Chapter 1: The Twin Goddesses

Part 1: The Crimson Goddess

Full-size image here: http://redfiredoglizard.deviantart.com/art/Camilla-1-Dangerous-Curves-443652975

The giantess strode magnificently through the noise of the crowd. Her gilded crimson dress waved in the wind, a cheering crowd standing to the sides of the wide road in front of her. Cybele had reigned as a living Goddess and the Empress of Rome and its colonies for nearly thirty years. Her immense body, over one hundred feet tall, towered over the small houses and temples as she walked through the wide streets of Rome; a tall man might come up to her ankle. A deep rumbling shook the streets as she walked, and her bare feet cracked the cobble and compressed the dirt as she stepped on it. Her full name was Cybele Autusta Caesar, daughter of the first goddess, and the world trembled before her.

Crowds of men stood in awe and lust, barely rising above her feet. Usually they would be expected to bow in front of the goddess, to avert their, gaze lest their unworthy eyes stare upon her godlike visage. But this was a week of celebration, and many unusual things were permitted. The goddess had a curvaceous, womanly figure, with a round behind, thick legs, huge, firm breasts, and a narrow waist. A proud, almost stern expression showed through the thin veil covering the upper part of her face. She still had smooth skin and a dark, youthful beauty that belied her advancing years. Her hair was jet black, long and luscious, running below her tall crown and streaming halfway down her back. She wore a crimson-hued silk dress that showed off her curvaceous figure, with a low-cut blouse that revealed off her ample breasts and left her upper back uncovered. The dress flared below her hips, intricate gilded patterns running down its sides. 

The people of Rome believed utterly in her status as a goddess: how could they not? She certainly looked the part, and she would flatten anyone who said otherwise. She faced the falling sun, her long shadow casting much of procession behind her into darkness. The people loved her, lusted for her, and stood in awe of her incredible power. But this day wasn’t about Cybele: it was about her daughters, the princesses. Today, her daughters would ride through the city, in a grand parade through the streets of Rome. Tomorrow, they would become goddesses.

Then, something unexpected happened. A brawl broke out in one of the crowds just in front of the goddess. A dense crowd of drunken Helot serfs, fighting and running, poured into the middle of the road, directly in the path of the giantess. Cybelle noticed their presence, yet she never looked down, and never stopped. To do so, to defer to such insects, would be unthinkable for a goddess. She stepped again. Her feet were twenty feet long and four feet wide: she would likely crush several men with each step. By now all of the men had realized the danger they were in. Most started to run away. She was now close enough that the ground’s shaking made some of the men lose balance and fall. Some of the men ran away, but most were too drunk or too confused to escape in time. 

One of the serfs looked up, fearful. He saw her immense legs, tall as trees, yet still delicate and womanly. He saw her undergarments, tight black satin, revealing her most intimate curves. He had always wanted to see the Goddess. Sometimes he would dream of her when he worked in the fields. Her enormous foot, bigger than a horse, was about to come crashing down upon him in a few short seconds. There were worse ways to go. For an instant, the serf smiled. A second later, her foot came crashing down on him, instantly crushing him into goo. The crowd cheered louder—they were loving this.

The Twin Princesses

The beautiful twin princesses, Julia and Livia, rode in on a gigantic platform. It was nearly forty feet by forty feet wide, yet with the two of them reclining on it, there was little extra space; the girls’ fanslaves barely had enough room to walk around. Nearly two hundred slaves held up the platform from beneath, marching in rows of 14 by 14, pushing it along using the metal bars than ran along the bottom of the platform. The slaves’ muscles were strained, their backs aching; it took every ounce of strength they had to hold up the giantesses relaxing on the platform above them. 

Normally the sisters tried to stay as far apart from each other as they could. But for the parade, their mother insisted they lied down next to each other. Lying down, Julia was just over twenty five feet long, while her sister, Lidia, was a mere fifteen. The Pale Spice hadn’t had as powerful of an effect on her as it had on her sister. 

Cybelle continued to crush her way through the fleeing men in front of her. The princesses, Livia and Julia, watched as they reclined on a bed of huge silk pillows. Julia watched with amusement, Lydia with a kind of sadness. She hated to see anyone get hurt. Still, her mother was the goddess, and those men had sealed their own fates. She couldn’t fault her mother for stepping on those who were foolish enough to stand in her way.

Two male slaves fanned each of the sisters, while another two massaged their feet with oils. Julia sat up slightly and looked toward her sister. Even reclining, she stood as tall as the two slaves that stood at her side. A long caravan of lesser nobility, guards, servants, and slaves stretched on behind the royal family. 

“All this fanfare, for little old us?” Julia said playfully to her sister, looking to the huge, cheering crowds around them as slaves fanned them on the platform. 

“Of course it is. It’s the first consecration in almost three decades, since mother became a goddess.”

“Tomorrow we’re to become goddesses as well. I imagine the priestesses will declare me ‘Belladonna, goddess of war.’ Or perhaps ‘Minerva, goddess of strategy and just warfare.”

“Like you know anything about justice.” Livia said with a sneer. Livia, always caring and empathetic, hated her sister’s callous, cocky ways. Livia hated to see anyone hurt unjustly, no matter how low their station. Julia was well aware of this fact, and too immense pleasure in “accidentally” stepping on slaves when Livia was around. The sisters were physically as well: Julia was tall, lean and athletic, with narrow hips and midsized, perky breasts. The Spice had made her an imposing figure at 25 feet, with her mother’s face and dark features. At fifteen feet high, Livia was much shorter than her sister. Julia had lighter features and a rounder face, and was well on her way to inheriting her mother’s voluptuous body. 

Julia replied, “I don’t claim to be an arbiter of justice, but I certainly know plenty about war. After all this pomp and circumstance is over, I’m looking forward to smashing some of those pathetic German tribesmen. Even their biggest women are small enough for me to crush underfoot—I’ll show them what happens when you anger a goddess! Anyway, at least I’m not too cowardly to participate in the Reaping.” 

“I didn’t know crushing unarmed Helot men takes courage.” 

“It shouldn’t take much, I’m sure even you could muster it. It’s a tradition, going back to the Spartans. They had these same filth infesting their countryside. Once a year, the new military recruits would hone their skills by heading out into the country, sneaking around, and killing every Helot they could find. At least that way, they can serve some kind of purpose. Goddess knows there isn’t much else they can do well, and there are far too many of the things as it is. And it reminds them of their rightful place.” 

“You think their rightful place is to be under your foot,” Livia replied with contempt.

“Yes,” she giggled. ”Sometimes figuratively, sometimes not. We’re royals, after all, heirs to the throne of the goddess. It would be wrong to do anything but savor the greatness of our power. And not just the helot men—all men. Once they were bigger and stronger than us. Do you know what life was like for women then? They oppressed us, used us as whores and child-makers and glorified house slaves. They beat us and controlled us. Now that the Spice has set things right… Who am I to deny my rightful place as a Goddess?”

“You’re not a goddess. Not yet.” Livia was becoming more upset.

“Wait until tomorrow night. The coronation ceremony is soon enough. Then we’ll both be goddesses. I’ll be a goddess of war, and… I wonder what Goddess they’ll pronounce you to be? Larentia, the goddess of prostitution? Fornax, goddess of cooking and the oven? Surely something nice and submissive. It suits you.”

