ssshhhh” finger to Trisha’s pouty lips, caught her signature “come hither” with her piercing blue eyes, as if to say “Hey, foxy lady, it’s ok. Everything is gonna be alright.”  Stacey’s “come hither” stare rarely, if ever failed. They locked lips again, roughly, and made out even more passionately than they had been previously. The rapid loss of altitude and the likelihood of their simultaneous demise apparently acted as an aphrodisiac, throwing gasoline and dynamite on an already existing inferno. Their tongues and hands left no skin unexplored, no crevice unloved. Together, they were a sexual symphony; a love-making whirlwind, (a bumper-car track of coitus?), all sweat, hair and thrashing limbs. Several of the doomed passengers heard their loud, husky moans of orgasmic release shortly before the plane met the ground and exploded violently….

She pulled her finger back in. Something had bumped into it. It startled her a bit, but whatever it was hadn’t really hurt her so she wasn’t really concerned. The important thing was that her finger was still there and unharmed. And it had felt warm, and breezy…like outside?, in the wiggly-wall.  She couldn’t believe it. She had a freaking portal in her closet! This was very exciting. Screw homework and fuck unpacking shit. Her appetite for adventure and conquest returned and she stood up and faced the quivering wall dead-on. She steeled herself, this was it. Her body was a-tingle with nerves, but she was definitely going to do this.  She bobbed her head in silent affirmation and put her left foot through, something crunched beneath it and she followed quickly with her right foot. She walked into the portal, feeling at once curious, playful and just a little amorous…

2

It was like walking into a sideways pool. The portal crept slowly over her body, seeming to lap at her like a wave on the beach. It tingled and tickled, and she squeezed her eyes shut involuntarily and let out a girlish giggle as she finished stepping through, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding below her. Ticklish waves continued to shoot willy-nilly through her nerves and she continued to giggle and tried to keep her body stiff and resist flinching a jerking, with moderate success. Each time she gave in to the urge to kick, jerk or stomp she further worsened the situation at her heedless feet. They went up and came down heavily several more times in her giggle-fit, sending out tremors in the surrounding area and debris, cars and  injured people airborne in several directions. Eventually the sensation passed and she finally opened her eyes. It took her another moment to adjust to the bright light. “Where the hell am I?” she thought as her vision came into focus. “oh…,” she murmured airlessly and non-poetically at what she saw. She closed her eyes again reflexively. It was a large city. Only it wasn’t large, it was tiny. She seemed to be bigger than many of the outlying buildings. Was it some sort of model city? She opened her eyes once more, reconnoitered again. No, it was real. Miniature cars moved on the streets, and yes…there were tiny people, too. They cluttered the sidewalks, and pointed at her and exclaimed, some ran, tiny flashes of light went off; some were taking pictures of her. She began to recognize noises now, too. Car horns, sirens, engines, and even the tinny voices of the little people reached her ears, but they were too many and too indistinguishable to understand. She didn’t know what to make out of any of this… Then she remembered. Something had crunched beneath her feet, she wiggled her toes anxiously and looked down. She discovered her left foot was in the ruins of what appeared to have once been small, outer-city houses, and her right one was in the road, which was cracked and broken in a rough circle around it. “Oh.” She mouthed again. She put her hands on her hips and bit her bottom lip. What was she going to do? She looked over her surroundings again, she looked behind her to see if she could just walk back through the portal, but it wasn’t there. “oh well” She didn’t really want to go back anyway. This was turning out to be just the kind of excitement she needed. She then cast her eyes out, over the shining towers, and the toy cars buzzing busily further down the street, the flea-sized pigeons swooping in black and gray flocks. Then her weighty, inquisitive gaze fell over the multitude of little people. Most were running now, because she had unconsciously started tapping her right foot while she thought, which heralded menacing booms. Her eyes passed over the retreating masses, and the few who weren’t fleeing that were instead watching her. She could make out their little faces. She saw that they wore expressions that were varying levels of trepidation and awe, and her lips curled into a beaming smile that could only be described predatorily playful. They were utter anomalies to her, and she to them. A flickering aura of white surrounded her then, and was gone almost instantly. Her head felt light; dreamy. Crisp, new thoughts swam through her head; floating as pollen on the wind. She was filled with feelings of giddiness and wonderment. It had been so long since she experienced anything new and there was so much fresh potential laid before her! The ideas cycling in her head did not bode especially well for the minute inhabitants of the city. They were mainly playful ideas...mainly. She tried, however meekly, to ward off these thoughts. “They’re people just like you.,” a tiny voice chirped somewhere in a corner of her mind, made into a whisper by her foggy  thoughts. “You can’t do these things you’re thinking of doing!” That was all untrue, though. They were like bugs to her. They were toys. She was no longer one of them. That was that. She had crushed houses just in entering this place. It would have been foolish to think she could co-exist happily and peacefully here. This tiny land was hers to play with and do what she pleased with. She wasn’t evil, really, just selfish, and very, very hot and bored…. not that it affected the day’s outcome much…

She bit her lip once more and wordlessly, gingerly placed her foot in front of her. She watched, with another giggle, as it landed noisily on an abandoned red car. The metal felt hot on her foot, it had been in the sun all day. It crinkled and collapsed as she allowed more of her weight to fall upon it, then popped. It tire’s crushed flat and a confetti of glass burst out of it. It then completely flattened.  She lifted her great ped off and set it to the side, crackling more asphalt, and overturning a lightpost. She regarded the wreck. It looked like a metallic pancake. Much of its candy-apple red paint had flaked off in its collapse and it shined like a coin in the sun. It reminded her of the flattened souvenir pennies you could buy at landmarks and tourist traps; only instead of, say a picture of Niagra Falls, it bore a personalized stamp of every subtle wrinkle and crease of her dainty foot. The image brought a grin to her face. She stooped down to pick it up, and noticed that she had also flattened some street-side mailboxes and bushes. Oops. Oh well. She carefully pinched the tiny wreck between her giant fingers and brought it to her face. The muffler and various other parts of the vehicle, including a heavily bent and distorted side door fell off and plummeted to the ground below. Gasoline and oil dripped from it like blood. She placed it in her upturned palm. It dwarfed the little automobile, it wasn’t a third the size of her hand. It seemed much lighter than the cars she remembered. Her mind processed this briefly before becoming bored with it and she tossed the oblong-frisbee of a wreck over her shoulder nonchalantly. It crashed through the back of someone’s roof and landed with a riotous splash in their otherwise pristine, in ground pool. She faced the city, again marveling at its sights. The buildings near her were squat, and frankly not terribly interesting to her, but she saw a little ways up the street, the tall, shimmering towers of down town and decided she would like to see those, and so she began towards them.

Randy had seen it all. He had been out on the streets getting shots for his photography class taking pictures of old, staple riddled powerline posts, graffiti’d stop signs, and notable people on the sidewalks, when she emerged, surrounded in a corona of white light, like an angel. He had seen her foot, graceful and feminine step down from the heavens and punch into someone’s home collapsing the roof and most of the front wall and he saw her other foot land on the lazy street, cracking it and flattening bushes and one unlucky cyclist, who barely had time to register the sudden shadow falling over him before his life was ended with a messy squelch. He stood, camera in hand, in shock. This couldn’t be happening. The girl eyes closed, had some kind of laugh attack, her haughty laughter echoing through the streets. She grabbed her tummy, as if to squeeze the tickles out and her feet jerked up and down spastically, thundering down with even more force than before. What remained of the house exploded upward in a ruinous spray of rubble and dust. Tremors knocked anyone close to her off their feet and bounced lighter cars. The crowds began to flee and scatter in panic, screaming droves pushing past Randy. But he had stuck around, albeit at a distance. He snapped off his lenscap and aimed his weapon, his artful eye. He took shot after shot of the giggling girl giant. He was enraptured by her beauty, which went beyond her looks. She was so powerful and surreal, yet so human. He continued to click away, up into the point when she flattened someone’s sports car, clearly an intentional act. He had gotten blurry motion shots of the wreck arcing over her shoulder. She began to walk, towards him. Confident and heedless of her steps. He continued to take snap-shots even as she got closer. Soon, her smallest parts began to fill his lens and the small tremors she brought made it hard to keep his camera steady. So he brought it down and away from his eye with a mournful sigh and screwed the protective lenscap back on. By the time he looked back up he was caught under a blanket of ominous, foot-shaped shadow.  Oops.

She buried another cluster of screaming people and grid-locked cars under her foot with a boom. She eagerly strode through the tiny metropolis, anxious to explore it, to get to a building of worthy note. Her soft feet rapidly ate-up the streets. The asphalt cracked and split beneath her. She marveled at how delightful the myriad of different things she trod on felt collapsing beneath her wrinkled sole and cute, bubbly toes. She carefully cataloged in her head the different resistances each offered in her head.  Her ears delighted in hearing the sweet varied cacophony of destruction that wafted up to them. The hollow, metallic whine when she first stepped upon a car, the sudden, whispering pops when their tires gave out, the tinkling of shattered glass, the ever-present crackling of the asphalt, and the distinctive, piercing screams of each unfortunate person she flattened beneath her, each different from the last-they were all like music too her. Hundreds ran from her, but some among them, and others sheltered in buildings and otherwise not directly in her path, gazed upon her in fear, awe, lust and wonder; gasping and staring in wide-eyed disbelief, they beheld her reverently in all her terrible glory.  Each thundering step she took set her glistening body in beautiful, fluid motion. The slender, sinewy muscles of her legs flexed and relaxed in practiced choreography.  Her lightly tanned thighs shimmied ever-slightly as her hips swayed subtly with her tread. Her shorts were loose in the leg and the momentous gusts of wind that inevitably accompanied her stride allowed brief but tantalizing glimpses into them. Those fortunate enough to catch such a glance might be afforded a view of the underside of her meaty ass or her gargantuan sex, barely covered by satin g-string, and radiating an almost palpable hunger.  Her buttocks hitched and clapped together hypnotically with each step, the dark, inviting cleft between them was visible just above the waistband of her shorts; daring voyeurs to explore it’s musky depths.  The bottom of her sopping shirt fluttered and didn’t quite meet the top of her shorts. Her lower back and tummy peeked out mischievously. What was only a couple inches of skin to her was meters of bronzed temptation that filled the eyes of many tiny onlookers and invited their tender, traveling kisses. Her arms swung gracefully at her side; whooshing through the air, powerful muscles worked covertly beneath the smooth, powder-soft sheath that was her skin. Her hands seemed paradoxically fragile and petite and wholly powerful all at once. Her long fingers were charged with curiosity and wanted to feel all the textures the Lilliputian city had to offer. They brushed whimsically over windows, signs, roofs and powerlines and more in her travels; shattering, cracking, snapping and otherwise destroying much of what they explored. A glitter-rain of glass and debris followed her. It gave the near-accurate impression that she was a giant, flighty fairy at play as it showered onto the retreating mite-people below. Some eyes traveled up, up, up her body further to her heaving breasts. They bobbed and jostled cheerfully beneath her inadequate top, sometimes playfully slamming together, creating a welcoming, cavernous cleavage that glimmered in the sun. Her nipples sat lustfully atop them, large and proud trying furiously to dig through the thin tank-top. Her angelic face smiled with satisfaction and relaxation. She turned her head this way and that, sending her wavy, brown hair splaying out in great arches dispersing the alluring aroma of her lavender shampoo into the air around her. Her eyes, brilliant blue orbs of wonder, never lingered in anyone direction too long.  There was so much to behold, so much to experience. She ventured deeper into the city….

3

…She didn’t get much further before stopping. She stood in front of  “A modest, brick-walled building offering affordable, but luxurious living for the modern individual”-Henry & Henry Real Estate Co. Lease Brochure.  It was a medium sized building; neither too short nor too tall. Quaint, wood-railed patios lined its front and a sprawling, leafy rash of Ivy covered one corner, the ropy roots slowly undermining the brick and mortar it methodically cracked their way into. Pigeons and other birds that had made nests in it took flight as her thunderous steps brought her nearer, and the ill-omen that was her shadow fell over their homes. But it was not the ivy or birds that had snared her attention. Her huge, indigo eyes were cast intently on something on the roof and her tongue passed briefly over her rosy lips.

It was a large external water reservoir, about the size of a thermos to her. Her thirst, bred by the heat and nursed to monstrous proportions by her own size, urged her towards it. Slight drops of condensation peppered its skin and dripped down the sides. To her it looked not unlike a refreshing can of soda. The building was not quite as tall as her, coming up to about chin level, but the reservoir was in the middle of the roof so she had to would have to stretch to grasp it. She stood next to the building and got on her cute, once petite, tippy-toes. This lessened the distribution of her weight on the already agonized ground and with now-familiar crackling noises, she sunk a couple feet into the broken side-walk and road. Unperturbed, she leaned in.

This placed the modest building directly in the path of her immodest bosom. Her massive breasts jiggled tauntingly before mercilessly pressing against the rustic, carefully-varnished wooden balconies of the upper-most stories. They resisted for a moment, her tank-top covered boob-flesh puffing slightly through the rails. But, the stalwart rigidity of the wood was no match against the soft, but unfathomable crushing power of her tits. A pained groan and sharp crack sounded from the balconies as they split and splintered against her. Her monstrous, sweat-glistened assets spread along the bricks, windows and patio-doors once guarded so vigilantly by the now-absent balconies. Radiating, Spider-web cracks announced her right nipple’s arrival as it pressed against the glass of a sliding patio door.  Her left poked through and derailed the screendoor of the neighboring apartment. The resident who was just now waking up and hadn’t heard the news; had a killer hangover and stared dumbfounded at the scene of destruction inhabiting his living room. His screen-door, bent and warped was impaled on her nipple. And the tip of her breast had pushed in and was resting on the dilaped remains of his coffee table; an apartment warming present from his mom. He scratched his addled, throbbing head, decided he must still be dreaming and stumbled back to his puke-stained bed and passed out, again.

She felt her boobs press into, and break something and looked down to see she had accidentally smashed some of the balconies.  Oh well. It tickled a little and she pressed harder. Her right nipple finally shattered the glass it rest against, and her breast took advantage of the extra space; pouring its soft, warm self  into that residence. It overturned an entertainment center and plasma tv and buried them contentedly beneath itself. They, too were shattered when next she breathed. She reached for the tantalizing water tank once more. Her great, imploring fingers; stretching and spreading like a desperate spider, were still falling a bit short of being able to grasp the blasted thing. With a slight huff and knowing smile, she brought the rest of her body flat against the building.

Her toned belly and hips bullyingly pressed their way through the next highest balconies, ruined splinters and potted-plants fell through the air like bombs. Finally her musky, short-covered groin and long legs crashed through. Somone’s plastic patio chairs folded and compacted against her left thigh and a brutalized umbrella poked rudely, but mostly unnoticed into her crotch. After momentarily enjoying the gentle warmth of the sun-baked bricks on the exposed bits of her skin, she reached once more for the elusive canister of water and this time her long, slender fingers wrapped expertly around it.

Despite the relentless sun it was still miraculously cool on her fingers. Wrinkling her brow in concentration she began to twist. It let out a miserable, metallic whine and the posts supporting it snapped cleanly from it where they had been welded decades before. She let out a giggle of delight and violently tore it from the pipes connected to it. She let her feet down and her breasts, tummy and pelvis went rubbing down the face of the building, giving the conscious inhabitants one last peep-show, and stepped back from the injured building. Her heel landed on a speeding car and obliterated it completely. But she didn’t even notice.

 She clasped the metallic cylinder in both hands. She pressed it briefly between her breasts, sighing at its cooling touch. Then she pinched and twisted off the coned cover and flicked it off not caring where it landed. She carefully brought it, again grasping it in both hands, to her face. She felt the precious water sloshing inside, shifting the weight. Eagerly she pressed it to her parched lips and tipped it, taking a big drink. To her thirsty mouth it was pure liquid heaven. She swished the cold water over her dry tongue and around her stainless teeth and then swallowed with a deep gulp. Her swan-neck tipped gracefully upward and visibly bulged as it made its way down and chilled the rest of her body. She began to guzzle greedily. The sound of her slurping echoed down the streets adjacent to her. She tipped the tank at a progressively steeper angle over her cavernous mouth as she gluttonously drained its reserves.  The water that was once meant to provide for dozens of residents now began to fill the belly of one giant young woman. She had no concern for refinement or finesse as she slurped. Wasted rivulets cascaded out the delicate corners of her mouth and streamed ticklingly down her chin, neck and breasts. When pouring became impossible, she ran her tongue over the insides, lapping up any lingering drops hoping to avoid consumption.

When she was satisfied the canister was completely drained, she clamped her hands over its sides and pushed, crumpling it like a can of Natty Ice. The hollow metal caved-in easily and she bent it once more, rolling it in to a rough ball. This time she aimed. Her target was a tall, beautifully designed building with a reflective facade; a marvel of our times. She playfully adopted a baseball stance, trodding on a lamp-post and bike-rack. Then squinting at her mark, she imagined she could hear the crowd whooping in the stands, and that trademark baseball song. “dunn-dunn-dunn-dunn...dunn-dun-da-li-da-daaa…” Or was that hockey? Whatever. She wound up, feeling confident.  Her giant arm whooshed in a great circle in the air. She slowly uncurled her fingers, let her shiny, metal ball loose…and missed.

Frank just wouldn’t shut up. John reaaally had to get back to work. So, he imagined did Frank. But here he was, still running his mouth bitching about his wife. He had been doing so for the last twenty minutes. John had run into him at the water-cooler. Or rather, he went to get a Dixie-cone of water, which he desperately needed, when Frank had spotted him from his cubicle and approached pretending to need a Dixie-cone full of water. “Hey pal!,” Mustachioed, Sun-burned, Squinty-eyed, thick glasses, nerdy Frank had shouted; clapping John stingingly on the arm as he did so, “How are things?!?”. Trying his best not to frown, John had answered. “They’re good, man. How are things with you?” This had been his mistake. “Wellll…,” Frank started; melodramatically stretching well. Never a good sign; and so here he was, trapped at the watercooler with his “pal” Frank. “She does nothing but bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.” “Well, atleast you have that in common”, thought John. “You know what I mean, pal? And she’s always throwing me curveballs..,” Frank’s nasally voice continued, becoming almost a drone…

John was pretty sure dying at the hand of that giant girl from the “news” hoax would be more tolerable than this….Suddenly there was a horrendous crash. Frank jumped, his toupee popping off his head and landing back on his head crooked. John knew that hair looked fake. Cripes. Wasn’t Frank like 28? He ended the thought, and whipped his head toward the noise and saw a giant, crinkled metal ball rolling through the office, steam-rolling cubicles and people. It was headed at break-neck speed right toward them…

 Flashes of Indiana Jones flickered through John’s head. He downed his Dixie-cone of water, which he was in desperate need of, and failed epically in his attempt to flee the giant ball. He turned to run, but before he could even get started it had rolled over him and flattened him like Play-D’oh. Well, atleast he was done having to listen to Frank. This was John’s final thought. He died content.

 Frank dropped his dixe-cone full of water; which he had, until this point been pretending he needed. He stood staring at the metal-ball as it crushed his co-workers, even “Hot Cindy,”(who had reluctantly dropped the restraining order against him at their boss’ request). He blubbered uselessly and did not even attempt to escape his fate. He did note, shortly before being crushed, that a few of the victims the ball crushed actually stuck to it. What did it remind him of? It flattened John and the water-cooler. Wait, that was it! It was like a gorier, M-rated, “Beautiful Katamari!,” he shouted in triumph. This was to be Frank’s final thought and words. The gore-spattered ball rolled him over, wholly unimpressed with his pop-culture knowledge. If Frank had been afforded enough time for another thought, it would have been “I love my wife…”

   The misshapen ball flew in a weird, whirling sideways arch and crashed through the facade of the building next to her target, leaving a sizeable hole. She frowned poutingly. Damn. Oh well. Sports weren’t really her thing. That building was a great catcher though. MVP material, really.  She felt something amiss on her persons, and looked suddenly to her breasts. They were covered in debris and splinters, and then she saw it. There was a tiny, pitiable screen door hanging off her semi-erect left nipple. She broke out into a guffaw, and braced her tummy. Her breasts juked and jiggled madly, dislodgeing most of the rubble from her chest, including the screen door and a lone potted marigold that had become embedded somehow in her cleavage. After regaining her composure she brushed the remaining debris off of her shirt. Man, she wished she had her camera for that one. That woulda been a great facebook picture. Yeah, that’s a screendoor on my nipple. Like it and comment away, grinning emoticon. But, now that her thirst was slaked for the moment, her attention turned back to the doomed city surrounding her….

The radio inside a police cruiser was pumping “Solid Gold Hits of the ‘70s” when it became seemingly possessed. The thumping, danceable bass of The Miracles’ “Love Machine” was abruptly replaced by a crackling somber call from HQ. “Car 69, this is HQ. We need you to keep an eye out for a giant, destructive young girl in your vicinity. The captain is still pretty sure these crazies are pulling our leg, but there are enough of them plugging-up our phones to warrant a drive-by. She was reportedly last seen…” There was a distinct, annoyed air of sarcasm in the female dispatcher’s, throaty 900-number quality voice,”… vandalizing a Henry & Henry housing complex on Washington Ave., and is apparently headed toward the business district. Report back after you sweep the area. over.”  

“Copy that, Honey-bee! We’re on tha case!” “Mad Dog” Mel Johnson threw his half-finished cup of coffee, black and strong as the man drinking it, out the window, lit a cigar with a match he struck on his cheek, clenched it in his gold teeth, flicked the siren on and gunned the customized engine of his tricked-out cruiser. He did all of this in a manner of seconds. His, partner, “By the Book” Danny Fitzgerald, a pale-complexioned, clean-cut rookie new to the force grabbed the “oh-shit” handle over his window and braced stiffly against the dashboard whilst pointing out studiously, “Littering is a ticketable offense…” “Mad Dog” Mel (A seasoned, veteran-cop who had been demoted from the position of Vice Detective to lowly patrol-men due to accruing an excessive amount of collateral damage on his last case) glowered at him from behind a thickly-tinted pair of aviator sunglasses and from beneath the thick shrubbery that was his salt-and-pepper afro. “Shut the hell up, jive-turkey! This shit’s about to go off like dyn-0-mite!” Car 69 left a stretching black trail of burned rubber and acrid gray smoke behind as it peeled off into a tight ally-way.

After ramming through various boxes, trash, crates, barrels of water, and one unlucky fruit-market, Car 69 and the cops inside arrived with a noisy peel just behind the giant woman.  “Damn she’s fine as hell!” “Mad Dog”, loudly remarked, watching her glutes bounce around her skimpy shorts. The motion kept the light material pulled into her asscrack, so it stretched tightly over her buttcheeks, perfectly outlining them, much to the renegade cop’s delight. “Jus’ look at that sexy azz! Mmmm-MMm. I could make a dinner-a that!” His partner was sweating and trying his best to not look aroused. “yeah. Yeah it’s…(big gulp)…nice…”

 “damn straight it is,” Mad dog continued as he swerved between abandoned cars and foot-shaped potholes in the asphalt. “I’d give her the mustache ride of her life!”  He briefly stroked his black handlebars for effect. There car roared on, they were almost at her heels now, bouncing along to her thundering steps. “Too bad I gotta take this snow-skinned honey down…” Discarded Chunks of asphalt, gravel and wrecked cars fell from her massive sole and buffeted their windshield, cracking it in places. Mad Dog unholstered twin chromed .44 magnums, steering with his knee, and looked briefly at his partner. “Get ready to roll, partner. I’m about to butta this big, bad cracka bitch’s biscuits!” Paniced, sweaty Danny peered ahead, realized what the crack-pot grinning fiendishly at him had in mind, unbuckled his seatbelt, and cringingly rolled out the passenger door.

“Papa’s comin’ for you, mutha-fucka!” Mad-dog cried as he swerved car 69 onto a ramp-truck that sat idling, abandoned, and miraculously unharmed on the side of the road. The police car screamed forward, and left the truck in dramatic slow-motion and in a breath-taking upward arch.  It’s windshield filled more and more with her juicy, bouncing ass. Car 69 collided, nose-first into her left cheek. Mad dog propelled through the shattering windshield, firing his hand cannons. The large-caliber bullets flattened against her ineffectually, each impact briefly flashing white. Slight vibrations rippled her firm backside and Car 69 crumpled under the stress of the impact, creaked and shattered. Glass, tires and doors flew off wildly.  Momentum curved it perfectly to the contour of her ass, and electric sparks hitting the leaking gas-tank caused it to erupt in a searing-ball of flame.

She heard the puny siren behind her, growing louder at an alarming speed. Cops? About time, she supposed. She stopped and looked over her shoulder just in time to see Mad Dog’s custom cruiser jumping the truck and heading straight for her butt. “Uh-oh” She mouthed. The kamikaze cruiser crashed into her left cheek and lovingly flattened itself against it. It was like a gentle, playful swat to her.  Its feeble siren cried its displeasure in a distorted voice like a toy-robot with low batteries then died. She giggled girlishly. But then the car exploded. Not good.

“By the Book” Danny sat rubbing his bruised shoulder, taking refuge in a side alley. He saw Car 69 crash into the monolithic woman. His eyes guiltily followed the little waves rippling her ass. He unconsciously licked his lips as the car bent against her and exploded shooting fire, hot-metal and presumably pieces of the late, great “Mad Dog” Mel out over the road and into near-by buildings. He wiped a single tear from his eyes and readied his shoulder-mounted radio. “HQ, this is Officer Danny Fitzgerald, car 69. Officer Mel Johnson is down. And that Godzilla woman you’ve been hearing about…,” he took a deep breath, “She’s very real. And very dangerous…” Then he clicked off his radio, and slid-down against the alley wall, holding cradling his head in his hands like a fragile egg. He spoke, “I’m too young and in-experienced for this shit.”

She flinched and gasped at the firey explosion, but was shocked to realize it didn’t hurt. White light flared over the parts of her ass that were in peril, and all she felt was a slight, warm tickling. The sparse, blackened remains of Car 69 slowly peeled off her buttcheek and fell, with a hollow clatter, to the ground, where it continued to smolder and melt. She noticed that her shorts weren’t even singed. When she peered closer at her own reflection in the building next to her she did spy one tiny, black spot, obvious and bold against the bright color of her shorts, where her buttocks met at the crack. And it was…moving?

“DAMN!,” Mad Dog cursed. He had lost his off-hand magnum and his half-smoked Cuban in the frantic jump to her ass. He watched them float to the ground, the magnum discharging on impact, shooting god only knew what. Then he whipped his attention back to the matter at hand. His beloved, customized car was ramming itself against her hilly cheek self-destructively, spraying glass and his tires, with custom chrome hubcaps every which way. He ducked his head, not quickly enough, sharp daggers of glass shot through his trademark afro, cutting fluffy bits off. Then he realized car 69 was bending towards him, it’s backend on its way to crushing him against her backend. “SHE-YET!,” He shouted, and using only his free hand, pulled the thick material the shorts he was clinging to and used the momentum to jump.

He flew flailingly through the air and landed in what he hoped was the relative safety of the cleft between the twin hills of her ass-cheeks. He braced himself, against the warm, jiggling walls she unknowingly provided him and hunkered down as he heard the dying warble of the police siren. He pressed his bristly face against her in the interest of further fortifying himself against the carnage yet to come and briefly digested the heady scent of her feminine sweat, mingled with lingering traces of a flowery soap. “Baby, you smell gooood..” He whispered into the course material beneath him. Whether it was the musky scent and firm, but giving nature of the body he clung to alone, or she was also sending out some kind of bedeviling super pheromones he didn’t know, but he desperately wanted to be on the otherside of the shorts.  Then a deafening blast tore him from his reverence and sent fire tearing over her left asscheek. He felt hot flames pass over and sear his favorite leather coat, and smelled the tell-tale stench of burning hair as more of his afro was lost. The force of the explosion blew the fire out almost immediately and the shock wave almost knocked him from his perch. But he was Motha-fuckin Mad Dog. And Mad Dog wasn’t gonna go out like that!

It took her a moment to realize it was a little man, clinging stubbornly to the shorts covering her asscrack. She smiled mischievously over her shoulder at him. Keeping her eyes on him she arched her back and turned her upward thrust posterior closer to the building’s mirrored front to get a better view. The little cop appeared to be trying to climb out of the gully between her cheeks, which rose toweringly over him on either side. She was going to say something coy and smart-alecky, along the lines of “You attacked my ass. Now it’s my ass’ turn to attack you,” or somesuch. But she found herself a little husky at what she was planning to do, and only stared with heavy eyes and her mouth partly-opened in anticipation. She resisted the urge to grab her own delectable ass as the speck failed to make any headway. This would be more impressive, and hotter, if she didn’t use her hands. Then, letting out a sigh, she clenched her perfect cheeks over the little man.

Mad Dog began to try to climb, though he refused to holster or let go of his second pearl-handled magnum and the material of her nonsensically large “booty shorts” was too damned slippery to make any real progress on. His stomach lurched as she slightly changed her position. He was almost horizontal now; she was arching her back. He turned suddenly and gazed on the reflection behind them. He saw himself dwarfed by this woman’s immeasurable ass, and the blurred, ghostly visages of terrified people behind the glass, waching the scene play out before their eyes, and looking further up he saw her condescendingly grinning down at him. “Go ahead. Keep smilin’, you bitch! I’m gonna shoot you in yer pretty blue eyes when my ass gets up there!” Then her expression changed. Her eyes dropped to half-mast and her full lips parted suggestively. He felt the muscles on either side of him begin to tighten. “Ah, HELL NAW!” He always knew a white woman would be the death of him.

She watched transfixed as she squeezed her ass closed, the black spot lost in the collapsing, cheerfully-colored sea of her shorts.  She heard a small, wet crunch as her cheeks came together like a car-compacter, squeezing the little cop out of existence. Sighing again, louder this time, she unclenched her ass and watched the tiny, infinitesimal dot that used to be a man fall from it. Smiling she brushed her butt off, though she saw no stains, and finally did give it a double-handed, playful, and appraising squeeze. Firm and ripe, she concluded, biting her lip.  Then she straightened up and thought on what to do next. Her tummy rumbled ominously and she had a pretty good idea of what was next on the agenda…

5

The tiny workers infesting the building she stood before gasped as they beheld her. She was rubbing her soft belly, and it grumbled and roared like an angry dragon. Those watching from high enough stories were able to see her sparkling blue eyes regard them hungrily, and saw her repeatedly lick over her pouting lips and remarkably white teeth. The elevators were down along with the power and so hundreds clogged the stairs in a panicked retreat. They pushed, punched and tore at each other, fighting against former co-workers and friends for a chance to escape the death-trap of the tower. The emergency lights cast an appropriately sinister glow upon their savagery.

Pan’s hunger was the most extreme she had ever felt. Her stomach voiced its want bellowingly, quaking with need. She found it bore a barbarous blood-lust. She found she wanted, nay, needed to devour the already victimized population of this tiny city. She could smell them. Her olfactory sense had somehow been enhanced, become ever sharper the hungrier she felt. The whole-city smelled “foody”, but the most tantalizing smell came from the tiny people. Licking her lips and salivating, she approached a tall glass tower and stood imposingly before it. She saw the majority of little people inside panic and retreat from the windows. They hoped to escape her…

Some few did. Well, they escaped the building atleast… A small, trickling stream of panicked people leaked out the lobby doors and flooded into the streets. They were like rats abandoning a sinking ship, scurrying between her massive, pedicured feet. She paid them no mind as she dropped herself into a sitting position before the building. The shadow of her colossal ass cast them briefly into shadow. Some fell to the ground, defensively throwing their arms up against the rapidly descending ass, others continued their retreat. Her soft, warm weight met and spread over nearly all of them flattening them into the crackling asphalt and sidewalks. Several feet, legs, hands and arms jutted out from beneath her, twitching feebly causing her to look like a sexy, living version of the witch-crushing house from the Wizard of Oz. A red, spreading pool of blood formed a gruesome halo around her butt and legs.

 She reveled in feeling tiny lives struggling against her and expiring, and scooted forward, scraping anything left beneath her into oblivion. She wrapped her long, smooth legs around the miniaturized building in an intimate embrace, squeezing them against its walls and few fire exits and brought herself flush  against the glass-lobby doors much to the horror of those trying to press them open. Her short covered crotch slammed against it, knocking those desperately  pushing the doors to their butts. Many were given the generous view up her shorts again, the intimate treasures once hidden inside glittering before their eyes. Their lust mingled with, and cheapened, their mortal terror.

Her eyes passed over the panicking people packed inside the building. They were candy boxed before her. She brought her face in close and licked wetly up and down its front, emitting a growling moan. She was going to eat them; all of them. The thought, and the sight of their powerless, pleading faces got her hot. Her breath fogged the windows. Then she pulled her face back, grinning menacingly. This was gonna be hella-fun.

Sitting with the tower nestled into her lap, she gigglingly remembered her youthful days of playing “Rampage” on her Nintendo, and she was about to live it out again, in real life. She brought her right arm back, curling her feminine fingers into a fist, and punched into the first floor. A sparkling shower of glass, plaster and dust marked her hand’s violent intrusion.  Then she spread her fingers out, exploring and grasping. She felt about hungrily and felt her fingers smashing tiny office furniture and tearing through fragile cubicle walls, and she felt warm, wriggling people. Grinning she closed her hand again. Her nails scratched through the immaculate carpeting and tore deep furrows in the floor beneath as they tightened around her prey. She eagerly brought her hand out to examine her catch.

Tina fell screaming from the stairway, her shoes lost and toes bloodied by the stampede behind her. Her face had jagged bleeding scratches from where some bitch had clawed her. Her dark-brown hair pulled back in what was now a ragged ponytail, and her blouse was ripped down the front, revealing a black-lace brassiere trying desperately to hold her heaving breasts in check as she took panting breaths. She looked around. She was on the second floor. Several other people had also erupted out of the stairway behind her. “SHE’S BLOCKED ALL THE GODDAMN EXITS! THERE’S NO WAY OUT! WE’RE FUCKED! WE’RE ABSOLUTELY FUCKED!,” A portly, ruddy faced man exclaimed falling to his knees in the middle of the shaky crowd. It was her boss, Mr. Skippton. He was panting heavily, almost wheezing and his eye was blackened. “DID YOU ALL SEE THE WAY SHE LOOKED AT US! SHE LICKED HER LIPS! SHE LICKED THE BUILDING! SHE’S GOING TO FUCKING EAT US! SWALLOW US UP LIKE WE’RE A FUCKING HAPPY MEAL”. His hysteria was unnerving the crowd around him further. Everyone was already deep, and dangerous in their panic. They had already fought each other, and her, like animals. She had seen atleast two people get trampled to death already. So she cautiously backed away from the cluster of others, trying not to draw attention. Then she saw the giant balled fist punching in. She screamed and threw up her own hands feebly. She was the first to be grabbed.