“I’ll be Venus, goddess of love and beauty. I’ll lead with love, compassion, and reason, and my beauty will inspire all to follow me.”

“Always so self-serious. We’ll see. These men… the one good thing about them is, at least most of them at least know their place. They revere us as the goddesses we are. They do whatever we ask of them, they even die for us if we ask them to. Hell, I could pick a dozen Helots from the crowd and shove them all into my pussy right now, and the half that survived would call it an honor. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea… You know, I think I’m going to like being a goddess.” 

Julia motioned to one of her slaves, and he brought over a barrel full of grapes to her. The slave reached up and set a bunch of grapes above Julia’s mouth; she wrapped her huge tongue around them, dropped them into her mouth and swallowed. 

“You know Livia, as much of a Greco-phile as you are, you ought to listen more to the Spartans. Those Athenian so-called ‘reformists’ will poison your head with their talk of male liberty and equality. What folly! The lioness doesn’t offer liberty to the gazelle. She eats the gazelle, because it pleases her. The men’s place is to feed us, to serve us, to pleasure us. And to die for us, if that pleases us.”

“Perhaps I’m not a lion. Perhaps I’m an elk, or a giraffe, or…”

“Ha! You’re a lion, we all are. The only difference is, some of us don’t try to run from what we are. You’ll realize the pleasure in it soon enough… You haven’t had the Red Spice yet. Besides, it’s good to be a lioness.” The slave leaned over to drop another bunch of grapes in Julia’s mouth. Julia quickly and effortlessly grabbed him by his feet and raised him into the air above her mouth. The slave, terrified, tried to wriggle out of her grasp. “No!” Livia yelled, and tried to snatch the slave away, but Julia grabbed Livia’s wrist and easily held her down. Julia then opened her mouth and dropped the slave in. Her tongue wrapped around his lower body. She closed her mouth, smiled seductively. For a second she almost tried to swallow him whole, something she’d seen her mother do many times. Then, she remembered that she wasn’t big enough to swallow a full-grown man whole. Not yet. Instead, mouth closed, she chewed him as one would an unusually tough piece of steak. Several seconds later, she swallowed.

“You monster! What did he do to deserve that?”” Livia said to her sister, a look of shock and disdain in her eyes. Julia flashed a mischievous grin, showing off her bloody teeth. She licked her mouth clean and smiled again towards the crowd.

The crowd cheered more loudly than ever. Cybele continued walking, either not noticing or not caring about the display behind her. Julia’s foot slaves hesitated for a moment, staring at her, then looked down, frightened, and continued massaging her feet. Her second fan slave, however, just stood there, stunned, staring at her with obvious lust. A small erection showed through his loincloth.

“See? They love it. Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, and nothing’s more powerful than a goddess of destruction. Every man out there would do anything just to touch me. Even if it means that afterwards, they’d have to be crushed under our feet. Or our tits...” 

Julia smiled seductively at the stunned slave. 

“Can you understand me, slave? No response. You don’t even speak the common tongue. You’d give anything to pleasure me right now, wouldn’t you? But this isn’t the most appropriate place, I’m afraid. Besides, only female concubines are allowed to touch the womanhood of a goddess and live. But I know something else I know I’d like…”

Julia gently picked up the man, reclining, and slipped him under her blouse, between her breasts. This one didn’t put up any fight. He laid there, his hesitance overcome by his lust for the beautiful giantess who held him between her bosoms. The goddess pressed her breasts together. Her perky breasts were proportionately a small c-cup, yet with her immense size, they were large enough to wrap around most of his body. The crowd cheered loudly at the spectacle.

“Let him go!”

“Why? I want to feel the pleasure of crushing him between these firm tits. I want to feel his skull pop, his ribs crack, his blood run down my sides! Have you never taken a man’s life? “

“Never! If nothing else, it’s a waste.”

“Ha! A waste of what? Of money? Mother owns almost 100,000 slaves. A tenth of those work around the palace. If I got drunk and decided to kill all of them, mother would just buy another 100,000 tomorrow. And it’s not like mother has any problem with killing them, I’ve seen her eat more men in a meal than I’ve killed in all my life!” 

“That’s different. She doesn’t do it out of pleasure…”

“But she does. She always has. And so do I.” 

Julia applied a bit more force, pressing her breasts together. They spilled out of her blouse, looking bigger and more beautiful than before. The slave’s body compressed, and there was a faint cracking noise. He made a squelching sound as his face twisted into a bizarre expression. Whether it was pain or pleasure, or a bit of both, was hard to tell.

“It’s the best feeling there is. Holding a person’s existence in your hands, knowing that you could end their life with the smallest effort, making them think you might show them mercy… and then crushing them anyway!”

Suddenly, Julia pressed as hard as she could. Her wiry arms were much stronger than they looked: even for her size, Julia had an incredible physical strength. Even through the softness of her breasts, the force was far more than enough to eviscerate him. “Bones were crushed and blood flew through the air, splattering the crowd. The crimson liquid ran down the sides of her breasts and onto her dress. “Mmmmm…,” she sighed, looking utterly satisfied.” She sat up and blew a kiss toward the crowd. The crowd went wild. Men cheered and tried to press on past the guards. 

“They love it. The more you crush them, the more you force them to submit to you, the more they want you. Right now, every man in this crowd would do anything I asked of them.”

Julia watched as the crowd continued to cheer for her sister’s violent display. Maybe, she thought in spite of herself, her sister was right. Maybe power and destruction was her birthright. After all, she would soon be a goddess.

Pax Romana

100 Years Earlier

The spice had changed everything. It was first discovered in a deep cave in Northern China almost a hundred years ago. Naturally present as a crystal, it could be crushed into a powder and eaten. At first, it was used as an aphrodisiac and a drug in China, and the practice soon became popular in Rome. Wealthy noblemen, emperors and merchants would pay vast sums of money so that they could use it with their wives and mistresses. 

But on women, the spice had other effects… Women who used it started to grow taller. At first, it was only a few inches. People caught on quickly, and soon it became the ultimate status symbol to have to tallest wife in town. The Roman Emperor’s wife was nearly eight feet high! 

Eventually, as they mined deeper, more powerful versions of the Spice were found. Noblemen dug deep into their reserves, spending everything they could to buy more Spice. And yet, it was never enough. Men who used enough spice might grow an inch or two, if that. But the women grew and grew, often becoming more beautiful and voluptuous as they did. Soon the Emperor, not a short man by any stretch, barely came up to his wife’s breasts. Then her navel. Then her thighs. Then, some years later, her shins… 

The power dynamics were beginning to change, slowly but clearly. It wasn’t uncommon for wealthy women to be ten or fifteen feet high, and a the richest were sometimes a good deal taller still. The spice was in the air now, here and there, and even common women were often a few inches taller than their boyfriends, and sometimes two or three feet taller. It gave many women a confidence that they hadn’t known before, and certain… tastes, and passions, that they never thought they’d have.