Tina felt the hand tighten around her and several others. She heard the thick nails rip the carpet and scrape underneath it, she was smooshed against several other struggling people, and the jagged remains of a desk poked stubbornly against her skirted buttocks. She heard them screaming and recognized her boss’ hysteric voice “SHE GOT ME! NOOO! WE’RE ALL DEAD! WE’RE ALL DEAD…” Then his voice cracked and he began to sob loudly. “I’M GOING TO DIE A VIRGIN!” They lurched as the fingers closed completely around them and flipped, throwing them to her palm. Tina felt her hands and feet slip into the deep wrinkles. Her fist was a warm prison for those inside, thin rays of light shone through the cracks between fingers. It was impossible to stand, vertigo dizzying the tiny people wriggling in her hand. Then with another lurch they stopped, and her fingers unfolded like a flower at dawn, and they found her gargantuan, smiling face peering at them intently.

Pan brought her fist to her face, and slowly unfolded it before her. She counted nine little people sprawled amongst the splintered chairs, desks, scattered papers and glittering glass and electronic parts. Most of these quivered in the fetal position, balled up like frightened pill bugs.  A couple of them were standing waveringly, staring up wide-eyed at her. Her warm, sweet breath, shallow to her, buffeted them, blowing their hair and clothes. They inevitably wondered what she was going to do to them. One of them piqued her interest, a dark-haired beauty that stood more surely than the rest. Her shirt had been ripped somehow, and her glistening bust danced seductively with her rapid breaths, her tiny, dark eyes met the all-encompassing blue orbs of the hungry giantess. Her hands folded before her as tears streamed down her tiny, beautiful face. She seemed to be begging for mercy. “oh god. Oh god. PLEASE DON’T KILL ME! OH GOD, PLLLEASE!,” the little woman’s squeaking voice screamed imploringly. The giant woman neglected to answer, and instead licked her lips once more and the tiny brunette fell screaming to the soft, wrinkled palm below her, sobbing and throwing her tiny arms up in a feeble defense. The giant thumb and forefinger of her blue-eyed tormentor clamped like a claw over her tiny, fragile body. She would make a fine appetizer.

The floor of the palm was stretched and steadier now and Tina stood, shakily, and met the giantess’ inquisitive eye. She was thinking on what to do to them. Tina imagined the worst fates, dying at the hand of this over-grown young woman, and tears began to pour stingingly from her own dark eyes. She clasped her hands together before her, and summoned the courage to shout up at her captor. “oh god. Oh god. PLEASE DON’T KILL ME” She shouted with all her strength and will, “OH GOD! PLLLEEASE!” The giant-woman’s tongue snaked out and moistioned her lips cruelly in response, and Tina fell, defeated and petrified with fear back to the captress’ crinkled palm, throwing up her hands in surrender.

Pan lifted the little woman gently from her upturned palm, and was surprised when one of the intended morsel’s peers attempted to stop her. He jumped up and grabbed the little-woman’s legs, attempting to pull her back. This was a brave, but ultimately silly action to take as he simply rose with her off the giant palm, and now dangled uselessly in the air, he clung for a moment before losing his grip and plummeting downward, towards the uncompromising street. He flailed comically and bounced off the giant woman’s left breast, catapulting off the jiggling mammary in a wide arch and landing on the buckled asphalt with a wet pop. Pan, meanwhile appraised her food more closely.

She brought the tiny woman all the way to her face. She was quite a looker, her breasts, large to anyone but her captor, sat heaving on the thick finger encircling her. Pan felt her little ribs contracting and expanding with her breaths, sharp and uneven from panic.  She brought the little fox to her nose, nostrils bigger than it flared as she inhaled deeply. She smelled like perfumed meat; an incensed meal. Her sniffing tore at the little woman’s hair, and her ponytail came undone. Her long, dark locks whipped around giantess’ nostril, tickling her a little. Pan raised her up further pressing her nose briefly against the woman. She felt the cotton of doll-sized panties against the tip, and tiny kicking feet beating futilely against her. She inhaled deeply once more, again reveling in her alluring scent. It was an aroma appetizing in more than one way. Pan then lowered the little bug, dangling, before her mouth, and airily whispered. “You smell delicious…,”

  Before she knew it her mouth was open and she giddily lapped at the miniscule woman. Her tongue fell upon her wriggling form as a great, wet wall. Its pronounced bumps rubbed at her; passed gropingly over her petite, writhing body. They brushed roughly over her toned legs, against her crotch, lifting her chic black skirt, and over her breasts and screaming face. Saliva soaked her and she sputtered and coughed as some washed down her open mouth. The tongue made several more forceful passes and ripped her delicate bra off. Her wet tits bobbed out, her dark nipples stiffened against her will at the muscular tongues probing. Then, the slobbering assault stopped, and the giant lips closed. Pan pressed her hard against their plushness in a farce of a kiss. “Goodbye, my sweet…” She heard husky and resonant from inside the giant mouth. The lips parted anew and she was tossed into the murderous mouth of the giant woman.

The tongue thrashed her anew, and she was swished around the mouth, again nearly drowning in saliva, that began to sting her skin. She struggled to swim and keep her bearings, but she couldn’t fight the overwhelming tide the giant bitch produced and became dizzyingly disoriented as her lungs filled with liquid. Pan sucked on  the tiny woman, savoring both the flavor of her screaming treat, which was sweet to her like a ripe berry, but also a little salty; and the power she had over it.  After another moments enjoyment she used her monstrous tongue to flick the woman to the back of her mouth and into the woeful elastic tunnel of her waiting throat. Pan swallowed with a moan and traced her neck, feeling the wriggling bulge of the tiny woman headed to her gullet. The woman’s flavor was a strange but pleasing mix.  “Mmmm. That was tasty….”

Far from satisfied, her belly let out another angry growl. Smiling Pan lifted the seven remaing little people up. She was famished and did not feel like spending as much time on these. These she threw into her mouth all at once, along with the rubble.  She didn’t simply swallow these like she had Tina. These unfortunates she passed underneath her crushing, boulder-like molars, and tore at them with her feral incisors. She heard and felt bones popping and crushing and tasted their warm blood gush from their pulverized, eviscerated bodies and tinge her spit. It was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted, a delightful nectar. She heard their screams between her noisy chewing and moans of satisfaction. Yep it was playing out pretty much like Rampage.

Pan looked back to the building, still full to bursting off snacks. As she was deciding which section to harvest next she heard the sharp crash of breaking glass from the rightside of the tower, she watched, be mused as a conference table shot out one of the top story windows and shatter on the ground below.

Mark really hoped this idea worked. It was the only thing he or anyone could think of. He had gotten the idea from Die Hard. If this worked he could be a hero just like John McClane. He and the others charged the shatter-resistant window with a heavy oak table and threw it as hard as they could at it. They were pleasantly surprised when it worked. The table shot through with a terrific crash and shattered on the ground below, reminding them all of how risky this could be. Not stopping for a moment shawn broke the “Break in case of fire” glass with a spinny chair and began unreeling the sturdy fire hose it guarded. The alarm started blaring. Sweating he hoped she wouldn’t notice, he tied the end around him as best he could, made sure Gary and Kyle were ready to feed more slack when they needed and jumped out, closing his eyes.

 He opened them when he was sure he was safe. The hose felt snug and he wasn’t plummeting to his doom. He looked up and implored the others to join him. “ Come on guys! Like we talked about just use it like a rope and hold on tight!” And after, seeing the blonde pixie-cut of the co-worker he was most concerned about added, “Suzy! Come on You first!” She looked down and her face blanched, but she climbed over and Started.

She wrapped herself around the hose as tightly as she could, and shimmied cautiously down. Mark watched her descent, accidentally peeked up her skirt and saw the red bikini cut panties she wore beneath. He turned an almost matching red from embarrassment and shame, but she was safe. The others followed suit and he smiled as more and more hose lowered and more and more people climbed on. He looked down as he lowered, slowly and surely, but most importantly, safely to the ground. This just might work. “We’re gonna make it guys! Yippy ki-ya motherfucker!”

Pan waited patiently to watch this play out. After the table splintered on the ground, she heard tinny fire-alarms and a stocky, spiky haired man had descended out the window, with what she recognized as a thick fire-hose knotted around his waist. He waved his arms at the window and seemed to be beckoning more. A petite blonde woman climbed down after him and more hose leaked out, and more little workers in tiny business casual attire climbed on. She stifled a giggle at the ridiculous sight and waited til they had fed out a good portion of hose and there were about 10 or so dangling escapees. Then she made her move.

She brought her head around the side of the building and plucked the little spiky-haired leader off the wall. She threw him, struggling and screaming into her mouth. He was still very-connected with the hose and so the rest of the people, starting first with the blonde were also torn from the wall as Pan lessened the slack. Grinning, she began to suck on the hose like it was a pasta noodle.

The vacuum force she generated pulled the hose tight, and the blonde found her rump and legs kicking inside the giantess’ mouth. Pan slurped again and the little pixie was fully inside. And the brown-haired giantess began to suck harder, drawing all the screaming people daring to attempt escape into her cavernous mouth. They tried to climb back-up, but she was sucking too fast and hard, and they were no athletes, one red-haired woman fell to a splattering death below.

Inside, Kyle and Gary, heard the doomed screams and tried to stop the rapidly reeling fire-hose, but failed. Shortly she had almost all the climbers in her mouth, her cheeks puffed to capacity. She began to lazily chew, the sweet, sweet flavor of bones and blood bathing her tongue. She gnashed, pulped and rended the screaming, writhing mass of struggling citizens. When she had made enough space, she gave the hose, still dangling outside her mouth one last, forceful suck. It finally popped off the water pipe it was attached to and wrapped around Gary’s leg. It then rapidly retreated out the window throwing him discardingly to the sidewalk near to where Glynnis, the redhead, had met her messy fate. Pan slurped the last bit of the hose between her lips, finished chewing her snacks and swallowed with a bassy gulp. She licked some excess blood and gore from her lips, and burped the world’s loudest burp, putting her huge hand up over her mouth instinctively.  “oops! Ex-cuse me!” And giggled at her apparent hilarity.

6

Pan wanted more. The masses she ate, some still struggling in vain against the glistening inner muscles of her stomach and the caustic acid filling it, had served merely to whet her appetite further. Her body demanded more. She felt almost weak in her need; powerless against it. She felt like a hungry shark in a feeding frenzy, spurred by the spilled blood of seals. She briefly wondered if Discovery Channel might start a “Giantess Week” in her honor someday… before going forward with her next devious idea. She pressed her mouth to the inviting hole her latest meals had been kind enough to make for her. Her plump lips smooshed against the glass and her writhing, wet tongue crashed into the structure’s gaping wound.

Kyle and the others left inside were frozen by shock. Shaking men and hysterical women cried out and held each other, and some of both sexes were catatonic and stood staring, unblinking at the window their co-workers thought mistakenly to be their salvation. Kyle approached the edge of the broken window in a stunned daze. His gaze found the twin crimson splotches on the unforgiving concrete far below that were once Glyniss and Gary. They bickered constantly in the office, but they died so close together. Funny, in a way. Wind gusted from outside, billowing his business clothes. He felt nauseous and dizzy. He cringed, squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the cursed escape route; lest he fall hypnotized under gravity’s spell and drop himself willingly to join the red puddles below him. He heard short, barking shouts from the others. They had seen her stoop before them, darkening the room with her massive, smiling visage. Then she had opened her tooth-filled maw and pressed it to the hole behind him, and her reconnoitering tongue fell damningly upon him.

She threw her tongue wildly about. It wantonly smashed tiny office furniture to kindling and flattened struggling humans under its tremendous weight as it slobbered about the little workplace. The ant workers fell, one after the other, against the questing tongue of the giant, feminine aardvark that was Pan. Her stinging saliva was thick and sticky. It covered her tongue and was left in web-like strings and oozing puddles as it thrashed. The tiny morsels found themselves adhered to its bumpy surface and unable to extricate themselves. Many were pulped against it as it whipped against the ceiling, walls, or floor. Delicious, sweet blood saturated Pan’s taste-buds and deep, resonating moans echoed out the black cave of her mouth and washed over the terrified survivors on baleful gusts of warm, bated breath.

 Then the muscular, drooling tongue began to withdraw taking them screaming with it. It slipped like a retreating snake out the hole in the building, leaving a “snail-trail” of blood, debris and spit in its wake. Pan’s giant tongue fell back into her waiting mouth like a tidal wave; the doomed citizens simply drowning swimmers caught upon it.  The jarring melody of their rising screams was muffled abruptly when she pulled them into her mouth and sealed her lips behind them. Her smooth cheeks bulged in turn as she passed the squirming mass of people back and forth over her tongue and ivory teeth. She chewed lazily a few times, like a grazing cow masticating grass, and noisily gulped the partially chewed mouthful down. Not missing a beat, she pressed her mouth once more greedily to the feeding hole.

There were a dozen or so “littles” left in her imminent target area. Most of those wallowed in pools of her adhesive spit or beneath collapsed furniture or walls. A couple, less trapped, hobbled away on broken legs, abandoning their fellows; no less safe for their selfishness. Pan elected to not use her tongue this time. She had something different, and she thought fun in mind. She again pressed her mouth against the building, sealing her moist lips against the hole like an airlock. Then she began to suck.

A torrential vacuum began to form, drawing everything into the yawning cavern of her mouth. Papers by the hundreds, in every color imaginable, staplers, pencils, various other supplies and small bits of broken things flew in a rainbow wind into her mouth and down her throat unnoticed by the giantess; but it tore ruthlessly at the struggling people clinging desperately to columns and corners as they too began to be sucked into the giant woman’s eager mouth. Their feet left the ground and their bleeding knuckles whitened as their shoes and socks fell from their feet, falling sideways into the breathing trap. Pan sucked harder and a woman, still glistening wet with her saliva lost her grip and soared clawing through the air into her mouth. The frenetic woman grabbed and clutched onto another woman’s kicking legs as she flew. This one lost her grip as well and they fell as a screaming pair into the humid tunnel behind them. A bearded man became dislodged next. Then the remainder succumbed to the unrelenting force of her inhalation, almost simultaneously. They flew helplessly into the black hole that was her mouth and she swallowed them all whole, sealing them in her gurgling belly.

Pan surveyed the rest of the floors, hungrily regarding the remaining little people. Her eyes shot up and down, darting all over. The mites she regarded scuttled about, sheepishly dodging her voracious gaze. They dove behind cubicles, under desks and upturned benches, and pushed and clawed at each other; all because they didn’t want little old her to see them. They didn’t want to be next.

            Rex, a bearded janitor in blue cover-alls stared ahead, serene in the middle of the chaos surrounding him. She was beautiful. He was old. If he had to die, doing so by her hand seemed as good a way as any. Atleast he’d be done cleaning

up garbage and shit. Her breasts dominated the windows on this floor. They heaved and surged forward with each breath the young beauty took. Rivulets of sweat dripped over them as they bobbed and wrestled each other. Every now and then one of her huge nipples would graze the glass as she fidgeted. Hypnotized, he walked to the windows, and stretched his palm over the glass separating him from her right nipple. Her warmth baked him through the thin pane. Then, the floor shook and her bosom retreated from view, she was hunching over. Her delicate chin and lips fell to replace it, and then they too were gone and before he knew it he was staring directly into her giant, gorgeous blue eyes. He didn’t scream as her hand shot clutching through the windows and wall…

            Pan began rapidly punching her hands into the face of the building haphazardly. Her apparent random selection of where to spear her greedy mits made it nearly impossible for the tinies to escape her. Her giant, slender fingers burst in with ear-splitting explosions and trapped them like claws. She brought  them out in writhing handfuls and dumped them into her eager upturned mouth. She ate them like popcorn. She was sloppy in her haste and some of her living treats missed the mark, plummeting elsewhere. They ricocheted off the sculpted angles of her gorgeous face and bounced off her heaving breasts, before cracking fatally against the ground.  One tiny man was left precariously straddling her massive nipple, unnoticed by the ravenous giant. He spread himself flat against her, clinging for dear life to the threads of her sweat moistened tank top. Each breath she took caused the warm hill of a breast he rode to swell outward and jiggle. It repeatedly puffed up like a living hot-air balloon and tested his balance. He endured until Pan finally felt an itchy tickle on her breast, and gazed down at him. She grinned impishly at him, her tongue poking out ever slightly between her blood-speckled teeth. He screamed as her oversized hand fell over him.  She squeezed her breast lightly, crushing the little bug into it. She felt her warm, firm boob-flesh ooze between her fingers as she flattened the man-ant into it.  Pan felt his tiny body break and leak against her as she closed her hand further, pinching her fingers against her aroused nipple with a sigh. Then she heard the sirens.

7
Jack set-up his sniper nest on the roof of one of the buildings across from where the brunette giantess sat gorging herself. He screwed and snapped the pieces of his huge gun, a barrett .50 caliber anti-material rifle together. He smiled at the familiar sound of the well-oiled parts clicking into place, forming what to him was an elegant and lethal lady. She was long, matte black and vicious. He called her “Black Betty” and she had never let him down yet. She had utterly vaporized the heads of several dozen lunatics and militant druglords in their years of service together. He set her up on a recoil absorbing tri-pod on the edge of the roof and slid on his scope.
He watched, disgusted, as the beautiful colossus threw another handful of screaming citizens into her maw. He cringed as the crunching of their bodies echoed through the mostly empty streets between him and her.