Once, a man could rape a common woman in an alley, and no one would stop him. Now, if one was brave enough to try it, they might end up suffocated to death under her thighs. Once, groups of rabble in the streets would sometimes try to grope passing women, making rude gestures if the women ignored their advances. Now some of those women were four times their height and forty times their weight, and shook the ground as they walked. Most men of the time had once looked at women as submissive beings, as potential conquests and possessions. Now, they looked at them with a mix of lust and reverence. When a giant noblewoman walked through the streets, everything came to a standstill. Men would quickly move out of her way, as noblewomen were not always quick to stop and wait for the commoners they towered over. But afterward, the men would stare with mix of awe and longing, as if they had just watched a passing goddess. 

Things had changed in Rome’s Imperial palace as well. The emperor’s tall, beautiful wife started to wield more influence. The Senate, and the emperor’s men, now paid her as much regard as they did the emperor. The palace guards were becoming more loyal to her than they were to the Emperor. Foreign dignitaries bowed to her as they passed, expressing greater respect to her than they had to the Emperor. The winds were beginning to shift.

The emperor’s wife stood nearly thirty feet tall now. She had grown more and more beautiful and womanly with her use of the spice. She still had a slender waist, but now she had a round ass, huge breasts and wide, heavy thighs that were truly something to behold. Once, the emperor’s wife had looked at the emperor and his power with a reverence, approaching awe. Now, the roles had reversed. His lust for her had grown greater and greater as she became taller and more beautiful. At times, though, he seemed to be almost fearful of her great physical power, a reaction that she found strange, yet secretly pleasing.

One night, the emperor, now nearly fifty, ask something he had never asked for before: for his wife to go on top when they had sex. She protested at first, but he was insistent. Being the emperor still counted for something, and she eventually gave in. She did as he said, slipping in his penis with the utmost care. The empress lied down naked on their bedroom floor, and they started to rub against each other gently. His wife moaned. While his penis was now too small to truly fit in her vagina, rubbing it against her clitoris and between her labia still pleased them both. The emperor felt her immense weight crushing down upon him, but continued anyway. After a few minutes, she moaned louder—“aah!” She started to move back and forth, harder and harder, moving him with her thighs. She was starting to orgasm. In her pleasure, she spasmed powerfully, her back arching back into the air. Her immense thighs squeezed together tightly and lifted off the ground, bringing the emperor with them. “Yeeesss!” She squirted, gallons of milky liquid covering the usually dignified emperor. Then, in another uncontrollable spasm, her thighs came down with a great power. The walls shook, and with a terrible noise she felt something crush underneath her. She felt blood on her legs.

She looked and saw the crushed body of the emperor, barely recognizable. The empress expected to feel a horror or sadness: after all, she had just killed the man she had loved for the last ten years. Instead, she felt something else. A sense of incredible power, and a lust for more power yet... And she made her plans for the morning.

No one but her yet knew about the emperor’s fate. The emperor’s guards knew better than to inquire about loud noises during his lovemaking. The empress’s wife started off her morning by taking some Spice she found in a small box in her hustband’s bedroom. It was red, instead of the grey color she was used to, and it had a stronger taste. She then headed out to find her two younger sisters, each of whom was nearly as large as she was With them behind her, she made her way to the Senate. 

The Senate

The emperor’s wife asked for an audience. Though women were not usually allowed in the Senate, the guards immediately let her in. She squeezed through the hallway leading to the senate, and walked down the aisle to the senate floor. She was careful not to trip, lest she fall and crush the tiny senators. Though if that did happen, she thought with a smile, it wouldn’t be entirely displeasing. 

She made her way into the Senate floor, and her sisters followed, standing at her side. The sisters towered over the tiny senators below. The senate was crowded—the senate once had only 200 senators, but their ranks had swelled over time. Now there were nearly one thousand.

“What an honor this is, to host the wife of the great Emperor. Your beauty is truly legendary.”

“Indeed,” The emperor’s wife responded. But it is not beauty that concerns me today. The emperor is dead. I seek to be declared empress.”

One of the older senators sat up. “Dead? What madness is this?”

The empress’s wife felt a great annoyance at this insolent senator. She took a large, heavy bag from under her clothes, and opened it up. From the bag dropped the bloody, crushed remains of the emperor. 
“You madwoman!” screamed the same senator. The rest of the senate stood in a stunned silence. “You murder the emperor and you expect us to reward you with his crown?” Her anger was growing, as well as something else… Senators in the distance started booing.

The emperor’s wife pushed back her feelings of anger and composed herself. “His death was an accident. What I ask is not unreasonable. The emperor has left no male heirs. I know the ways of the office. The people of Rome love and respect me. And my stature will strike fear into enemies of the Empire. I will lead Rome into an age of greatness and prosperity! What better choice is there?”

“No woman can be senator!” She felt her anger boil into rage. She would show him exactly what a woman can do. 

No woman ca—“ 

Moving suddenly for her great size, the emperor’s wife moved toward the old senator, who was in the third row in front of her. She raised her foot above him. Terrified, the old man moved back, falling over.

“Stop! I beg of you!” 

The old man tried to escape, but it was too late. Her foot came crashing down upon him, crushing him and the stone chair that he had sat upon. His body had been completely crushed. The old man was now nothing more than a residue on her foot, which she wiped off on the Senate floor. 

“Bow to me!”

The senators hesitated. Without thinking, she stepped down, crushing another of them under her foot. The feeling of power that came with it pleased her greatly. Then, she felt something strange: a feeling of warmth and strength, a sudden growth spurt. The spice had grown her to immense heights, but it was always slow, measured. It took days, if not weeks, to see any noticeable change. Yet somehow, she felt herself grow suddenly.

“All of you! Bow to me now!” Some of the senators near her tried to run away. Feeling a predator’s instinct, she quickly grabbed two of them. Without giving it a second thought, she threw one of them into her mouth, chewed viciously, and swallowed. The other screamed and tried to wriggle away, but it was too late. She threw him into her mouth. This one she swallowed whole. He was almost too big to fit down her throat, but he slid down anyway. She enjoyed the sensation of him going down her throat, still alive, wriggling and screaming if he went. Such power! She felt herself starting to grow again. The ground trembled beneath her feet. Ancient marble cracked. Her sisters stood back, looking upon at the spectacle with a mix of disgust and awe. 

“Bow to me!” she screamed, her once meek voice now loud and strong enough to make every man in Rome tremble. She crushed another senator under her foot, then another. The senators screamed pathetically as they ran away from her. She couldn’t believe that she had once been impressed by the power that these men held. She felt herself growing again, faster than before. How tall was she now? Forty feet? Fifty? She felt her breasts grow, becoming even bigger and fuller than before. Her bloodlust built as she continued. “Please, please, stop! We yield!” one senator yelled. But it was too late. The destruction was like a drug for her. Lust and power coursed through her veins. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw senators about to escape through the entryway. And something worse—a group of guards were rushing in! Immense as she was, guards could still hurt her. She ran over to the entryway and pushed into it with all her might. The mighty, ancient stones of the entryway collapsed under her might, instantly crushing the men underneath and blocking the only way in and out of the senate. 

“Please, stop! I beg you!”

She wasn’t sure who had said it, but she responded anyway. “You had your chance. Rome is mine now!”

The Senate, once the seat of Rome’s power, was now her playground. She lightly placed her foot on top of a fleeing senator, knocking him down. “Feel my power!” Slowly, she shifted her weight, pressing down harder on the back of her foot, then the middle, then the front. She could feel resistance at first. But as she increased the pressure, she felt his legs broke, then his ribs crushing, and finally a pleasant popping noise as his head was crushed to goo. Again, she grew. She felt a warm, almost orgasmic sensation in her breasts, as they grew yet again. She felt her breasts, now massive, enormous, and beautiful. It felt like they weighed a ton, perhaps literally. Several dozen senators were huddled together in a corner. She grabbed one, then another, then another, until five of them were wedged between her breasts. She squeezed her breasts together with her hands. The blouse of her toga was falling down now, showing off her magnificent breasts to the world. She squeezed with all of her might. Their bodies were instantly crushed, and she delighted as she felt their warm blood run down her cleavage.

She picked up a handsome young senator, lowered her hand near her crotch, and lifted up the skirt of her toga. She rubbed his body against her clitoris, which was easily the size of the senator’s fist. Then another growth spurt! Soon, her clitoris was the size of his head. If she wanted to, she could destroy the entirety of Rome. She closed her eyes and continued, shutting out everything but the incredible feeling of pleasure she felt. Her own lusts were the only thing that mattered to her right now. She rubbed harder and more vigorously. She was growing again. Harder and harder she pressed his body against her loins. “Yes!” she started to orgasm. It was too much. Her legs shook uncontrollably with pleasure. She lost balance, and she started to fall to the side, but she was still too enraptured to care. “Yeeessss!!!” She orgasmed again. What seemed like fifty gallons of milky liquid squirted from her vagina, dripping down her legs and spraying a group of senators below her. “Yesssssss!!!” still in mid-fall, she felt her hand pressing harder and harder against her loins, and against the man’s body. As she orgasmed for the last time, she felt his body being crushed between her labia, and she liked what she felt. A dozen senators were under her, trying to run away, but it was too late. 

She hit the ground with incredible force. The weight of her body instantly crushed the men below her into a fine red mist, and the marble floor below her broke into splinters. Pieces of marble the size of a man’s head went flying in all directions. A shockwave of dust and sound shook the whole of Rome. 

For a second, she sat there, her sisters looking on in silence. Then, after a moment, she opened her eyes, and got herself up. Suddenly, she was aware of the carnage around her. Her toga, badly torn, was more red than white. Two thirds of the senators were dead now, their blood covering the bits of broken tile and stone that were once the senate. The remaining third, scattered about, was bowing to her, trembling. Many of the survivors looked badly injured, a mix of fear and almost religious awe in their eyes. She felt something approaching remorse, though it soon left her. The empress’s wife not stood over sixty feet tall. She was higher than the senate building now. She looked out into the city of Rome, and into the countryside beyond the city’s gates. A crowd had gathered outside the Senate. 
“Senators! People of Rome!” Her voice was still beautiful and feminine, yet loud enough to shake the foundations of the city, and travel well into the countryside. “I came to this place to ask to be declared an empress! Now I realize what folly that was. Today, I will ask no one to declare me an empress.” 

The senators, and the crowd, stared at her in stunned silence.

“Today, I will declare myself a goddess!” At last, Rome was hers. A prize that until today, she didn’t even know she wanted.

Prelude: The Palace Gardens

Livia was lying on a raised stone platform outside in the gardens of the royal palace. The low sun beamed down on Livia, illuminating her youthful features. The white fabric of her dress clung tightly to her shapely young body. A few personal servants attended to Livia, some oiling her skin, others fanning her. They looked tiny next to her. Had they been standing up, she would be fifteen feet high, and the tallest servant wouldn’t have come up to her thigh. They had been slaves until Livia freed all her servants several years ago. It was a distinction that made a far larger difference in theory than practice, but it helped Livia rest more easily. Livia stared off into the distance. The palace gardens stretched on for miles like a long corridor, flanked by high walls.

The palace was beautiful and immense. Even if it had been built to scale for normal humans, it would have been a sizable mansion, with hundreds of large rooms and seemingly endless gardens. But the palace had been built to scale for Juno, who stood nearly two hundred feet tall. Doorways stood over two hundred feet high, and ceilings could rise well over three hundred. The palace itself, made of red stone and marble, was truly stunning, everywhere gilded and ornamented with the finest gold. It was only one story, by necessity—there’s no way a two story building could support the weight of a giantess like Juno walking around in it, on top of the massive stones and hidden iron support beams. Yet even with just a single story, it dwarfed almost every building in Rome. Only the Great Coliseum put it to shame. 

The gardens were made up of huge courtyards connected by wide corridors, each a thousand feet wide. Instead of potted bushes, the garden had huge trees, oak and maple, planted in enormous stone pots. The Sacred Baths, made of fine marble, were as wide as a small lake. And the courtyards stretched on like huge fields, some well over a mile wide. Lining the sides of the corridors and courtyards were large stone platforms of varying size. The one Livia lied on was only eight feet off the ground and twenty feet long, and some were even smaller than that. But others were far larger. One huge platform a bit down the corridor must have been made personally for Juno—it stood well over fifty feet high.

Even to Livia, it seemed immense. She stood fifteen feet high; not small by any measure, at least for a woman her age who hadn’t yet taken the red spice. She looked up and saw the walls stretching far above her. ‘This place,’ she thought, ‘makes me feel like a dwarf. Not even that. A mouse.’ But then she looked down, and saw her servants, barely as high as her knee. It’s all relative, she thought. Then she realized that her mind was wondering again, and her servant was talking to her. She looked down at her elderly servant. His name was Rava Bardus, or Graybeard. He was a learned servant, and acted as Livia’s teachers and advisor. He had been going on about policy for some time now. Politics and the like usually interested Livia, even if her mind often wondered. She listened to the servant’s words.

“… are all coming to celebrate you and your sisters’ coronation. Envoys are even coming from the Far East. And of course the leaders of Rome’s great houses will all be there, and all of the major regional governesses. I even heard that the Egyptian Governess, Scarlett, and her daughter Cleopatra, will be arriving after all…”

“They’re coming? Cybele invited them? After what Scarlett did at the festival of Kalends last year? She desecrated the high temple of Juno! I don’t even know how many people she killed that day, how many buildings she flattened… It took them months to clean up the mess! Not to mention what they did to my favorite dress, and my pet elephant… Scarlett is a disgusting, perverted, cruel, sadistic, self-indulgent pig, and yet she has the audacity to call herself a goddess! And her stupid, childish, gluttonous idiot of a daughter… You’re sure they’re coming, servant?”

“That’s what I was told, your grace. I know you weren’t on the best terms with them. But look forward to the week’s coming festivities!“

Graybeard was standing on the ground below her. Livia reached down to pick him up. She shifted her weight carefully, making sure she didn’t crush any of her servants. She weighed just over a ton, enough that a little clumsiness could seriously hurt or kill them. And Livia was a little on the clumsy side. “I suppose you’re right, servant. Livia placed her hands around the man. Her hands were long enough that each of them could reach all the way around the old man’s thick waist. She gently picked him up with both hands, and set him in front of her on the platform.

“There’s one thing I need to tell you.”