He was disgusted with her for being so immoral and cruel, and disgusted with himself for finding her alluring in spite of it. She just seemed like an ordinary woman having snacks while watching a movie, her long, lightly-tanned legs folded around a box of popcorn or chips. He found himself watching her, and not just to line-up a shot. Her hair, the color of dark coffee, fell down her back in thick, billowing cascades. The subtle muscles of her shoulders and back moved in elegant waves as they went about their work. Sweat coated her skin in crystal dew-drops. One fugitive droplet suddenly succumbed to gravity as he stared, and raced down the small of her back (Which was actually rather large) and slipped into her asscrack and underneath her shorts. His eyes followed it’s journey and were left staring at the round hills of her ass, which was surrounded with a corona of drying blood and gore. The gruesome sight tore him out of his lustful trance and he crouched, brought his finger over the trigger, and kissed Betty as he slammed the 10 round magazine into place.


Sneering he swiveled until the glowing red crosshairs of the sight were centered on the back of the neck of the gluttonous mass murderer towering before him. He didn’t care how big she was, the huge rounds Betty was about to spit at her were going to tear through the Godzilla bitch’s neck and paralyze her sadistic ass.
His comrades on the other roofs had the same goal. Patrol men snuck their cars silently into a phalanx around her and readied shotguns and pistols, and a couple armored SWAT vans spewed ground teams out their back, armed with assault rifles. When the tornado and police car sirens went off, signaling them to fire, and to officially warn the remaining populace to hunker down and prepare for her(they hadn’t had time to make a Giant, Malicious Woman siren yet; and she was a maelstrom in her own way…), she was toast. He hoped. Nerves began to seize him, but he bit them back. Mounting tension filled the humid air. He rubbed the lucky rabbit foot he kept on his neck, wiped the sweat off his forehead, squinted into his scope and waited eagerly to put her down.


Pan was about to secure another handful of snacks when the tinny warble of police sirens and the ominous resonance of tornado alarms went off simultaneously, snapping her from her ravenous revelry. She barely had time to turn her head and register that she was surrounded by a corona of cop cars and tiny police before nearly every inch of her young, statuesque body was riddled with bullets.


Jack lent his cry to the cacophony. Betty bellowed as he unleashed hell on the giant woman, in unison with his brothers in arms. Hot shells clattered to the road in the hundreds, falling as smoking brass water-falls. They screamed their hate at her, sure of victory. But, she seemed unaffected by the massive coordinated strike sent firing against her. Bullets of all calibers peppered her up and down, some even struck her huge, dazed eyes. The barrage did not draw blood from the giantess, and seemingly caused her no pain or distress. Bright white flashes accompanied the hits instead, dancing and glittering over her vast, indomitable body like a stripper’s body shimmer. The scattered shots only tickled her warmly, and flattened bullets peeled off her skin and fell to the cracked ground, spent and defeated. The giant college student snickered sardonically; realizing the sterile futility of the miniscule police forces’ pathetic synchronized attack.

A small percentage of the previously brave law men and women read their doom in her indigo eyes and throaty, audacious laughter and gutlessly retreated. Their fled mostly on foot, but a couple crashed into one another disastrously, and very nearly over officers still courageously holding their formation, as they sloppily attempted to escape in their patrol cars. Frantic, garbled calls for back-up clogged the police radio channels as the malicious, giggling goddess meted out her wrath.

Pan didn’t bother to stand, but simply swiveled her torso so that she could gaze upon the uniformed ants surrounding her. Many tried in vain to evade her smirking gaze and the demise it promised. Several cop cars had collided disastrously with each other as they haphazardly chanced escape. They piled themselves into broken heaps; their drivers semi-conscious at best and their tiny tires spinning futilely. These were her first targets.


Pan’s eyes glimmered as she peered at them more closely, her mind absorbed how terrified they were of her, how much power she had over them. They fate was in her hands; almost literally. She felt a cool, euphoric tingle and tightened the muscles of her elegant fingers and hand, forming it into a mighty fist. This she swung down onto a smoking wreck comprised of two tangled patrol cars. One of the drivers regained consciousness shortly beforehand (ha, get it before ha…anyway…) and tried to jimmy open the badly bent door of his dying automobile, failing that then attempted to bust out the cracked window with bloody hands and elbows. He came very close to succeeding in his task, and presumably escaping his death and living his life out til a ripe old age, before eventually dying senile in a nursing home with warm yellow walls and apathetic but cheery nurses. This was sadly not to be, however, and his blurred vision darkened as the wrecking ball fist smashed down from above.
The smoldering wrecks and injured police officers were crushed utterly under the power of her hammering fist. A booming thud sounded and a dusty cl

oud of debris erupted into the air as her colossal fist met the street, cracking and shattering it. Blood and burning motor-oil and gas seeped into the cracks her fury left. Giggling she brought her other hand down spitefully in a downward slap on a crowd of officers who had reloaded and were again pointlessly firing at her; desperate to stop her. They were like Wile E. Coyote, and her hand was an Acme anvil. Only this wasn’t a cartoon, and they evaporated in a gory red mist. She heard a juicy squelch in addition to the familiar crackling of the ground. Hot, sticky blood splashed beneath her palm, drenching it and spurting in crimson fountains out of the cracks between her elegant, carefully manicured fingers.

Pan moaned predatorily at the feeling of their lives ending wetly on her hand, and brought it to her mouth. It was sopping with blood and dripped and dribbled on its ascent, speckling her bosom. It glistened red and reminded her of strawberry syrup. She grinned deviously and poked her finger between her open lips. She closed them and sucked on it hard. She sighed anew at tasting the sugar-sweet blood and opened her mouth against her crinkled palm. She lapped at her hand greedily, sloppily throwing her rough tongue against it, harvesting the sweet red essence saturating her hand. When her palm was mostly dry, she popped her other fingers into her pouty mouth, sucking the sweet juice off each of them in turn.

Then after one final lick her hand retreated from her mouth. It traced her neck, and traveled slowly down her cleavage and over her heaving breast. The monstrous hand briefly groped and pinched at the pinnacle of her boob while its mate rubbed her soft belly and began to sneak into the waistband of her shorts, towards the satin-covered cave inside. Her fingers brushed over it, stroking its warm lips through the slippery material of her g-string. No. Not yet. Not right now. She bit her lip, holding herself back. She still had business to finish.

Her hands beat at the cops furiously, falling as boulders upon them. They ran, fired guns and screamed, but none of these methods were effective at saving their meager lives. BOOM! CRASH!, etc., etc. Before long she had utterly decimated the police force on the ground. The tiny cops were puddles on the cracked road, or red gore paint dripping from her hands and their vehicles were all smashed or aflame. She was in the midst of licking her left hand clean, looking like a murderous cat, when the tenacious team of roof-mounted snipers began to again fire upon her face.

The shots that hit her nose and cheeks were especially tickly, but as ineffective as any that came before them. Snarling she swiped her hand upward through one of the buildings a cluster of the snipers were on. Her hand curled up into a claw tore easily throught the building’s facade and blew through the floors like they were paper. Eventually her giant hand burst out from under them, revealing itself like a shark from under water. She clasped her hand shut and brought the handful of tiny swat members up and unfurled her fingers slightly under her face so she could watch them. Her curious blue eyes were the last thing they saw.

Pan watched, intrigued, as they steadied themselves on her palm, trying to secure further shots on her. What stubborn little police men. They had to know how futile their laughable efforts were, right? She rocked her hand gently, as if rolling dice. “C’mon, c’mon. Momma needs a new pair a shoes,” she thought to herself. The little cops tumbled helplessly in her palm and their weapons and clips jostled out of their hands, effectively castrating them. The sight of these hardened SWAT members, so stylish in their tactical assault gear, stumbling over each other and rolling around feebly in her petite hand was hilarious to her. She chuckled anew and her wafting, pungent breath washed over their struggling forms. The ripe smell of recent slaughter mingled with lingering traces of this morning’s cool peppermint Listerine; it was a strangley bittersweet aroma.

She quickly became bored with her defenseless hand prisoners and decided to rid herself of them. She stopped her rolling and slowly closed her massive fingers around them. She heard tiny, chirruped screams of alarm and felt their tiny bodies feebly struggling against her will. Tiny booted feet and gloved hands punched and kicked at the colossal digits collapsing upon them, and tried to pry them apart at the cracks.. Their efforts grew more and more desperate as she closed her hand ever tighter, as they ran out of space. She was reminded of when she used to capture moths when she was young, they beat their tiny, fragile wings furiously, uselessly, against her.

Finally they compacted and broke against her soft palm and fingers, just as the moths of yesteryear. She mercilessly flexed and rubbed her fingers and palm together and further condensed their corpses. She was giddy at the precise detail she was able to feel with her clustered, perceptive nerves. She felt each individual bone yield, crack, collapse and powderize in her demolishing grip. Her ears perked as the sharp crunching noises were joined by wet squelching as blood surged from their popping bodies and washed over her hand. Finally, feeling no more give, she unwrapped her blood-stained digits and beheld the fruits of her moment’s work.

A tiny, gory ball of bone, crumpled uniforms, skin, and organs sat in the middle of a red pool of blood puddled in the center of her wrinkled palm. Impressive. She popped it in her mouth and was surprised at how chewy it was, then swallowed before again sucking sweet blood off her hand.

8

Pan was pleased. She had deftly taken care of her cop problem. She swung back to facing forwards and realized she still had a sad, badly damaged building nestled in her lap. The many ragged holes she had punched into it made it sort-of resemble a towering column of swiss cheese; though it was obviously not the correct color. Red and yellow emergency lighting flickered in the holes and she saw tiny dark shapes she knew to be little people scurrying about. They were still alive somehow and were still struggling to escape. She briefly considered eating these as she had their co-workers and friends, but dismissed the thought. Her ravenous hunger appeared to be satiated for the moment, and she was bored of harvesting the screaming bugs. This building, therefore, was of no further use to her, and ceased to hold her attention. She had compromised much of its rigidity and structural support in her feasting. It creaked and whined at the strain of gravity and occasional gusts of wind blew bits of crumbling debris from it. It looked pathetic and pitiable. The upper most stories had actually begun to yaw and lean towards her slightly, as if to sob in surrender against her shoulder and bosom. This gave her an idea of how to be done with it.

Pan’s wry smirk, now a consistent harbinger of impending peril, stretched across her beautiful face. “Come here, my darlings…” She cooed and folded her arms languorously around the decrepit building in what to her was a gentle embrace, and began to squeeze. Her humongous, lightly freckled, breasts smooshed against and broke into the already wounded face of the crumbling structure as the steely, corded muscles of her arms pulled it towards her. A nearly orchestral array of sounds accompanied her affectionate destruction; metallic screeches as steel beams bent and warped, soft crackles as concrete and plaster broke and smashed, shrill screams of panicked and dying people, and the delicate tinkling of shattering glass.

Stephanie was on the roof, she and several others had assumed the cops would be sending a helicopter rescue. Turns out she, and the rest were quite wrong. They heard the police sirens and gushed out the roof exit and poured over the helipad, sure of rescue. They cheered when the heard the deafening peels of choreographed gunfire and the blue-eyed giantess turned away from them, catching bullets in the face and eye. But the bullets hadn’t worked and the giant woman had violently dispatched the police. And no helicopter came.

A few had ran, scuttling, back into the building then. Stephanie and the others remained, though. So far, the giant bitch hadn’t paid anymind to the roof, while the rest of the building seemed like a sure-to-get-eaten deathtrap. And they might still send helicopters. Maybe. Hopefully? She bit her lip and paced nervously, trying not to think about the giant brunette seated in front of the building.  God, what she wouldn’t do to just get home and get a warm bath, with some scented candles and…and some foaming bubb…Suddenly the ground beneath her rocked, cutting her thoughts short. Shit! Shitshitshit!

The building leaned into Pan more and more as she squeezed and a small group of people who had sought refuge and rescue on the roof felt the ground yaw, as a ship in a storm, beneath their feet. The roof dipped suddenly towards the beaming giantess and her grinning face and chin cast them into shadow. None of them had very good “sea legs” and they quickly lost their footing and fell prone as the roof’s angle grew more severe. They slid screamingly towards her heaving breasts and into her cavernous cleavage as she tightened her embrace.

  Stephanie screamed shrilly and tried to steady herself. Everyone around her was doing the same, she looked back, and saw the whole roof was slanting. It was dipping towards the smiling giant. She grinned down at them from the heavens, mocking them. Stephanie fell onto her back as the giant’s face and chin soared over them, blocking the sun. She slid down the rough stone of the roof. She wriggled and clawed, trying to slow her descent. Someone kicked her head as they slid past her, screaming and flailing. She ignored the burning pain and looked down. She was falling helplessly towards the giant’s mountainous breasts! The edge of the roof crumbled into her daunting cleavage. Stephanie slid in amid a shower of rubble and tumbling co-workers.

 Stephanie pushed herself off at the last moment, empowered by adrenaline. She landed with a smack against Pan’s clavicle. It stung like a bitch, but she tried to hold on, already feeling gravity pull her towards the jiggling breasts and cleavage below. She scrabbled desperately for purchase, but found none. The big slut was too sweaty. It poured out of her enmasse. It made the freckled skin slippery and impossible to get a grip on. Stephanie cried out as she slid. A giant, basket-ball sized sweat droplet took this opportunity to rush her and splash rudely against her screaming face. It soaked and temporarily blinded her, and Stephanie reluctantly swallowed much of it. She scowled and nearly gagged at the salty taste, before realizing she wasn’t sliding anymore.

She timidly opened her eyes and realized she had come to an awkward stop

on the giantess’ boob. Her top half and arms draped over, but her legs hung precariously into the giant woman’s cleavage. Several other people were sprinkled around her, in similar positions. Stephanie heard crunching from all around and Rubble buffeted them from overhead. She had to climb up, before falling debris knocked her from her perch. She clawed at warm, heaving flesh, empowered and determined, but the movement caused her to slide further down. NOOOO! She cried out in vain, the giant breasts, pressing against the building smushed and spread. She felt the soft, squishy walls closing around her. Her scream was muffled as they jiggled and crashed together, smothering and crushing Stephanie and a few others. Her hand shot out of the cleavage dramatically, before slipping back in. The giant tits ground against each other and Stephanie’s hand, as well as the rest of her, was never seen again.

Pan decided she shouldn’t leave the bottom floors out of the fun and brought her thighs slapping against the building’s walls, and pressed her long, powerful legs inward and together. Her thighs and calves quivered as her muscles tightened. Her crotch rubbed subconsciously against the creaking lobby doors. She let out an airy moan and squeezed harder, her legs and arms constricted the tiny, fragile building. Dozens of tinies were crushed to death as entire floors and walls collapsed noisily upon them. Her thighs twitched more as her legs folded inward quickly cutting into the building and severing the lower floors from the rest. The lobby doors buckled and the wall holding them exploded inward as her crotch rubbed even more forcefully against them. Screaming people on the lobby floor were showered first with fierce, slashing glass and debris and then with the musky smell of Pan’s arousal. Warm, scented juices darkened her shorts as her pelvis pressed into the lobby.

Pan was caught by surprise by the pleasant consequences of her mostly accidental grinding and moaned loudly at feeling her pussy crash against and into the building. It moistened and an electric tingle shot through her body as something grazed her clitoris through the thin barriers her hot pants and panties provided. She reflexively jerked her limbs together even tighter. Her glistening arms and legs sliced through the building. She twisted as she squeezed and the poor structure yielded and collapsed against her soft, young body. It cracked and practically vaporized in her steely, full-body grip. Powdery showers of debris and people trickled over her body; over her firm breasts, soft but toned belly, and spilling over her long, slender legs and her recently dampened crotch. (In other words, she’s still hot, in case you’ve forgotten ;) )

Pan sat, laughing haughtily in the ruin-piled lot that used to hold a tall, proud tower, filled to the brim with industrious little workers. She felt fleetingly like a child again, sitting amongst the ruins of another child’s sandcastle (her usual victim was her bestfriend, who artfully crafted and treasured her creations) in her elementary school’s sandbox. The memories brought her a selfish, wicked joy.

 All that remained of the once-proud building were small, pebble piles of smoldering rubble, and a fine gray-dust that coated her body; having adhered to the sweat that still dripped from her pores, and blew around as whirling clouds.

She saw, in the building’s vacancy, that there was a sprawling park area behind it and between a cluster of other corporate buildings that she hadn’t noticed before. It was surely meant as a place for the miniscule workers to relax on their short breaks between grueling shifts.  Pristine brick walkways lined with ornate benches, lush green carefully-trimmed topiary bushes and small, flower-filled gardens encircled a large marble, multi-tiered fountain. Her thirst made itself known again as she watched the it gush beneath her.

She licked her lips and positioned herself for a cool drink from its crytal-clear waters.  She raised herself on her knees, tearing through rubble and buried survivors; then began to lean forward. She lowered her giant hands in front of her for support and they crashed down on some of the benches and bushes, splintering and flattening them nonchalantly.  She slid forward, her hands broke and split the brick-work and dug deep furrows in the rich soil buried beneath it. She raise her juicy ass, which filled her tiny shorts to capacity, into the air and lowered her gorgeous face to the exquisitely carved marble fountain. She cutely stuck her tongue into the cool pool of water at the base of the fountain and lapped like a thirsty cat. The water was crisp, cold and refreshing. But this method was not alleviating her renewed thirst quickly enough, so she pursed her lips and brought them over the gushing geyser at the top.