“You made the arrangements?” she said in a hushed tone. “You’re the only one I trust, graybeard. Tell me where I can find Aur—Tell me where I can find my friend.” 

“I knew you wanted to meet with him tonight, and I arranged a place. There are still slaves performing construction around your bedchambers, I’m afraid, so he couldn’t meet you in the usual place. I arranged to have him meet you in the Sacred Baths, just before sundown…” 

“The baths?! Why would you possibly have him meet me there? The penalty for a man to be caught in the Sacred Baths is death! What if the slaves find him? Gods, what if mother finds him!? What in Inferno are you thinking?” Livia looked at the man with an anger he had never shown him before. She found her hand wrapping tightly around the man’s waist.

“My… ugh.. my… my lady…” Livia’s grip loosened slightly to let the man talk. “I beg forgiveness! My lady, your grace, please let me explain! The priestesses that would normally be in the baths are all elsewhere, preparing for the ceremonies… The baths should be deserted, save for the eunuch slaves that attend to it, and I don’t think we have to worry about them seeing your friend.” Livia let go of the old man. “As for your mother and your sister… I assumed they would be busy with preparations.”

“You assumed? You assumed? I hope you’re right, servant, for your sake. If Aureus is found, let alone hurt, you’ll know how displeased I am when I crush you underfoot. Servants, wait here. Consisto. I need to leave.” She sat up quickly, pushing several of her servants aside and knocking one of them down. Graybeard watched as Livia jumped down off the eight-foot high stone platform, shaking the ground as she landed. He watched her hips sway as she walked hurriedly towards the baths, before remembering how wrong it was for a lowly servant to look upon their master in such a way. She was nearly a goddess, and he had failed her. He looked down in shame and started to walk back towards his quarters, before remembering that he was still on a platform eight feet above the ground. He looked over at the young goddess before sitting down, defeated.

Finding Aureus

Livia ran hurriedly towards the Sacred Baths. The sun was low, and it was almost nightfall. It was only a couple of miles to the baths, but like most well-endowed women, Livia wasn’t much for running. Her ample breasts each weighed nearly eighty pounds, and she wore no brassiere. Whenever she tried to run they heaved and shook with tremendous force. It pained her, but she had to get to the baths as soon as she could. She put her right arm against her breasts, holding on as tight as she could, and hurried on. It was better than nothing. She noticed the ground shaking subtly as her feet hit the ground.

The corridors of the Palace gardens were busy, as they always were. There were over ten thousand slaves working in the palace normally, and now there were more than double that, making the extra preparations for the ceremonies. Each group was watched by a female overseer, harsh-looking women with leather skirts and whips in hand. The overseers watched from the sidelines, making sure that the slaves didn’t stop working at any costs. They were among the lowest castes of women in the city, though even they were considered far higher than male slaves and servants. Most of the overseers stood around seven feet high, some a little less and some a little more. Most of the overseers had a strong, even Amazonian look about them, though few were overtly muscular. Their job, after all, wasn’t to work, but to make the slaves do the work for them. 

It was rare for the slaves to stop working, no matter how tired they may be or how raw their hands may feel. The slaves knew the pain that awaited them if they slacked while on duty. The overseers were not known for their compassion. The overseers whipped the slaves when they slacked off, whipped them if they looked at the overseers wrong, and often whipped them just to remind them that they’re slaves. Their cruelty disgusted Livia, but she had other concerns right now.

The slaves worked dutifully throughout the gardens, doing all varieties of things. They were cleaning things and planting things, moving heavy things, and filling in Cybele’s huge footprints with dirt. The slaves saw Livia running and scrambled out of the way, most of them quickly and deftly. Any palace slave who wanted to live for long got used to running whenever they heard a member of the Royal family coming. After all, Cybele stood over a hundred feet high, weighed nearly 400 tons, and with her long stride she could walk thirty miles an hour at a relaxed pace. The Crimson Goddess wasn’t one to wait. Countless slow-footed slaves had been crushed under Cybele’s feet around the Palace, her immense weight crushing their bodies into the dirt or squishing them against hard stone floors.

Livia ran through the gardens, trying her best to avoid the slaves as they scrambled away. The path in front of her was dotted with her mothers’ footsteps, some of which were nearly a foot deep. The footprint depressions were long and wide enough that Livia could lie inside of it comfortably if she wished. Livia kept running, watching the slaves run out of the way, watching the overseers bow to her. And then she remembered why she was running in the first place: Aureus. He would be waiting there at nightfall, and it was nearly dark. She thought of his handsome face, his gentle smile, his small yet strong body. And she tried not to think what would happen if he was found in the Sacred Baths, in which men were forbidden. If he were found by an overseer, or Goddess forbid, by Cybele… And just when the thought was almost too much to bear, she reached the baths. 

Livia pushed through the two towering gates that separated the baths from the outside world. ‘It’s empty, save for those poor eunuchs. Thank the gods.’ she thought. Livia looked around. At night, the Sacred Baths were a truly incredible sight. Marble columns, thick and high as redwoods, reached upward to the heavens. A perfectly manicured lawn stretched half a mile in each direction, with alternating trees and statures around the edges. The baths, made from thick marble, were as large as a lake, and perfectly still. Ornate lanterns above cast warm yellow light on the pool, which contrasted with the blue light of the moon’s reflection and the deep violet of the sky. At the far side of the pool stood a massive gold statue of the goddess Juno, watching over all who bathed there.

Livia looked around for Aureus, quietly calling his name, but heard no one call back in response. The only other people around were the bath’s eunuch slaves, feeling their way around and silently cleaning the marble. No man could enter the sacred baths or see the Goddess nude and live: but these slaves were not considered men, and they could not see. Livia recalled what her teachers had told her about the eunuchs. The bath slaves were cast blind, so their gaze could not desecrate the goddess or her daughters; gelded, so they may feel no pleasure from their presence; their tongues cut out, so their voices could tell no tales of the baths. Livia had long felt sorry for them. She thought back to a conversation she once had with Cybele. One day several years before, she strode up to her mother once, furiously demanding that they end the cruel practice. What her mother told her, she hadn’t forgotten. 

“No one forces the slaves to do this,” she had said. “Slaves choose this position knowing full well the sacrifices that it requires. Only a few slaves are allowed to achieve the honor. The priestesses prepare them for months. At any point before their induction, they can back out and return to their normal duties. A freedom slaves are rarely given.” Livia asked why they would choose such a life, if it meant losing their voice and eyes and manhood. 

“Why? So they can be near us. So they can honor us and worship us more closely than most men could dream. So they can stand in awe of us, of our power and beauty. They may never see us, but they feel our presence, and they hear our voices. So they can dedicate their lives to us, completely and utterly. What more could a slave hope for? What more could any man hope for?” As she said this, Cybele reached over and cradled a nearby eunuch with her right hand, her immense hand dwarfing the eunuch. 

After the conversation, Livia looked closely at their faces of the eunuchs. What she had once seen as sadness, she realized was something else, perhaps a kind of contentedness. Livia still hated the tradition, but she no longer pitied these eunuchs as she once had.

Her thoughts came back to the moment at hand. Livia called out again. 

“Aureus! Aureus!” “Aureus! Aureus!” 

Livia heard rusting from behind a hedge in the distance. “Livia!” 


Moonlit Rendezvous 

 

Aureus looked carefully from behind the hedge. He thought it was Livia’s voice, but wasn’t yet sure that it hadn’t been her sister’s. He peeked out slowly, cautiously. He made sure that whoever it was, he saw her before she saw him. ‘Why did I agree to do this? He thought, not yet sure who was calling his name. His goddess, or her cruel sister? Then he saw her face, and knew at once. He had never seen her look more beautiful. For that matter, he had never seen anyone look so beautiful. The moonlight gave her light skin a strange, almost ethereal glow. Her dressed looked almost transparent, displaying perfect, shapely body. He could tell that her nipples were hard, though it was a warm night. ‘There’s something about this place,’ he thought. All his life, he had wondered what they were like. The Sacred Baths, the Royal Baths, the Forbidden Baths… One place, many names. He had always wondered what they were like, and at last he knew. 

Aureus called out her name. “Livia! Livia, my goddess!” He ran out from behind the bush. 

“Aureus!” she called back. Livia ran up to Aureus, her breasts bouncing as she ran, and kneeled down in front of him. Aureus looked up at her. Even on her knees, she stood much higher than him. 

Livia embraced him, wrapping her long arms around Aureus’ tiny body and lifted him in the air. Aureus usually thought of himself as being strong, but Livia’s size made him feel small, fragile even. She picked him up carefully, lifting his lips up to hers and kissing him. It was a strange thing, being kissed by a giantess. Livia’s thick lips were almost as wide as his entire head. The first time she had tried to kiss him, Aureus ended up with his face covered in slobber. He burst out in laughter, and she walked off, embarrassed. But they had been together for nearly a year now, and he had grown to love the way she kissed him. He savored the way that the warmth and wetness of her lips felt against his face. Livia set him back onto the ground, placing one of her long hands on his shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t have come here. Please, Aureus, never come here again.” 
“Graybeard said it was the only way I could see you tonight.” 
“And maybe it was. But we could have waited.”
“Maybe you could have.”
“Now that you mention it, I’m not so sure I could. But I’ve been thinking. If this is what it takes to see you… If just seeing you means that you could be caught… What if you were caught by one of the guards? Or a priestess? Or an overseer? Or my mother? I’ve seen what she does to interlopers in the baths. We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“I didn’t sneak in here for nothing. We’re alone now. No one else is coming here. Please… I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Aureus looked up at her, and she looked back. He knew her too well. 

“This might be the last time I see you in weeks,” Aureus said. “Pretty soon, you’ll be a goddess. You’ll have the red spice. I can’t even imagine how beautiful and tall and powerful you’ll be. Maybe bigger than your mother. Maybe you’ll be the one telling her what to do. All that, happening so soon. They say the red spice changes you. Will you still want me, when you’re a goddess? When you’re so big you could eat me as easily as kiss me?” 
“Don’t talk like that, sweetie. You know I will. ‘Till your golden hair turns gray. And I could never eat anyone… as strong and cute as you.”
“Then let me show you I love you. One last time, before the coronation.”
“Aureus! You charming little devil. Don’t think you’ll take my maidenhood that easily.”

Aureus walked slowly towards her. He tried to place his hand on her thigh, but couldn’t quite reach, so he settled for her knee. 

“Nothing like that, not quite. Just something sweet, and simple. Something I learned about a few years ago.”
She looked at him with mock anger. “Was there another woman? Tell me who this foul harlot is, so I may crush her underfoot!”
“You know I’ve never had another. It’s nothing like that, just… something I heard about. Sit down.” She leaned against a nearby column. Her back slid down against it until her ass came to rest on the base of the column, her knees bending outward. Her thick thighs were at the height of his head now. He bent down as he walked slowly towards her, lifting her dress with his left hand. It was completely dark under her dress, but Aureus didn’t need to see anything. His right hand glided along the soft flesh of her massive thighs, tracing a line further and further up her legs. He reached his hand up between her legs, felt her thick labia pressing against her underwear. 

Livia let out a long moan. “Mmmmm…” Something about the way she moaned told him that she was biting her lip, just so. “So this is what you had in mind. Do keep going.” Now, he thought, there was a faint, playful smile on her lips. He could picture the face she was making, and it was perfect. He felt his hand grab the top of her panties and slowly pull them down. Then he would just slip them off, open up her labia, and lick around her… her… what was is called again? He had never done this before, he realized, but somehow it seemed automatic. He slipped the panties off a bit further, his fingers lightly tickling her thighs. Livia giggled, and Aureus felt the ground shake. 

For a second, Aureus paused to consider how utterly lucky these last couple of years had been. He was born a slave, into a long line of slaves, trained to become a scribe. Yet when he was of age, they had more scribes than they needed, so he spent years performing laborer duties. His status as a trained scribe spared him the worst of his duties, yet he still worked each day until the sun set and his arms tired. Then one day, she spoke to him, a mere slave. She was Livia, daughter of a goddess, the most beautiful woman in Rome and all its colonies. And here he was today, about to please her. About to suck on her clitoris. He remembered the word now. 

He pulled the panties down further, and she giggled once more, and he noticed the ground shaking again. Something gave him pause. For a moment he stopped, and Livia stood still. He felt the ground shake again. And again. And again. And again. Each time it was louder, deeper. Nearer. It was Cybelle, and she was coming closer.

The Red Goddess

 

Livia had been so absorbed that she hadn’t even realized her mother, Cybelle, was coming towards them. Then suddenly it hit her. She stood up quickly, accidentally knocking Aureus down. “It’s her! Quick, hide!” Cybele was coming, and she was getting close. The ground shook with each step, a little more each time. The whole earth shook as she walked. She took another step. The bath’s clear water vibrated, disturbing the moon’s reflection. She stepped again. Flocks of birds left their trees and flew away into the distance. Another step. The eunuchs could hear her coming. Most of them scampered to the sides of the pool, out of her path. She stepped again. Lydia looked over at the bath’s huge heavy gates, shaking subtly with each heavy step. Each of Cybele’s steps was a bit louder than the last, and a bit closer. 

Livia turned back away from the gate. Aureus had gone to hide. Livia looked to see where he had gone, hoping that he had managed to hide well, if not somehow escape. He could hide behind a column, or up a tree. The baths’ courtyard was mostly open grass, but there were no shortage of decent places to hide. Then she looked over, and saw Aureus, only a few feet from the side of the baths. He was hiding behind a tall, narrow shrub that had been shaped like a giraffe by hedge trimmers. The thin legs of the hedge giraffe did little to hide his body. 

“You have to find a better hiding place!” she whispered, her voice interrupted by the booming of Cybele’s footsteps.
“Where?”
“Anywhere!”

Livia looked around. There was a far better hedge a few dozen feet away, or a column not much further. He could still make it, she thought. Or could he? Livia felt the earth shaking. She was getting closer. No, she was here. “It’s too late! Wait here!” Livia hurried to the edge of the pool. She dipped her feet in, trying to act natural. She heard the familiar footsteps, even louder than before, heard the huge, heavy gates swing open effortlessly.

“Livia? What are you doing here?”