 Her high cheekbones crashed into two cherubs that had been spurting secondary streams from brass trumpets and they broke from their roosts and fell with wet plunks into the rippling, coin-floored pool beneath. Pan payed this no mind and sucked greedily at the central fountain. She slurped galloon upon galloon of cold, refreshing water into her mouth and down her throat.

Pan was again reminded of her school days, when she would gluttonously hog the lone drinking fountain after hot recesses while the other children whined and pleaded behind her. “Save some for the fishes!” they had often cried in anger at her, but she would always continue monopolizing the fountain well-after her thirst had left her. Their cries actually amused and further emboldened her; she often fancifully imagined that she was actually drying up the vast oceans of the world with her stubborn greed. She would smirk at the images of sea creatures marooned by her piggish excess on the bone-dry oceanfloor. She vividly envisioned whole schools of fish, octopi, jelly-fish, squids, and even sharks and whales beached and flopping about hopelessly as they died because of her. Never sea-horses or dolphins though. She thought those were cute.

Pan guzzled more and more water, and the fountain, which didn’t have a constant source, but only recycled its stores, lost pressure and volume. The main geyser fell to a slow, pathetic trickle. She was not done yet though, and still lapped at the waning trickle, until it too was gone and the marble fountain was completely dry. She licked lingering droplets from her glistening lips and smiled, her thirst quenched once more.

She was far from done with the park though. It was much too beautiful and pristine for its own good. Pan felt it was too nice for mere humans to keep, and the careful precise crafting that must have gone into creating it would make it so much more satisfying to destroy. Pan bit the tiered central column off of the fountain and chewed. She happily crushed the polished marble to dust between her inhumanly strong molars. It tasted dry and chalky so she spit it out, spewing marble dust everywhere. She brought her fingers poised behind the two remaining chubby angels, whose bronze trumpets were dry, and flicked. They shot off airborne in parallel arcs. Their molded wings did nothing to aid their flight and they crashed through mirrored windows one of the adjacent office building. She slapped her hands down violently as she pushed herself up, cracking more bricks and flattening more benches, bushes and flowerbeds.

She stood to her full height, towering and indomitable. Her shadow stretched across the small park. Smiling she brought her leg up and aimed her colossal, feminine foot over one of the raised gardens. The flowers it contained were all varied and vibrant in color. They had been hand selected and lovingly planted by a professional gardener with a seasoned hand, arranged optimally to brighten mood and amaze senses. Butterflies and bees flitted whimsically between bright, cheerful blossoms. They were blissfully unaware of the doom about to descend upon them.  A single, ornate birdbath jutted from the middle of the garden, beckoning birds to wash themselves in the cool water puddled within. It sat unoccupied though. The birds, it seemed, were more keen then the bees and butterflies.

The garden’s tasteful palette of colors dulled severely, and appropriately under her foot’s foreboding shadow. Many of the flowers’ heads drooped towards the ground, presumably extra-sensitive to the loss of sunlight, or were they simply depressed? The world may never know, but some of the bees thought they heard quiet, despondent sighs as Pan’s wrinkled sole, dirtied from her travels plummeted out of the sky towards them. The ball of her foot thundered into the ground, crushing flowers, which  may or may not have been screaming into the ground. Her foot was wider than the bed, and crumbled its stonewalls as well, further compacting the soil and dying plants. Her cute, knubby toes landed next. Her bigtoe further deteriorated the wall of the garden and shattered a bench and her second toe overtook and smashed the carefully sculpted birdbath.

 All five of her dainty toes pressed against more colorful plants, grinding them to pulp and ripping their roots. Her toes splayed and tore deep trenches in the soil as she placed more of her weight down. The feel of rich dirt and pulverized flowers between her toes delighted her. Her rough heel landed finally. It utterly pounded the ground, bugs and plants beneath it. More of the wall collapsed under her and her foot sank lower into the soft ground before finally accepting the tremendous force of her step. Her calf twitched, and her thigh shimmied slightly as a fraction of the force was sent back up her lanky leg. She smiled, and, with her hands on her hips, slowly swiveled her foot, as if grinding out a cigarette. She pulled her pretty foot back. The garden was an ugly, flat patch of stirred up mud and broken concrete now. This pleased her and she went on the stomp the rest of the beautiful park into ugliness under her pedicured feet. When she was done, she left the wrecked park and demolished building. She walked once more down the cracked road, towards what appeared to be the industrial district…

9

Pan strutted down the road with an arrogant swagger. Her hands rested on her flared hips, which swayed and dipped seductively, and she held her thickly-maned head high and kept a pouting smirk on her face. The road buckled and fractured beneath her and the city shook with her tread as she fittingly hummed the tune to “I Feel the Earth Move”, by Carole King;  though luckily for the tiny city and its inhabitants, the sky had thus far held off on “tumblin’ down”.

The road, which was usually buzzing with activity, seemed to be mostly vacant. The piles of grid-locked cars, abandoned in panic by their owners, grew denser with each popping step she took, though, indicating she was probably catching up to the retreating masses fleeing the besieged metropolis. This thought made her giddy and she quickened her pace to a brisk walk; her towering legs cutting through the air like knives.

She seemed to be leaving the downtown area. The road narrowed and the buildings began to dwindle in height as she moved ownward. Before long they were squeezing in on her as she strode. The concrete towers encroached rudely into her “personal bubble”, lightly rubbing against her soft skin like a creeper at a dance club as she passed them. This was unacceptable to her, and she further exaggerated the swing of her hips, rhythmically slamming them against the miniaturized buildings. The booming collisions caused glass and mortar to explode outward in glimmering showers as she crippled any structure that dared to impose itself upon her. The vibrations caused her round buttocks to smack together sexily and booming claps of thunder, loud as any storm’s, ripped the air with each alluring impact.

Before long, Pan was wading into what she had accurately perceived to be an industrial section of the city. The buildings here, mostly warehouses and factories, were dull, squat and almost uniformly gray, occasional smoketstacks and worksites did little to break the palpable monotony. It was a bland, dirty blanket stretched before her; seemingly abandoned and boring as shit. But, she thought she could see a glimmering body of blue water behind it, blurry in the distance. She wanted to get out of this cement swamp and to that scintillating intrigue as quickly as possible. It was with this in mind that she decided to jog.

Pan smilingly stretched, knowing the importance of a good warm-up and not wanting to pull anything. Also she figured it’d be a good show for any unfortunate saps still lingering in her vicinity.  Her breasts thrust proudly outward and surged against her thin shirt as she arched her back and stretched her arms skyward, as if reaching for the sun. She smiled as it seemed her hands, now gargantuan in size, might actually be able to accomplish the task.

She fancifully imagined wrapping her fingers around it. She found her long, elegant digits unharmed, only warmed, by its searing heat as she grasped it in her hand, and plucked it from the sky like a fruit. The fantasy played itself out in her inquisitive mind.  The tiny world found itself cast into eerie shadow as she brought the glowing ball to her smiling face. The tinies cried out against her, terror apparent on their upturned faces as she unabashedly stole it from the heavens. Their minds broke at the horror of watching this monstrous beauty pilfering what had always served as a source of heat, brightness and hope; a progenitor of life itself. She clutched it selfishly in her hand, broadcasting an arrogant air of ownership over its life-sustaining radiance.

The sun flickered in her palm and bathed her face in a heavenly light; giving her a superficially angelic appearance. Its warmth tickled her nose and she grinned adorably and her pearly teeth blindingly reflected its brightness. She licked her sumptuous lips and daintily popped the glowing fireball, the center of the universe, venerated for centuries, into her salivating maw. The spooky twilight covering the world turned at once to heavy, tarry blackness. The dethroned sun flickered and sputtered brightly and desperately in her mouth, lighting her cheeks and teeth from within. Then she closed her mouth and noisily swallowed.

The bright ball of light could be seen passing down her graceful neck, and finally into her sloshing belly. Her whole body tingled with pleasant pins and needles. Warmth shot through her veins and her exquisite form exploded in a blinding flash of light. It dimmed to a warm glow and the darkness retreated from her, the world was once again illuminated. She stood a glowing goddess. She laughed at the little people below. She was their sun now, and she would not be nearly as kind as her predecessor.

   Pan finished stretching as the fantasy dimmed and faded, for now, and shelved itself nicely in the back of her mind. She bent at the waist and grasped her toes, her legs and back popped as they stretched, and her fantastic ass ballooned and pushed against her already strained “booty shorts”, pulling the material drum tight over her spreading butt-cheeks. The understated muscles of her flat, but soft belly crinkled as she bent forward, and one of the narrow shoulder straps of her flimsy tank top slipped off her shoulder, and the already low and inviting neckline, plummeted even further. Her lightly tanned breasts, modest to her but giant and hill-like to any onlookers, fell together with a clap, and her pink nipples were sporadically visible just above the rippling hammock of her shirt as she stooped. She held that position for a few seconds and popped up, bringing her lean legs against her pillowy chest, stretching them in turn.      

 She crouched suddenly, and imagined herself to be a monolithic foot-racer. She adopted a look of playful determination as she pretended to wait for the starting gun; though she supposed a starting cannon would be more fitting in her case. “Go!” she cried laughingly and the lean, sinewy muscles of her towering legs snapped immediately into action, gently undulating as she shot forward with a bouncing hop. Her feet crashed into a pair of abandoned warehouses. They collapsed the concrete roofs and crushed rusted machinery and mildewing wooden crates of supplies.

The world bucked, cracked and quaked disastrously against the shattering force of her footfalls as Pan continued her gleeful sprint. Her legs pistoned up and down furiously and her arms and hands swished through the air in cutting arcs. Her sweat glistened body jostled beautifully with her run. Her mountainous breasts and toned buttocks danced and juked lustily to a feverish beat.

 Her bare feet obliterated anything they came in contact with. Her cute, painted toes kicked effortlessly through sturdy, thick-walled buildings in deafening explosions of brick and steel and her wrinkled sole mercilessly smashed everything beneath themselves. Buildings, outlying little people; even big work trucks and heavy industrial equipment pancaked underneath her. Brick, flesh, concrete, steel and iron all crumbled against Pan’s tremendous force and weight. Her auburn hair flew behind her in wet tendrils and giant droplets of her sweat showered her imperiled surroundings.

The booming tremors she brought with her playful jog were so powerful that they devastated anything in the surrounding area, not just what was directly in her path. Cars, trucks, and even Semi’s “hopped” with her steps, and crashed disastrously back to the ground. Their metal shells, axles and frames scraped, bent, and cracked and their windows shattered. Many lay totaled on their backs, tires to the sky, looking like helpless wounded turtles. Adjacent buildings shook and creaked. Older ones, not fortified against earthquakes, cracked outright, upper stories snapped and slid off the lower foundations, fell and shattered.

 Her foot crashed next to a worksite of a building in progress. The vulnerable, partially completed structure didn’t stand a chance. The quake threw the steel skeleton base into quivering disarray and it shook apart. The heavy, riveted beams fell upon the workaholic foreman in charge of the site, and several workers he had cajoled into staying and helping to secure expensive tools and various equipment of the site before evacuating. They screamed in vain as the fledging building; their own creation, collapsed upon them, shattering their bones and burying them.

Pan, the beautiful, towering goddess whose stride had doomed them, didn’t even notice as she jogged past.

10

Pan slowed to a trot a minute or two later. She didn’t feel much like running anymore. She wasn’t winded or terribly out of shape, she had just never been that enthusiastic about running, for sport or pleasure. The way she saw it, unless she was being chased by a killer, or on fire, there wasn’t much of a point to it. Come to think of it she should probably be much heavier than she was, but she had been blessed with a super-humanly high metabolism and effortlessly kept her lithe shape even though her diet often consisted of gorging on booze, frozen pizza and fast-food. And mint chocolate chip ice cream when she was feeling particularly indulgent; she licked her lips at the thought. God, she would’ve killed for some ice cream right then.

This inhuman metabolism, a target of constant jealousy, had spoiled her, and she very rarely exerted herself when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. It had been delightful tearing through the city at what must’ve seemed ludicrous speeds to any little people, and feeling the tarmac and buildings quake and splinter even more completely beneath her hastened step; but the initial thrill had faded and she found herself succumbing to her inherent laziness. She wiped an ungodly amount of sweat from her forehead, combed her slick hair over her shoulders and her trot devolved further to her natural, languorous gait as she strode through the remaining portion of the industrial district.

            She stopped, suddenly before a building, slightly taller and nicer looking than those around it. An antiquey red sign atop it read, in yellow writing that reminded her of the circus, “Papa Bubbly’s World Famous Brewery”. She unconsciously licked her lips. “Beer..” She spoke murkily as if hypnotized. Her eyes scanned lustily down, and a bright banner, hung below the sign proclaimed “PROUD HOME OF THE WORLD’S LARGEST BOTTLES OF BEER!” Could that mean what she thought?

Pan hunkered down, sitting on her haunches and filling the street, and peered in through the ground-to-roof glass of the renowned brewery.  Her mouth fell into a laughing smile at what she saw: 6 giant multi-colored bottles of hoppy goodness! They were arranged neatly in 2 rows of 3, divided by polished walkways and cordoned off by halos of red velvet ropes and glittering gold poles.

Puffs of white mist sprayed up around them periodically, presumably cooling them, and dewey droplets peppered the frosty bottles. Bright display lights shone beneath them, illuminating the glass and fizzy contents, and gave them a heavenly glow. Papa Bubbly’s smiling, mustachioed image beamed at her from the 6 lavishly decorated, gold-lettered labels. He winked and pointed at her. “This brew’s fer you!,” He seemed to merrily laugh at her.

 She licked her lips once more, clasped her delicate but huge hands before her and let her hair fall down her back and cast a wide-eyed and humbly thankful gaze to the sky; where she knew her maker lay in bed, typing out, and often fapping to, the details of her existence. She had no doubt he had been responsible for this unlikely, but fateful boon and blew him a couple appreciative kisses. He, in turn, blushed lightly and kept typing.

            She pondered briefly how best to go about retrieving her mouth-watering prizes, and settled on simply poking through the glass facade. Her fingers burst through it effortlessly and anxiously wrapped around one of the towering bottles, knocking over a plaque proclaiming the very specific dimensions of the bottle and the volume it held, as well as the brewing process of the beer it contained. Pan’s creator didn’t think these details were particularly important to the story, and openly glossed them over.

 Pan thrilled at how perfectly cold the bottle was in her hand, and pulled it out, further widening the hole in the building. Her blue eyes gawked marvelingly at it as she rotated it in front of her face. She rolled it over her chest, which sprouted goosebumps at its chill touch, and licked its slender neck provocatively, and then began twisting its gleaming cap. Her excitement was replaced by sudden aggravation. It wasn’t a twist off!

            She huffed brattily and was about to flip the sky off, when she saw something gleaming in the back corner of the showcase. It was a giant bottle opener. It too bore Papa Bubbly’s likeness along with bold letters stating “No Worries!”. Smiling once more she retrieved it and expertly used it to pop the cap off. It flew off and shattered the windshield of an adjacent truck. Its hearty scent danced up to her nose and tickled her nostrils.   Then she brought the fluted tip of the bottle to her parched lips and took an appraising sip.

            “Mmmm,” she mouthed, or rather ‘throated’ as the cool, fizzy drink met her tongue. It was dark and hoppy, but also smooth and creamy. Simply put, it was fucking delicious. She wanted to relax and enjoy it. She decided with a backward glance that the squat building behind her would make a fine chair and casually sat her immense, meaty ass upon it.

It landed squarely on the comparatively tiny rooftop access doorway, which pressed fleetingly into her buttcrack. She let out a startled gasp at the minute and unexpected poke, but continued to lower her ass. Her full, rounded buttcheeks spilled over the little exit. It put up a feeble, shuddering struggle but ultimately buckled and crumbled to pieces under her. Wounded metallic screeches split the air as her firm rump flattened some a/c units. Now unchallenged, the warm, quivering flesh of her asscheeks spread out and filled the rooftop.

The building creakingly complained beneath her. She felt the concrete roof bow and crack as it endeavored to hold her unfathomable weight before it too surrendered. The upper walls exploded outward and the roof caved in and her butt fell through to the next floor in a shower of broken concrete, plaster, and falling light fixtures and vents. It landed with a boom and immediately collapsed that floor. Finally the third floor down bowed severely under her ass but managed to bleatingly support her.

She shimmied gently to get comfortable, steamrolling file cabinets full of invoices and other boring jargon, state of the art (as of the prior week, so obsolete really) computers and fax machines, desks and one unlucky vending machine against her soft, but unmerciful hindquarters. Then she resumed drinking, finally seated and content.

Pan craned her neck upward, and knocked back the bottle, chugging like a pro. Galloons of heady, hop-infused beer filled her mouth and puffed her freckled cheeks before being pushed into her slender neck, which bulged briefly, then sped the cold liquid into the gurgling reservoir that was her stomach. She slurped and swallowed noisily with perfect, automated regularity. GULP!-m-GULP!-m-GULP! She was a living, breathing beer guzzling machine; a sexy one.

The icy cold, amber-colored beer flooded her mouth and washed over her inquisitive tongue. Its rich flavor teased and enlivened her taste buds and its fizzing bubbles tickled the roof of her mouth and throat.  It was delightful in taste and temperature and she was a little caught up in her grateful chugging. Perhaps that is why she hadn’t yet noticed little man on her toes.