Livia turned around and looked at her mother, trying to look surprised. Cybele, standing next to the gates in her crimson dress, loomed large over Livia. Even the baths’ immense inner gates barely came up to her hips. The moonlight gave Cybele’s olive skin a strange glow, though her hair remained jet black. Somehow she still looked youthful, and her smooth, feminine face had yet to show her advancing years. The blouse of her red dress was tight around her huge, round breasts. The long dress traced her body’s curves, hugging her wide hips, then hanging loose around her legs. Her feet, immaculately maintained, were bare, and somehow utterly clean in spite of the soft dirt she had been walking through. 

Livia looked over towards Cybele. “Mother! It seemed like a pleasant night to go for a swim. The moon is full, the air is warm. What could be better than the feeling of cold water against the skin?”

“It does sound rather perfect, does it not? The baths calm the mind and invigorate the body. There’s something so sensual about them, and it’s been so long I’ve nearly forgotten their pleasures.”

Cybele walked towards the pool. With each step the ground shook and rumbled with her incredible weight. She strode past the tall oak trees that lined the wide path to the pool, making them look like small herbs by comparison. The few eunuch servants who were still in Cybele’s path scampered out of the way like mice. The rest stood to the side of the path, bowing down and trembling as the ground quaked. She stopped at the edge of the pool. She towered over Livia, who, sitting down, barely came up to her ankles. 

Livia glanced over towards the bush that Aureus was hiding behind, then looked back towards her mother. Such size, such power… She tried not to picture what would happen if Cybele found Aureus, but she couldn’t help it. Even Cybele’s smallest toe was big and heavy enough to crush her beloved into gristle… Or Cybele could wring him out in her hand like a washcloth, or swallow him whole, or chew him apart, or crush him between her breasts, or… or… each image seemed worse than the last. She did her best to compose herself.

The eunuchs ran over to Cybele’s feet, all two dozen or so of them, and started their duties. They looked like bald, chubby mice next to her huge feet. Their tiny hands rubbed lotion on every inch of her feet and toes. Cybele paid them little heed. This kind of worshipful attention was little more than pleasant background noise to her. Cybele raised her arms up, and with a single elegant motion, flung off her dress, which landed on several eunuchs. Her body was stunningly curvaceous, a platonically perfect hourglass figure. Her long legs, tall and thick as the bath’s massive columns, seemed to go on forever. Her skin was still smooth, and betrayed few signs of her age. While her huge, round breasts didn’t point upward like they once had, they were still remarkably perky for their immense size. Each of them weighed well over a ton, and the way they heaved with her every movement betrayed their great weight. 

“Take off your clothes. You should get into the pool.”

Livia felt a sudden need to do as her mother said. There was something commanding about Cybele’s deep yet feminine voice. People tended to do what she asked, and not just because of her title or size. Livia clumsily struggled out of her dress, then took off her panties. She looked much like her mother nude, only younger, thinner and much lighter-skinned. Different parts of the pool had vastly different depths, ranging from several feet deep in front of where she was standing, to nearly fifty in front of where Cybelle stood. She stepped into the pool, resting on a shallow section near the side, and felt the water against her skin. The water was exactly the same temperature as the air above; it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other started. Somehow, it made Livia feel as she was one with the world. Her anxiety somehow seemed more distant, and she felt her worries about Aureus lessoning. 

Cybele abruptly stepped forward. Her huge feet, as big as a carriage, knocked down many of the eunuchs. Cybele she didn’t seem to notice, much less care about the men. She lowered her long legs into the pool, sending high waves rippling through the water. Cybele started to sit down on the side of the pool. She was completely indifferent to the eunuchs below her. They scrambled out of the way, but some of them were still struggling to get up. Cybele’s massive, perfectly round ass came down above them, slowly. 

Livia could have tried to stop her mother, yet she somehow felt unable or unwilling to do so. Instead, her thoughts turned philosophical. Time seemed to slow down to a near pause. Some of the men, struggling to run away yet entirely doomed, stopped in their tracks. There were nearly a dozen of them. If Livia didn’t know better, she would have thought they were looking up to the sky. One of them lifted his hands to the air. They couldn’t see, but they knew what was coming. Livia couldn’t make out their faces very well in the dark, but she imagined them having a look of almost religious reverence. Only, she remembered, not almost. Religious reverence is what they felt for Cybele, their hundred and ten foot-high goddess. They were being offered to her now, and they seemed to realize it. It seemed strange to Livia. In spite of her mother’s size, she usually saw her mother more as a flawed woman than as a perfect heavenly figure. But these people believed in her divinity completely and utterly. And maybe they were right. Maybe being a goddess was more than just a political title, maybe it wasn’t just the Spice that had given the royals their colossal size. 

The men didn’t resist. They offered themselves freely, she thought, as a crushed offering to their goddess. And she came down on them. Cybele’s huge ass came down on them, crushing them as easily as an elephant might crush a mouse. Their bodies compressed, a little more and a little more, until they were unrecognizable. Bones snapped in a sickening symphony. Blood trickled out in droplets at first, then sprayed out in a torrent. Finally, she came to rest. A ripple shook through her ass, an undulating wave of force, Livia thought, powerful as the cosmos. Their bodies were gone now, flattened. Their crushed offering was accepted. Livia wasn’t sure if she believed in souls, but for a second, she wondered what fate the men’s souls would have. Perhaps they’d go on to another world now, maybe one where they could be crushed by goddesses over and over, paying them tribute for all eternity. Or maybe they’d be absorbed by Cybele, becoming some small part of her. Livia felt a sense of deep cosmic righteousness, completely at odds with the disgust that such casual acts of violence usually brought about in her.

Livia was suddenly jerked out of her trance by the sound of a man screaming. One eunuch had only had his bottom half crushed by Cybele. He was wedged under her immense crotch, his guts spilling out of his lower abdomen. He let out another pained, raspy scream, and then another, until all he could manage was a faint gasp.

“You should finish him off,” said Livia, staring into Cybele’s eyes with an enigmatic look. 
“Very well.” Cybele thrusted her thighs forward along the marble floor. Her enormous labia pressed the man’s tiny body against the ground with incredible force, leaving nothing but a bloody streak on the marble. 

“Why did you do that? Those men served you tirelessly. Why would you do that do them?” Livia asked the question purely out of curiosity, not the disgust she should have felt.
“I didn’t try to kill them, not this time. I sat down in exactly the same way I would have if they hadn’t been there. Their presence, or absence, didn’t affect my movement in the least. A hurricane doesn’t stop because there are a few insects in its way, my darling. The earth’s foundations don’t cease to shift because they fear injuring some lowly creature. You must realize the enormity of what we are. When I was young I was not without compassion for these people. I saw myself as a powerful instrument of some divide will, guiding the paths of these vast multitudes. 

Sometimes in the course of my errands I would find a man crushed like jelly under my feet. Rome is a crowded city, and men are small. For one of my statue it can be impossible to walk a few blocks without crushing a few such men under your feet. And at the time, I felt a kind of guilt for them, as if I had somehow done something wrong. I had to justify the destruction to myself. It was the fate of Rome and its colonies that concerned me, I would tell myself, not the fate of whatever insect stands in my path. And so I would crush those who stood in my way, and pretend it didn’t please me, and tell myself that it was all for the greater good, as long as I could save a hundred lives for every one I ended. Because I felt that was my purpose, at the time: the good of Rome’s people.”