Oscar was yanked screaming from his drunken slumber by imminent and thundering crashing and booms. Oscar wasn’t his real name, but he had thick bushy orange-red eyebrows, and, as a homeless man, spent a great deal of time scowling and being in and around rubbish; so people had taken to calling him Oscar, as in Oscar the Grouch. He hadn’t done much to oppose this; he could no longer remember his real name and Oscar the Grouch seemed as good a name as any. (What’s in a name? That which we call a bum by any other name would smell as rank. J) He rolled, grumbling, out of his cardboard shanty and stumbled out of the reeking, garbage filled alley towards the road, which seemed to be the origin of the cacophonous noise, on wobbling legs.

He saw the towering source of the horrendous booming and nearly fainted. He stared, sparingly-toothed mouth open in awe and disbelief. His vision was still a little watery from this morning’s Old Dead Turkey quality bourbon whiskey, but had no doubt that it was a colossal woman walking down the street towards him. He scratched his whispy-haired head.  A giant woman! And…Oh my. She was a real looker!  

Oscar’s leering gape crawled up her long, lean legs and stuck briefly on the crotch of her shorts, still visibly dark with her earlier subconscious arousal. He thought of the gaping, slobbering pussy she must be hiding in her little shorts and felt his penis stiffen. He could live in it. It would be a much warmer box than the ones he was used to sleeping in. He felt the ground quaking as she drew closer. 

He licked over his yellow teeth, cracked lips and over his wild red mustache. His drooling gaze wormed up her undulating belly and lingered on her heaving, bouncing tits; growing ever larger as she advanced. It oozed over the proud, jiggling mounds and pert nipples, and slithered into her inviting cleavage. It made several lewd circuits of this before finally scanning her angelic face. He eyeballed her plump, pouting lips, gorgeous cheekbones, thick, billowing hair and big, heavy lidded “fuck me” blue eyes. She was so fuckin sexy. 

He hadn’t felt a woman in so long, and she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. His slug-like tongue moistened his craggy lips again and he took a swig of the burningly bitter whiskey-swill left in his flask. God he wanted her. He wanted her so badly. His cock throbbed in his crusty pants as she teasingly sashayed towards him.

Before long Oscar was staring at her from under the blanket of her shadow. He fell to his butt as her humongous foot crashed down not 10 feet in front of where he stood slavering over the titanic vixen. She stopped, and for a moment he thought she had noticed him noticing her.

 But, her feet turned away from him with riotous, bassy steps. He marveled as her footfalls rocked and split the pavement and her hulking toes, dainty on her scale, flayed out and landed on a parallel parked taxi cab. They crinkled the metal as if it was paper, and utterly flattened the car which squealed shrilly, and settled. She mindlessly formed the cab into a thin metal blanket between them and the crackling road. He realized at last that her concern was with the brewery, and not with him.

He watched  in a torpor as she stooped and punched her grasping hand through the glass front of Papa Bubbly’s and extricated one of the gargantuan bottles of beer; a tourist attraction. She trundled it between and over her enormous tits and lapped amorously at its top as if preparing a cock for fellatio. She unknowingly nursed his agonized arousal.

 She attempted to twist off the giant top, and sneered upon failing, but smiled and pulled the giant bottleopener from the brewery, busting out more tinkling glass in the process. She snapped off the metal lid, the size of a manhole cover, and it rocketed into an abandoned orange work-truck behind him. The giant bottlecap shattered the windshield and came to rest on the seat. The usual Papa Bubbly logo was stamped on it and it looked as though the beer-brewing mascot had it in his mind to drive the victimized truck.

The giantess’ failure to notice him (he was a voyeur by nature, by design and necessity) and her raw displays of power further inflamed Oscar’s already aching libido. His cock, long unused and lethargic, stabbed into his trousers uncomfortably. He had to have her, and he had to have her now. He dropped his emptied flask to the asphalt with a hollow clang and He charged her heedless foot in a sexual kamikaze. He threw himself madly at her immense toes and scrabbled rabidly up them like a spider monkey, with a nimbleness his aged, malnourished body shouldn’t have been able to muster.

 Above him the giantess was beginning to sit, her long sequoia legs bent and her hearty ass slammed mercilessly into the building behind them. He heard pained cracking and thundering explosions and brick and mortar rubble and dust rained down from above and between her out stretched legs. He pantingly pulled himself up onto her pinky and adjoining toes, and “army crawled” over them.

The pungent odor of her feminine sweat and feel of her soft warm flesh rubbing beneath him was too much. He hastily unbuttoned his pants and tore them down to his knees, positioned his throbbing dick in the sweat-moistened cleft between the huge toes, and humped it frantically. He kissed and licked the sticky flesh with each of his hurried thrusts. He heard the deep, bellowing gulps and appreciative moans of the giant woman above, and fancied this pleased her. “oh yeah, you like that, doncha, sexy thing?”

 A thrust and a half later found him shooting a couple hot loads of cum into the fleshy crevice. Oscar then lay straddling it, shuddering in the aftermath of sweet release. He huffed and gasped, “Oh god. Oh god, thank you. Jes-us I needed that…” His weathered face, always a knot of worried, angry wrinkles, loosened, then smoothed to a look of utter contentment. Oscar’s small heart grew three sizes that day, then her gargantuan toes buccked underneath him and separated. He fell wordlessly into the hole they left and rolled under her creased sole.

Pan slurpingly finished the remains of her beer and had the mind to retrieve another, when she felt a miniscule tickling sensation in her toes. She looked to her foot, and saw a little human sprawled over the crack between her little toe and the next. He wore a filthy, hole-ridden trench coat and it was obvious from the upwards-downwards motion of his little butt that he was humping her. This dirty little hobo was humping her toes.

She stared, paralyzed with disbelief for a second, and saw the previously vigorously thrusting little man stop and twitch spastically. Oh! OH GROSS!  She had barely felt it, but she had, an infinitesimal spurt between her (not completely) innocent toes. The little pervert had orgasmed! On her foot! Her mouth melted downward in an exaggerated, almost comical frown of disgust.

She reared her toes up violently, nearly dislodging the newly gratified homeless man. Upon failing this, she spread them out, and the tiny man fell through the resulting crack as an earthquake victim into a tremor-wrought fissure. He tumbled underneath her great foot, which she slammed down on top of him. She felt his fragile body pop, but she continued to roll and grind it roughly into the ground. She stopped after a moment, but winced, feeling soiled by the horny hobo. Now she really needed another drink.

11

Pan chucked the empty blue bottle into one of the little buildings and bent down to grab a replacement. She levered its crinkled top off and again tilted her head back at almost a 90 degree angle. Her thick, dripping hair flew back in a beautiful cascade and spritzed the humid air with her cool, shampoo-tinged sweat. Again her mouth and throat worked with nearly-mechanical synchronicity and the cold, bubbling brew pumped down her throat and into her belly.

 After several seconds of furious guzzling, this giant bottle was empty too.  She tossed this one backwards, and her ears perked as she heard it, and several other things shatter. She was pleasantly surprised to find she already had a nice head buzz after only 2 beers. She must’ve weakened her resistance to real, quality beer with all that cheap, watery shit she was used to drinking back home. 

Not wanting to risk losing her pleasant beer-high, she quickly grabbed and slurped dry three more of the bottles dry in turn; skillfully sucking them down as though they were water. A sudden look of mild discomfort distorted her attractive face and her glistening lips opened, forming a wide O.

 A bubbling cloud had swelled up in her chest and she pushed it up and out. A loud, low growling belch split the air and echoed down the streets and alleyways around her. It drew on for several seconds and strange gurgling animal-like noises joined the bassy bellow.

 This demonic burping was at perfect odds with her angelic features, which twisted and twitched with its ejection. Something so gorgeous should not make those sounds naturally. It gave the impression she was either lip-syncing or under fiendish possession. Invisible odorous clouds, smelling sweet, alcoholic, and rotten all at once, curled sinisterly through the humid air. A flock of grey pigeons, small air-born dots to Pan, found themselves buffeted by such a cloud.

All the poor birds reeled against and fainted at the sickly-sweet stench. They spiraled downwards as one, plummeting to their deaths in nearly flawless, natural choreography. “This sort of demeaning death ought to be reserved for more loathsome foul than myself!,” One of the pigeons, a brash young poet, thought angrily as he rocketed towards the concrete, “…like Seagulls! Sea gulls deserve this! Not us! The obnoxious buggers! Always so brazenly squawking their wanton greed, not having a lick of respect for…” He was cut short by a sudden dose of gravity and exploded in a wet, upward puff of blood and feathers.

Finally, the monstrous roaring petered off. Pan closed her sensual lips once more, threw one of her giant hands up before her mouth daintily, and issued a girlish giggle. “Oopsy! Ex-cuse me!,” She chirruped between chuckles.    

She stooped again, reaching for the last beer. She popped it open but decided she would take with her; as a “road beer”. Smiling she pushed down on the buildings neighboring the one she had sat her hot ass down upon (and into), endeavoring to stand up. Her fingers crunched through their roofs and cracked their walls as the brick structures struggled to give her the support she demanded of them.

 Trickling showers of shattered bricks and dust again spewed onto the street, sidewalks and alleyways, but she eventually found enough purchase to hoist herself up.  She found that her towering legs were a little wobbly from the beer, and her head reeled abit with the sudden change in altitude, but she nonetheless continued her ascent.

 Her round buttocks lifted off the strained floor they had rested on. It was permanently bowed and bore the distinct impression of her perfect ass. It was concave and severely cracked, dipping nearly to the next floor down, where her round cheeks had sat and heaped up in forced ridges where her asscrack had been. Her butt jiggled and shimmied on its way up, loudly widening its entrance holes, and debris rained off of her. Finally she stood to her full height and headed back down the street, towards the water in the distance, and throngs of little people trying in vain to escape the city.

Again Pan’s massive feet hammered the road as she strode briskly towards her goal. The road crackled and shook beneath her and before long she arrived at the end of the street. A wall of buildings, about shoulder high blocked her advance. She peered over the one before her and saw the ragged crowds of people fleeing. She had caught up to them.  They utterly filled the street and sidewalks. Gridlocked lines of cars packed with families and loaded with luggage glimmered in the sun, and streams of tiny, panicked citizens milled in between, and sometimes over them. They rippled in desperate, but slow-going movement.

Their clothes were a delightful variety of colors, and they seemed like rainbow ants to her. The blaring of horns, strangled sirens and garbled overlapped cries and frantic shouts floated up to her ears. She sensed an increased tension; some must have seen her disembodied head floating ominously above the little building; seen her beautiful blue eyes scanning over them. They moved even more frantically, and the noises quadrupled in volume.  Smiling, beer in hand, she planted her elegant shoulder against the building, and began to push.

It creaked, but her shoulder began to crack the facade, and slip inside. She pulled it out and set her wide back flush against it. Her shoulders, back, hips and butt pressed and spread against it. Pan pushed backwards with her powerful legs. Her heels bit into the street, digging in deeply, and giving her firm footing. Her lithe, feminine muscles quivered and she heard the building groan. She pushed harder and felt it tilt, bend and snap. Its shadow darkened a screaming section of refugee-packed street as it fell.

Crushing showers of debris rained down from the falling stormcloud of a building. Some ran kicking, clawing and trampling their doomed fellows, others fell to their knees, assuming the “tornado position” in a feeble defense against the violently scrabbling citizens and dropping debris. It pelted the writhing masses and vehicles below. Jagged glass cut citizens to shreds and speared into cars. Tumbling chunks of mortar and dislodged steel pipes and bars clattered mercilessly upon them, caving in skulls and automobile roofs alike.

People in cars tried to get out, but found their doors unable to open, pressed tightly shut by the panicked mobs squeezing past them. They honked and gunned their engines, crashing into each other and over people on foot, tires crunching bone and ripping clothes and skin. All their efforts were for not, the crumbling building fell upon them all. It smashed and collapsed into a pile of rubble over them, crushing and suffocating them. The giantess fell with it and added her immense weight; obliterating them completely.

The building gave in altogether suddenly. Drunken Pan didn’t register this quickly enough. Her arms stretched out and spun in useless arcs as she struggled to remain upright and keep her footing, but her heels dug out further into the road and she tumbled backwards onto the building and further compacted the rubble and citizens below. The gargantuan bottle of beer she had been clutching loosed itself from her hand during the collision and rolled to the side. It bowled over and crushed fleeing ant people and vehicles and gushed its contents onto them.

“Back tha FUCK OFF! HOMIE!,” Malcolm yelled and pushed the bearded motherfucker who had just crashed into him, sending him reeling back. The bearded man whose name was Chip slammed backward into a van, which rocked with the impact and honked its annoyance. Chip was slightly larger and more tattooed than Malcolm and didn’t take kindly to this. He stood to his full height and glowered from beneath a Prussian-blue swastika at the sneering wigger. “YOU stay out of MY WAY!, YOU FUCKIN’ PANTY-WASTE!,” and swung a sloppy haymaker at the young punk’s face.

 Malcolm managed to duck most of it, but the blow popped his ear, causing it to ring. This white-trash piece of shit didn’t know who he was messing with, Malcolm was an amateur boxer; a good one. He made his living knocking mother-fucker’s blocks off with his fists. So the two alpha males, a neo-fascist and a  gang-banger circled each other, trading blows while others ran screaming for their lives past them.

A loud, guttural groan and riotous crash briefly tore them from their testosterone-fueled bout of violence and saw the building, and giant woman crash onto people and cars. Hundreds of screams fell silent, clouds of scattering detritus blew-up into the sky, and something flew from the giantess’ hand and rolled towards them at break-neck speeds. “A giant beer bottle? One of Papa Bubbly’s? ,“ was all they had time to comprehend before finding themselves squelched onto the ornately worded label, right next to Please Drink Responsibly!.

Pan grunted at her mistake, then giggled at the humor of it. She must have looked fabulous flailing and falling. She rolled to her side, crushing struggling humans and upturned vehicles in the process and shakily stood up. She dusted herself off still snickering. Then she saw her overturned beer bottle. “Osh shhhit.” She had forgotten about it for a second. “That wass my last bottle.”

 She eagerly bounced over to it, crushing droves under her dainty feet. She watched disheartened as the amber bottle spewed its contents onto the street. But then she saw the little people struggling against the frothing torrent and splashing around in the quickly growing pool of bubbles and beer and got a wicked idea.

Pan backed up. Her feet smashed down onto people in the midst of praising their respective gods and beliefs for making her overstep them. Her knees, shins, elbows and forearms smashed countless more people and flattened more cars. They turned to bloody paste and oily metallic pancakes under her ruthless weight. Hundreds found themselves in the shadow of her body.

They clamored under her. She had cast them into a cave. Her pendulous breasts, which swayed and teasingly jostled into each other, her flat belly, heaving with her breaths, and her sweat and arousal-dampened crotch formed its ceiling. Her lean, muscular thighs and upper arms walled them in. The little people slipped on cracked asphalt, slick with blood, gasoline, oil and her sweat, which dripped down her glistening body and splashed down in abundant drops upon them. The pleasant flowery smell of her perfume, and the tangy aroma of her sweat washed over them. Those at the twilight zone under her pussy were treated to alluring, musky whiffs of her earlier arousal.

Pan pushed her arms forward, stretching like a cat. Her hands bulldozed over more hapless retreatees. They flipped and scraped cars, trucks and vans out of her path, and dozens more hapless little people were smeared to wet, crimson oblivion under and over her palms and fingers. She sank down, progressively lowering herself to lie on her tummy. The minute individuals beneath her falling form raised their arms, screamed and beat uselessly at her young body as it collapsed over them.

She felt little people struggle against her nipples as she sank ever lower. Their frantic thrashing only worsened their situation. It tickled the sensitive nerves bundled there and her nipples stiffened into hard points. She bit her lips as she felt the little men and women pop against them. Her breasts came next, further grinding the bugs under her nipples and spreading their warm crushing weight over dozens more. They flattened further over the doomed citizens, suffocating them and cracking their bones.

Her soft, but taut belly slammed into the next group, pulping them instantly, and finally her thighs and pelvis thrust downward over even more people and demolishing some more cars. A gas-guzzling SUV detonated in a searing explosion between the unyielding road and the toned flesh of her right thigh. The heat only tickled her, but incinerated another dozen tinies in its vicinity.

Finally she lay sprawled before her overturned bottle of beer. She folded her hands in front of her, rested her delicate chin on them, and regarded the scene. The stream issuing forth from the gargantuan bottle had slowed to a slight dribble.

Tiny people sputtered and coughed in a fast-forming frothing amber lake of beer, some floated lifeless upon it. The survivors looked behind and saw her staring at them and struggled further, attempting to swim and wade away. Their soaked clothes, pretty impressive depth of the frothy beer lake, and the fact that many had accidentally inhaled quite a bit of the strong brew, slowed them down and they made very little headway.

She smiled impishly at them and grabbed the bottle. With her marvelous blue eyes still locked firmly on the desperate swimmers, she brought it directly over them and turned it over, pouring the remainder of the beer down on them. The brown cascade of Papa Bubbly’s Famous Brew relentlessly bombarded them and drove them beneath the bubbling surface.   

When the bottle was empty, she pitched it ahead of her. It shattered and rained giant jagged shards of glass in its proximity, impaling people and cars. She touched her sumptuous lips to the lake of beer, what to her was only a small puddle, and slurped and lapped at it with her giant pink tongue. Gallons of beer seeped into her gaping mouth and she felt solid crumbs, which she knew to be people, bump and scrabble against her plush lips, before she sucked them in on the frothy beer-tide.  

She swished them around her mouth. Their bubbling screams of terror reverberated off her ivory teeth as her tongue prodded them. She heard them from inside, muffled, but audible, like Pop Rocks in her mouth. She played with them in each mouthful of beer she imbibed, sometimes pressing them to the roof of her mouth where they were allowed gasping, ragged breaths, before pulling them back into the heady brew. Then eventually, she would swallow the whole mouthful: beer, people, roadside debris, and once even a faithful dog that had dived into the puddle in a selfless attempt to rescue his blubbering owner (Poor lil’ guy. L Oh well. They all go to heaven, right? J)and all.  

Pan stood again to her full indomitable height, having licked, swigged and sipped the puddle to dryness. She had a real buzz going on now. Her limbs felt pretty “loosey-goosey” and her head was in a bit of a pleasant fog. She let out another riotous belch and found her body wracked with ticklish, giddy giggles as her ominous shadow stretched and fell suffocating the tiny road filled with toy cars and bug people stuck and wallowing helplessly in her attended path.

12

Pan’s feet plummeted haphazardly upon cars and people as she staggered onward in a giddy daze. She giggled drunkenly as they crunched and exploded beneath her. Their popping reminded her of bubble wrap.

Her thundering, inebriated steps were random, zig-zagging and sometimes backward. Tiny people hoping to avoid them scrambled in her shadow, but couldn’t consistently predict where her dirty, gore-stained soles would land. They scurried in confused circles and collided with one another and fell tangled and dazed to the ground. Her foot smashed them and mercilessly ground them against the road, breaking their bodies and smearing their entrails against her. When she lifted her feet after such a murderous step stringy gore would stretch from the cracked road to the bottom of her foot, like gum from a sidewalk, before snapping wetly as she moved on.

Pan grew bored of simply trodding on the fleeing masses and began to idly kick at them as she walked. The lean muscles of her lithe legs twitched and rippled below her velvety skin as they swung forward in clumsy, but powerful arcs.  Her feet crunched through the tarmac, dug beneath and swung into the little vehicles and people, hitting them like freight trains. She felt them tickle her toes briefly before becoming airborne. The monumental force of her playful kicks snapped bones, collapsed lungs and buckled axles. Her targets tumbled broken through the air before crashing down on screaming, honking clusters of their peers.

Pan’s ears perked as a low, steady bumble bee-like buzzing became apparent to her over and between the sounds of destruction, despair and her bubbling sniggers. Her face crinkled with curiosity and her eyes found a small fleet of helicopters suspended in a loose cloud around her. Their metal shells and colorful decals gleamed in the afternoon sun. There must have been at least a dozen of them.

They were, predictably, mainly news choppers emblazoned with bold colorful numbers of various TV stations, though a couple bore the call letters of local radio stations; their tiny crews probably unused to covering anything more exciting than road work and traffic jams. They were her little personal airborne paparazzi. She was touched.

They hovered at a sheepish distance like cowardly mosquitoes. They reveled and thrived in her presence, but shied away from getting too close, no doubt fearing she would swat them out of existence. Even now they seemed to wither and retreated further when she met them with her beautiful and inquisitive blue eyes. She didn’t blame them, her attention usually proved lethal. 

Pan smiled winningly at them, and flirtatiously batted her big doe eyes. “It’s ok. Go on and film me, muh little newsies…. I llllike it.” She beckoned them, bidding them to follow her as she trod forward. She sashayed sexily for the little news crews and folks at home as she walked in front of the glimmering swarm.

The cameramen and pilots licked their lips, whispered sexual promises to her and swallowed hard as she slowly gyrated her flared hips like a salsa dancer in her stride. Their cameras whirred in mechanical arousal and zoomed in on her bouncing round buttocks. Her magnificent ass filled their lenses and TV and computer screens across the world. However, her steps were slightly irregular and wobbly from her beer buzz and curbed her hotness, if only minutely. But still the news choppers followed in her wake and the cameras inside kept rolling, feasting on the allure and terror the sultry giantess bred.

A handsome man with ocean blue eyes and short, precisely sculpted salt and pepper hair spoke solemnly into an microphone, struggling to be heard over the whirr of the helicopter’s engine and booming thunder of the giant woman’s drunken, destructive footfalls. He had a strong jaw, and had been shown to evoke subconscious images of a patriotic astronaut war hero in focus groups the network had tested. High percentages of women from the ages of 14-19, and 28-56 found him sexually attractive.

“Hello again, viewers. Chip Williams here live on scene flying above Riverside Avenue bringing you the Channel 12  SUPERDELUXE! Action Power Explosion News minutely update on the Giant Woman Disaster,….brought to you by hearty, tender Barky Bits. If you really love your dog, and don’t want them to die, feed them barky bits. Now with 90% more cat.”

 “Now, As you can probably tell the giant woman, which experts have placed in her mid to late twenties, seems to be under the effects of alcohol. Moments ago, we saw as she lapped up a veritable lake of spilled Papa Bubbly beer, the seasonal summer “Afternoon Delight” brew, if I’m not mistaken; with heady hops and subtle but zesty undertones of citrus and lemon…,” He paused and subconsciously licked his lips, the nagging thirst of his purportedly defeated alcoholism tickling his throat “and distressingly swallowing several unfortunate people struggling in the cool, bubbly…refreshing deathtrap. Here is a clip of the terrifying massacre, for you, the viewers…”

A shaky clip depicting the scene from “moments ago” broadcast for the 10th time in as many minutes across the flickering TV screens of Americans across the country. They watch rapt from couches and recliners slurping on sodas and as she brushed her long, thick mane over her delicate ears and shoulders and slowly laid down on her belly. Cameras washed over the overgrown college student. Their view trickled up the strange landscape that was her young, destruction-framed body.

First, the viewers saw her wrinkled, grubby anxiously flexing soles.  They rocketed up and down in the sky as she idly kicked dainty, murdering feet up and down through the air, like a smaller young woman might do when she is laying on her bed, bored; only hers was a mattress made of crackled asphalt, flattened cars, and crushed people in various stages of despair, struggle and death.

They took in the splendor of her long, glistening legs as she bent and unfurled them. The scene flew along and over the dual hillocks of her firm butt, barely covered by her shorts, which rippled in the slight breeze blowing over her. Close observers could see several almost-human shapes, and fine dust and rubble peppered and smeared over her delectable hindquarters, marring the otherwise bright material of her tiny shorts.

 They soared over the graceful arches and curves of her hips, back and shoulders and floated over her curly, flowing brown hair-topped head. They  zoomed over the spilled beer, regarding the poor souls splashing and gasping in it before turning back suddenly toward the giantess once more.

They saw as she smiled mischievously at the lake below her cute button nose. A darkly whimsical glint came over her eyes and her pink tongue poked out from between her soft, inviting lips and dipped into the amber puddle. The impromptu beer-lake rippled ominously as her tongue pierced the surface, and waves rocked the little people struggling in the zesty brew. The giantess sensuously lapped at the amber puddle and licked up beer and screaming citizens alike. The viewers ate it up. They had tuned in to the “Giant Woman Disaster” news stories in record-breaking numbers. It was, after all, a perfect blend of mind-numbing terror, panic-inducing hysteria, and understated, but ever present eroticism. The networks couldn’t have been happier.

 Then, the television screens flickered briefly and they were returned to the helicopter cockpit, and Chip Williams again spoke to them, in his even, booming voice, “The giant is still just pounding down the street, still mercilessly crushing and grinding vehicles and people under her feminine, manicured feet…but is now swaying in some sort of amorous, “come hither” dance,” The view changed again, and viewers were treated to a closer view of the sashaying giantess, from behind and slightly below her enormous, sumptuous ass. “…which this reporter must admit is more than a little hypnotic,”…he dramatically motioned behind him, “ just look at her round, but toned rump. It hops with every step, treating us to a mesmerizing salsa…”

 Chip, whose eyes had glazed over, was snapped suddenly, violently from his reverent trance by his wife’s piercing telepathic scolding. He shook his head and was speechless for a moment, but regained his composure and continued, “Urrm…But she, uh… she seems barely able to hold herself u…” “ Whoa! Shit!,” Chip cried as he pitched backwards, nearly falling prone, but catching a grip on the co-pilot’s seat (which the pilot had repeatedly urged him to sit and buckle himself into) at the last second. The helicopter had lurched to a surprising halt. Chip glared wordlessly at the pilot, who shrugged apologetically and pointed to the front of the cabin.

 Chip looked, and was shocked to see the giantess’ immense ass filling the glass. They were hovering mere meters behind it, he was peering directly into the dim, twilight valley of her shorts-covered buttcrack.  The proud mounds of her cheeks swelled around it. They cast ominous shadows into the little helicopter but they weren’t bouncing or jiggling as they had been. He realized then why the pilot had braked so severely.  She had stopped, but why?

Pan suddenly ceased her wobbly, sauntering walk. Her belly gurgled forebodingly and she felt overfull; gassy? She clutched and rubbed her flat tummy. Maybe she had to fart…

Pan thought briefly, of what such an action might bring… She felt the ball of gas filling her belly, and clenched her gut, pressing it down through her long, tenderly coiled intestines. They squeezed and thrummed in symphonic harmony as the pocket of gas flitted whimsically through them on its amazing journey to her virginal rectum (ed note: Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop.  As a giantess fan, it’s just obligatory for me to be overly reverent of all the nuances and organs of a female form, no matter how odd or grotesque ;) j/k guys. j/k. ) It steamed through her, before rocketing explosively out of her beautiful ass.

The gas tore through her hot pants; they billowed in its exit. A deep, reverberating bellow sounded as she let it rip. The news crews and viewers at home cried out and reflexively cupped their hands over their ears against the blaring, fog horn-like noise. Whales vacationing in the nearby harbor perked, convinced a member of the opposite sex was issuing a randy mating call. The noise echoed over the earth, though it quieted as it went and to Chinese citizens it sounded like little more than an awkward, warbling blurt from a tuba in the hands of an unskilled middle-schooler . Paying it no mind they went about riding bicycles and such. In funny cone hats.

Pan put her hand over her mouth in mock embarrassment and astonishment and giggled as she looked over her shoulder at the chaos her little, chirruping fart had wrought.

 The gas slammed into the cluster of helicopters. They had been happily lingering around and filming Pan’s divine ass, sending enticing footage to the folks back home when she had unleashed the booming fart upon them. Being in such close proximity to her offending rump, they had no time to retreat from the blast.

The helicopters shook with its force. The little people inside gagged as they were choked on the sulfuric stench of Pan’s gas. The helicopters’ windshields rapidly cracked and shattered against the pressure, thorns of shattered glass shot into the screaming pilots and news people. Some of the reporters and camera crews were torn out into the air, and fell, tumbling head over heels to messy deaths at her feet. Alarms blared, screens blinked and needles wavered rapidly over various meters on the tiny control panels. The miniscule pilots jerked on their joysticks (heh-heh-heh!-Beavis) twisted knobs (huh-huh-huh!-Butthead) and flicked switches and pushed buttons in a desperate attempt to right their “birds”. But the fragile toy helicopters spun helplessly, riddled with turbulence.

They careened in the air like drunken ballroom dancers, in clumsy wavering circles. They spun and crashed into each other, exploding in searing fireballs that would be the envy of any self-respecting dragon. These were made more massive as they In turn ignited the high levels of methane present in her fart. They culminated in a thundering glorious, blinding white-hot flash. The world’s biggest ever “Blue Angel” further brightened the afternoon sky and flaming spears of blackened jagged metal and glass blasted into cars, people and nearby buildings.

Back in the real world, Pan decided this would be a perfectly acceptable series of events and attempted to go ahead and push out the fart she was surely harboring in her gut. Her face contorted comically as she clenched her stomach muscles, but was surprised to find it wasn’t a fart after all.

Instead, she felt the feeling of fullness dissipate, and a queer tingling sensation crawled through her body. The tingling made several, rippling circuits through her, becoming stronger with each pass. It peaked in a mind-numbing crescendo. All her nerves seemed to be wriggling? Pan couldn’t quite put the sensation accurately to words…

 She squeezed her eyes shut and lightly bit her lower lip. However indescribable the sensation may have been, she found it was not a completely unpleasant one. Her body was, unbeknownst to her, strobing brightly with a familiar white light. The crews in the helicopters, and struggling mites at her feet threw their hands up reflexively against her sudden, blinding luminescence.

The tingling coursed through her veins and was amplified many times over in her most sensitive areas: her fingers, toes and vagina.  “oOoOOH…” Her husky moan reverberated in the choppers and sounded out of tvs and radios worldwide. 

 Her body quivered, surrendering against the ticklish lightning buzzing through her nerves. The strobing stopped as suddenly as it began and the miniature reporters and pilots ceased their squinting and beheld her anew.

They heard a bassy noise, like tall trees creaking in a windstorm. They didn’t realize until a moment or two later that it was the sound of the giant co-eds’ further growth….

13

Pan flexed and relaxed her toes, keenly aware of the feeling of crackling asphalt as they dug troughs out of the road. “Ooohhh…” she groaned huskily and her hands rubbed, squeezed and caressed up and down her sexy sweat-damp body and tossled her sopping, luxurious mane. Several onlookers realized she looked a bit like a giant version of one of those old, overtly sexual shampoo commercials from back in the day. She stiffened as, as if shocked, as her lithe muscles tensed, then, she felt herself…rising?  “ Yessss!,” she sighed in a velvety whisper, urging herself on.  She felt her limbs lengthening and her powder soft skin stretching. She expanded outward and upward, becoming an even greater cataclysmic danger to the tiny world which she had already expertly crippled with her playful apathy and sinister selfishness…

The choppers reeled away from her vast, flickering body as it soared past them, her sputtering growth shooting further and further into the sky. Her feet stretched and widened, bubbling over the shattered road and writhing crowds. Her colossal peds rolled over them like merciless tanks.  A cacophony of crunches, newly emboldened screams, sporadic explosions and wet squelches sounded beneath her expanding, wriggling feet.

  “Crappingoddamnit!,” Chip loudly cursed, not caring in the least that he was broadcasting live, as the Axl, the pilot, again compromised his balance by yanking hard on the once more on the chopper’s controls.

Their ride rattled and warning lights and indicators strobed spastically; lighting the cabin like an impromptu rave and blaring imminent impact alarms sounded throughout; causing his ears to buzz. He flew backwards dropping his mic and banging himself unconscious in the fall. The giant woman’s bountiful ass had suddenly grown even more bountiful and surged towards their little news chopper; threatening to swallow it.  The pilot, a mulleted man with a pencil thin mustache pulled with all his strength on the throttle, pointing the nose of the chopper upwards in an attempt to escape the encroaching cavern that was Pan’s  delectable, growing booty.

 The little chopper raced upwards, but it’s frantic climb was effortlessly matched by Pan’s sudden, apparently stimulating growth. Her mighty ass completely engulfed them and the shadows her quivering cheeks cast into the cockpit earlier darkened to eerie midnight twilight. Then, the queer, electric tingle accompanying Pan’s growth fired all the nerves lining her immense young body simultaneously. She tensed and with the first of several reflexive twitches she subconsciously tightened her buttocks.

Axl screamed as he was deafened by a terrible metallic screech as her clenching buttcheeks squeezed together around the doomed chopper and the whirring rotor-blades bent and shattered against them. Upon realizing what was happening he was able to say, whispering and tearful, his last goodbyes.

 He now knew how Luke and Han must’ve felt in that Imperial trash-compactor. His was a bit nicer, he guessed. No one eyed monsters, just a giant, but admittedly hot ass. Still those two got to live, he thought, bitterly.

 Pan’s firm, titanic cheeks met with a booming clap, crushing the helicopter betwixt them. A small plume of fire and a tinkling shower of sparkling debris puffed out of the tight crevice and signaled the end of the pilot with the unfortunate hairstyle. It also marked the completion of long and storied legacy of Chip, though he would be pleased to know that there was booze in the afterworld, and no need at all for bothersome 12-step sobriety programs.

The surviving, competing news choppers retreated from the giant woman and lapped up the tragedy, gladly sending the grisly footage to gasping viewers glued to their televisions.

Pan’s inexplicable growth sputtered to a stop. Her cool blue eyes opened and she let out a final, cooing sigh when the electric tingling left her body.   She looked around her and tried to calculate how much bigger she had grown.

 Her sweat-dribbling brow furrowed in sudden concentration as the gears and cogs of her brain whirred creakingly into action. But she quickly grew frustrated with all the math and measurements; being severely right-brained with little to no attention-span for numbers and physics, and also a little drunk. She internally argued that due to the somewhat fickle, science-fiction-y nature of her life as of late, and her creator’s own lack of a decent grasp of spatial relations, her size was bound to fluctuate anyway. Finally, she gave up entirely and contended that she was simply very big, indeed.

Her feet now filled the wide road.  With mock timidity she lifted the left and swung it forward. Her long shadow draped over a fresh swath of tiny retreaters and their immobile damnedly immobile vehicles. A familiar cascade of mangled bodies and flattened cars and debris dribbled off her dirty, damp, wrinkled sole and peppered the terrified masses. Many were concussed by heavy pieces of car and crumpled corpses, but her longer stride actually spared a number of them.

 Pan smiled as she lowered her pretty little foot daintily at the end of her casual step. The huge ped hammered down, obliterating a twisting rainbow patch of escapees.  Screams turned at once to smothered, wet squelches and flash fires popped and blew themselves out between her massive, painted toes as cars collapsed and exploded.

 She beheld this briefly before dragging her right foot to meet its mate.  Her toes scraped mercilessly through throngs that had been seemingly spared by her long stride. She giggled as they plowed onward; ticklish wiggling bulldozers. Cars clattered and rolled in front of, off and beside them and formed a charging heap of wreckage. Panicked little people were buried and ground to smearing nothings. Finally her foot stopped beside it’s opposite.

She scrunched her mighty toes, noisily crushing the vehicles and humans that had become lodged in the crevices between them. An errant breeze blew over her sun-freckled face and brought the fresh smell of sea-water to her cavernous nostrils, which flared and sucked it in giddily. Smiling, she thundered staggeringly onward, towards the cool water…

14

Pan’s long, sweeping, chaos-accompanied strides carried her speedily towards the tantalizing sea. But, Pan had grown somewhat bored once more, as she was apt to do, and with a booming giggle she began to skip. She felt like a little girl again; like Dorothy in a miniature Oz.

Pan sniggered as her vivid imagination again whisked her through a whimsical fantasy. Her aunt and uncle had finally left and she had some alone time, giddy she ran to her room, her long curly pigtails, secured by cornflower blue bows, trailing behind her.

She hurriedly powered on her cd player. Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of The Moon” crackled out the speakers as she threw herself on her bed and trailed her hand down the slinky silk of her stockings. The tickling action yielded goosebumps from the warm, smooth skin of her long, lanky legs. An airy sigh escaped her ruby lips and she carefully lifted the hem of her short checkered blue and white skirt.

She took a moment to observe the small canyon formed by the proud, moist cameltoe she found there. It swelled against and endeavored to swallow her pristine, white cotton panties. She cooed as her hand, capped in red nails that perfectly matched her lips, gracefully slid up her thigh, and affectionately stroked her lusty genitals through her underwear; like a well-behaved pet. She lightly bit her lip and reached for the superficially innocent picnic basket beside her bed. Her fingers hungrily flipped open the lid and she smiled when they wrapped themselves expertly around the item she sought. She brought it to her plump lips.

“Hello Toto!,” Pan mewed and gave her cherished toy a playful kiss before flipping it on. She marveled as it whirred happily to life and ground it against her panties, and the hungry lips they covered. She was lost briefly to the pleasant sensation it brought, and almost didn’t notice the raging, screaming tornado that suddenly buffeted her small house.

Her window shattered inward and glass swirled through the room, twinkling like fairydust. Pan let out a scream that was made mute by the torrential roar of the tumultuous cyclone. “Toto”, still vibrating stubbornly, whooshed past her head and out the bellowing window. She instinctively grabbed the edge of her bed. The wind sucked at her like she was candy. It pulled lustily at her kicking legs and feet. Her elegant fingers slowly but surely lost their grip, and finally she slipped through the maw of the shattered window and into the howling vortex outside.

The violent swirling winds spun Pan like a top, and tossed her about like a ragdoll. She became immediately disoriented and dizzy during the course of her helpless tumbling and lost consciousness.

The Nasty Bitch of the Eastside leered domineeringly over the gaggle of groveling Munchkins assembled and cringing before her; her  lightly muscled legs spread in a wide, powerful stance. One gloved hand worked itself in circuits over her lithe, leather adorned body, and pinched and pulled at her pierced nipples. The sniveling munchkins bowed at her platform boots, licking them obediently. She cracked her whip and screamed at them. “LICK BETTER! I want them EXTRA clean! You understand me?!?! You should enjoy this, you are, after all, the LOLLIPOP GUILD, aren’t you? YOU MEASLEY LITTLE SHITS!?!?” The Nasty Bitch, as well as the circle of tiny worshippers became suddenly aware of a whistling that was steadily increasing in volume.

A dark shadow fell over them as they gazed upward in confused unison. There, where the Technicolor sky should be, was a voyeur’s dream. A giant skirt billowed like clouds above a pair of leanly muscular thighs. Where they met, a pair of visibly wet panties wrapped around and meekly struggled to contain an enormous, perfectly-toned ass and gargantuan pussy. The majority of the delectable buttcheeks surged out of the white cotton garment, and the thin material did next to nothing to obscure the great, sopping vulva it barely covered.

The little munchkins and even the Nasty Bitch of the East, stared at these as they fell. They were transfixed and stupefied either by reeling perplexion, or sweetly agonizing arousal, or both. The sunlight retreated completely from the pool of miniature beings caught beneath Pan’s plummeting form, and the whistling deafeningly peaked. Then, with riotous thunderclap and symphony of crackling squelches, Pan landed, seated on her rump.

The Bitch and munchkins found themselves squashed and splattered against Pan’s musky, sighing crotch. Numerous brightly colored munchkin homes, some still housing late-napping members of the Lullaby League, collapsed underneath the firm hills of her buttocks. Plumes of dust and debris exploded out around her ass as it turned them to dull rubble and pressed them flat. Her long, stocking-sheathed legs and dainty feet encased in shiny, black buckled shoes followed, swinging limply to the ground, cutting through and destroying more houses and cartoonish scenery. 

Pan’s bright blue eyes shot open as she was awakened rudely by the ground giving her a stinging spank. She rubbed them in disbelief as she beheld the bright, colorful landscape. “Where the fuck am I?,” She spoke aloud.

Her booming feminine voice carried all the way to the distant Emerald City. There it bounced through and off the green, crystalline towers, trapped between them.

The city’s tiny denizens instinctively cupped their hands over their tiny ears against the deafening racket. Her cry amplified within the confines of the city and eventually cracked their majestic, carefully crafted buildings. The cracks grew and joined each other and spider-webbed. Before long the buildings began to crumble and collapse. The deaf, panicked populace scurried about uselessly and died beneath the ensuing showers of heavy, razor-sharp rubble. A green cloud of powder rose into the air and danced on the wind, dissipating as it went, leaving only a shallow pile of rubble. Just like that the Emerald City was no more.

Pan scanned the area further seeing tiny homes in her near vicinity, but no little people. How odd. She then realized she sat atop the rubble of several others, and that her pussy felt even wetter than it had been.

She curiously peeled her scandalously short skirt back, and saw her once pristine panties were quite soaked in a fresh coating of deep, red wetness. Her eyes widened when she saw 2 teeny, tiny legs jutting comically from between her own. She smiled realizing the red pool was the blood of tiny inhabitants she had unwittingly crushed during her landing. Oh well! Giggling, she noticed the tiny legs ended in glittering, red thigh-high, stiletto boots. Very sexy. Too bad she’d never fit in them, she inwardly whined. Then there was a poof of green smoke, followed by an excited tinny squeaking.

There was an angry green woman, clad in a studded leather unitard, fishnet stockings and spiky boots in on the cracked yellow bricks that wasn’t there before. She was making exaggerated angry gestures at Pan from between her towering thighs. Pan realized the spastic squeaking was coming from her but she couldn’t hear. Shrugging she sent her hand snaking down to the angry Bitch, who became even more animated at the monstrous hand’s sudden and alarming proximity. Pan pinched her, as gingerly as was possible, between her thumb and pointer finger and brought the little thing up to her beaming face.

The green bug became somewhat audible at this distance. “YOOOOU!!!,” she chirpingly cried, “YOU DID THIS? YOU KILLED MY SISTER!?! YOU KILLED THE NASTY BITCH OF THE EASTSIDE!?!”  She was waving a tiny green finger defiantly at pan’s giant nose, flaring in front of her. A giggle escaped Pan’s lips. The little Bitch grew even more indignant at this outburst and continued. “LAUGH!?! LAUGH AT THE WICKED BITCH OF THE WESTSIDE, WILL YOU! WELL I’LL TEACH YOU! I’LL GET YOU!!! I’LL GET YOU AND YOUR LITTLE PUSSY TOO!!!” Her nonstop squeaking was getting annoying, and her last sentence gave Pan a wicked idea of her own.

“WHY, I’LL...,” The Wicked Bitch attempted to continue, but Pan cut her off. “Awww. Shut up already!” And quickly used her off-hand to yank open the waist band of her sopping panties “Wha…?!?” the Wicked Bitch exclaimed, then realizing her fate, “NoOoO!”

 Pan nonchalantly dropped the little Bitch in. She droolingly watched the little green toy tumble down the well-trimmed strip of her lush brunette pubic hairs, then pressed her into her great, anxious vagina with a husky moan. She let the waistband snap shut and pulled her panties roughly against her slick vaginal lips. The tiny woman’s screams were muffled in the confines of her gore-stained undies, and her feeble, tickling struggles only aroused Pan further. Looking around, she spied Toto, still vibrating in the midst of a nearby forest, where the giant silver sextoy had crushed several trees and felled even more with the tremors it caused.

She smilingly slid her panties aside to make way and eased Toto’s shivering snout into the sopping, quivering cave of her pussy. “oh…oh…fuck yes…” She whispered. She slowly eased it in and out, knowing it must be battering the Bitch trapped within her. She spasmed and twitched with pleasure, and she pumped progressively faster. Her hips bucked and fell in frantic rhythym. Her ass hammered on the ground causing earthquakes all around. Faster and faster she went til she finally brought herself to a loud, wet orgasm. She felt sweet, warm juices flood her vagina and gush out its lips as they closed like a vice around Toto. Panting and sweaty, she pulled the vibrator out, releasing more of her pleasure-wrought secretions and a tiny, muffled…”I’m meeelting, I’m meeeelllllltiiiinnnn…” from her still twitching pussy.

Pan drifted out of her brief trip in fantasy and continued girlishly skipping towards the water. She shot with gusting whooses into the air, and thundered explosively back to the ground; her feet huge feet fell like bombs.

ELSEWHERE…

General “Iron-Beard” McCurtis glowered at the blipping images that surrounded him on computers and at the digitally-enhanced tactical map his hands were outstretched on. It dramatically underlit his stern, weathered face in pale blue and blinking red lights. He stroked his trim, grey beard and his brow furrowed severely. His steely eyes stabbed through his smoky, gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses as he focused on the large, moving red-blip that represented the giant woman giddily tearing a path of destruction through his country. A country full of citizens he had sworn to protect with any means necessary. It seemed she was headed to the harbor. He had been cordoned off with bureaucratic red-tape and squabbling debates long enough. The president had FINALLY authorized military intervention. His enraged mind started to formulate a plan. 

15

Moe, like the majority of the other dock workers froze and stared, slack-jawed and flabbergasted ludicrously heavy crates of oaken wood and steel they had laboriously strained to move and carefully stack in neat, blocky rows in the spacious waterside warehouse began at first to shudder and then bounce excitedly. Their astonishment darkened to fear and panic when the yellow lights began to flicker and a raucous, uneven thunder began to echo through the salty, stagnant air.

It droned ever closer and the boxes and containers hopped higher and higher as it grew in volume and apparent proximity. They fell back down haphazardly and crooked. The once neat rows began to shift and lean, throwing droves of workers into sudden sinister shadows. They began to bolt for the exits, screaming for their lives, too late for the most part. The boom was a deafening roar now. Crates and boxes tumbled over enmasse and threw themselves ruthlessly upon the cowed laborers.

Moe stopped mid-sprint as he heard, under and around the roar, a tell-tale creaking behind him. He peered, cringingly upward and saw a wall of cargo falling towards him. He was reminded of losing at Jenga. He had never been any good at that game. He threw his meaty arms up and screamed. Suddenly he took a sharp blow to his side and tumbled to the ground.

 He became entangled with a bleary-eyed co-worker that had, in a blind panic slammed into him. Two more men tripped over them as they struggled and also fell prone and helpless beneath the plummeting crates. The heavy boxes crashed over them with a sickening wet squelch and shattered themselves. Their contents spilled out and suffocated any that might’ve feebly survived the initial trauma.

Seconds later, Pan’s foot smacked down on the warehouse’s wide, corrugated roof and pressed cruelly as it bore her weight. The building popped beneath her like a balloon. Its final breath was an ear-splitting metallic screech to the surviving crew desperately trying to escape their gruesome fates.  Pan giggled. To her this wretched cacophony was merely a tinny crinkle, like a crunching beer can. Her foot flattened out and her toes flexed and fanned, pressing the roof crackling into the concrete floor, grinding all the goods and trapped workers into a messy, bloody pulp. The walls bulged and exploded spraying jagged debris. Fleeing workers fell injured and dead as the deadly shrapnel battered and flayed them.

Another skip, then Pan landed with both feet. A dusty geyser of splintered wood and doomed, crying people burst into the air as her exaggerated landing crushed docks to tinder.  She hunched down, her feet pressing deep pulverized littles into cool, wet sand. The lean muscles of her legs tensed and rippled in their work , and she launched suddenly into the air. She folded them into her bosom and wrapped her arms around them and she playfully held her nose, thrusting her posterior outward “CANNNNONNNBALLLL!,” She laughingly bellowed as she soared over the water and her shadow fell over a cluster of tiny boats.

Fisherman, sailors and middle-aged boating enthusiasts jumped overboard and harried, fear-heightened cries of “ABANDON SHIP!!!,” sounded from her quickly darkening shadow as her rounded bum whistled towards them like a falling warhead.  It met the water with a thunderous clap.

Many desperate swimmers were killed instantly by the force and trauma generated by her unprecedented ‘buttbomb’; their bones shattered, lungs collapsed and hearts stopped by the concussive force. Several of the smaller fishing boats likewise exploded into kindling against her firm rump.

Other boats and persons were trapped beneath her uncompromising weight as she speedily sank into the harbor. Her buttcheeks pressed them into and crushed them against the mucky seafloor.

Water shot up in powerful fountains around her and carried little ships and flea-sized people high into the air. They fell tumbling head over heels in the air. Many bounced off or slid against her monolithic young body. Several came to rest upon her; marooned on her ample curves and warm, slippery skin.

The rest of the people and ships rolled disoriented and helpless in the tumultuous waves produced by her childish bottom-first dive. Many were pulled to drowning deaths by vicious undercurrents. They perished soundlessly; their final screams trapped in frantic streams of bubbles racing to a world they would never see again.

Torrential towering tidal waves; veritable monsoons rippled from her and pounded at nearby docks and shorelines. They lashed at sea-side buildings and cast clumsily reeling ships, wreckage and people smashing against them. Salty green water flooded sidewalks and streets, washing away more screaming masses and cars. They finally washed themselves to shallow ends deeper within the surrounding cityscape, but left millions of dollars of damage, injuries and death; literally in their wake.

Pan let out a chuckling yelp as her bottom smacked against the soggy ground. It seemed the harbor was not as deep as she had hoped. In her current sitting position, the cool water lapped against her belly-button, hips and long, arched legs. It felt wondrous as it kissed her previously sun-beaten skin.

Pan plunged her hands into the sea with a great splash, cupped them and held them before her freckled visage. Her wicked smile returned as she saw tiny people bobbing amongst the flotsam and jetsam and broken vessels trapped in the pool of water she had seized.

 Most of them floated limply, either dead or unconscious, but some stirred in exaggerated, spastic movements, clearly still alive and struggling to remain that way and absolutely terrified of her. Her arrogant, bellowing laughter smothered their mortified squeals and inconsequential pleas for mercy and aid.

She closed her eyes and splashed the water over her boilingly hot face and chest. She reveled in the water’s cooling embrace and giggled as little bits of debris and tiny victims tickled her nerves as they spattered against her.

 Pan did this with several more handfuls of water until her whole body was sopping wet and cool. A sigh of relief escaped her sumptuous lips and she leaned back a bit. Her beautiful hands dipped into the churning sea behind her. The soft, finely-lined skin of her palms and fingers crushed more ships and people into the seafloor as they crashed down to support her.

Her feet played excitedly beneath the water’s glimmering surface. They dug back and forth against the harbor floor and splashed in and out of the revitalizing water.

 Pan’s cute, ever-wriggling toes cut through the water like sharks’ fins before slinking beneath the surface. They battered and broke boats in their path and buffeted them with unrelenting waves. Sputtering swimmers became ensnared in the pungent crevices betwixt Pan’s squirming pink monstrosities. They popped and crunched as she playfully scrunched up and relaxed her pretty, pedicured digits and crushed the hapless little bugs to death.

 Her heels plowed through and carved cavernous trenches into the seafloor. Her foot’s path brought it crashing into, over and through the meticulous ongoing excavation of the famous, timeworn wreck of a peerless, one-of-a-kind ship; a venture of pronounced historical significance and value, and the carefully-selected team of divers, scientists and historians working on it. Her graceful, delicately-furrowed sole uncaringly smashed them to unsalvageable ruin and ground them into formless oblivion.

Pan’s gaze slinked appreciatively over the length of her own reclining form. Her thin, sopping garments clung to her like ceran-wrap, and in their dripping semitransparency, revealed in tantalizing detail nearly every delicate nuance and lustful curve of her shameless, sinuous figure. Her radiant, sopping skin shimmered alluringly in the afternoon sun. A dusting of tiny ships, wreckage, and sputtering little people adorned her luxurious, summer-glazed form like sprinkles topping a rich confection.  Pan’s mouth watered at the analogy and a familiar grumble resonated from her softly heaving tummy. A small, anticipatory sigh escaped her expectant, salivating mouth as she began to scrape and pluck the tiny treats readily stranded on her velvety skin.