Cybele made a strange whistling noise to call for the remaining eunuchs, who dutifully made their way over towards her, one by one. There were roughly a dozen of them. They paid the crushed bodies of their former friends little heed, if they even noticed them. 

Cybele reached down with her right hand and slowly closed it around a group of the men. The eunuchs stood there complacently, making no attempt to struggle or flee. She did the same with her left hand, again effortlessly wrapping her long fingers around a group of eunuchs. She raised both hands up and crossed her arms over her lap. Then she looked back over towards Livia as if nothing had happened. 

“Livia, as I became a little older, I started to use the Red Spice, and to the appetites that it gave me. It awoke certain predilections in me I once would have considered unsavory. These tastes first seemed unnatural, and at first, I tried to bury them. But as time went on, my cravings only became stronger. I tried to find acceptable outlets for my urges. This is back when Juno was still alive, and I was a princess like you. I decided to become a warrior, to fight on the fields. I led men into battle against the Britons. At the time, the Britons didn’t yet have the spice. Their armies were nothing but men and horses, not an amazon or a giantess to be seen. It was a slaughter. I would crush men under foot, impale them on my heels. I’d topple towers, roll boulders into their encampments, crush them in my hands, eat them, and worse. Far worse. I told myself that I did all it for the glory of Rome and its people. I was just another warrior, doing her bloody duty. And I earned accolades, and was called a hero. My men would bow down to worship me, and pray to me, and tell me of my greatness. Yet I felt a deep guilt inside of me, because I knew it wasn’t the glory of Rome that motivated me. It was mere bloodlust, the true kind, the kind that comes with the Red Spice. The kind that you’ll be all too accustomed to in time.

‘After a few months, we had defeated the Britons. I had turned their cities into dust, crushed countless multitudes of men into gristle. For a while it felt good, having won a great victory for Rome. But the towns were deserted, and I grew weary of having no enemies to kill. Then, one day on the return home, I had a revelation. I ordered my troops, all thirty thousand of them, to stand in formation in front of me. I asked my troops to worship me, as they had done before, and they did. Then I asked them to disrobe, and though they were confused, and it was cold, they did as I said. Then I told them to come to me, and sacrifice themselves to me. And as they came, I would shove them in my pussy, stuffing in more and more of them till blood ran down the sides of my labia live a river. It felt incredible.

I wondered if some of the soldiers might flee. Yet still they lined up between my legs and waiting for their turn. Each and every soldier marched to me, most without hesitation. Some were scared, but most seemed honored to perform the duty, to have the honor of pleasing their goddess. I still remember that day quite well—each one of them pleased me greatly. You should feel no shame in satisfying your desires. I imagine you already have some such feelings now, and they’ll become far more powerful after you try the Red Spice. You’ll come to enjoy the feeling of a man sliding down your throat, the crunch of a man’s body beneath your heel. And other, less savory pleasures. And you should know that these feelings are right, and that they are good.”

“Please, mother, I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I want to…”

“Enough.” Cybelle leaned back her head and raised her right hand above her head. She opened her mouth just a bit. Her hand opened slightly, letting a man’s feet fall between her lips. She pressed her thick lips together, just hard enough to keep the man in place. Then she opened them ever so slightly, letting the man fall down bit by bit until her lips finally closed. She swallowed, her lips curved into a subtle smile. 

Livia felt an odd feeling. It was as if Livia could feel what Cybele’s every sensation as if it was her own. She wondered If Cybele was somehow doing this to her, or some strange property of the Sacred Baths—perhaps they had some magic after all. She felt Cybele’s lips as if they were hers, felt the sensation of the man sliding down between them. As Cybele swallowed, Livia had a feeling of immense, almost godlike power. She could feel the man’s powerlessness, and she took a strange satisfaction in taking advantage of the man’s weakness. 

She considered the implications of what she was doing. She had swallowed a man, a sentient being of emotions and intelligence endless complexity, a man who was unlike any other man in the earth. And she had eaten him. Soon he would be in her stomach, where he’s be dissolved by acid and crushed by her powerful stomach muscles; maybe he’d die of asphyxiation before that happened, maybe he wouldn’t. She felt him wriggling, struggling to get out with every last ounce of strength. It tickled. And though it hadn’t happened yet, she felt his body being digested into hers, his strong body and caring mind being reduced to a paste, and felt the paste reforming as a fat in Cybele’s breasts. A unique human being, destroyed so that Cybele’s already enormous tits can get ever so slightly bigger, Livia thought. Yet she didn’t feel anger at the absurdity of it all, or feel disgust at the waste. She felt powerful. The man had been weak, and now he was part of her. It was the order of things. She took what she wanted, destroyed others to please herself and fulfill her own needs, and it felt right. It felt good. Livia looked up towards Cybele as she started to speak again.

“I realized that day, after I killed the last of my troops, that my shame had been misplaced. It was not the place of a Goddess to sacrifice herself for her men. It was the place of the Goddess to use men for her pleasure. And I indulged my tastes for years, no matter what the costs. My decadence became legendary. Scarlett’s famous tales pale in comparison. Each day wagonloads of men were shipped to my private chambers in the palace, sometimes thousands of men, other times more. They were mostly foreigners, criminals, masterless slaves: men without anyone of import who cared about them. I would spend my days devising new forms of wickedness to perform with them, and I spent the nights fulfilling my appetite and engaging in every debauchery I could imagine. They offered themselves as food offerings and crushed offerings, and offerings of other sorts: sometimes willingly, sometimes not. Each day I grew a little larger. And each day it took hundreds of slaves to clean the blood from the floors of my private chambers. My appetite was ravenous. And it still is.”

Cybele opened her mouth wide, dropping the other three men from her right hand into her mouth. She toyed with them a bit with her tongue before swallowing one, then another. The last man cowardly tried to climb out through her lips, but it was little use. Cybele wrapped her long tongue so that it was completely around him. Her tongue wrapped around him tightly as an anaconda. The man struggled to breathe, and as she tightened her grip, the man’s chest collapsed. Livia felt the sensation of her tongue crushing the man, felt his ribs cracking and his chest compressing before she finally swallowed him. She wondered if there was any part of her body that she couldn’t use to kill a man. Had Cybele ever killed a man with her nipple, or her pinkie finger, or her clitoris? Would Livia do such things herself, one day? But for now, she listened to Cybele speak.

“It all got to be too much. I was pronounced Goddess Empire after Juno’s disappearance. I came to ignore everything except my own selfish desires. I took as much spice as I could, as much as I could buy, until I found myself using half the treasury to finance my habits. I ignored affairs of state, and turned the other way as the enemies of Rome grew stronger. I didn’t act when foreign armies got ahold of the Spice, and soon we had armies of giantesses to contend with. I stood by while they conquered my allies, and one allied Governess after another was taken hostage. And as I did nothing, Rome grew weak. There were credible rebellions against Rome, not like the pitiful slave rebellions we have today. Governesses and their provinces betrayed me. Soon, Rome was divided. My shipments of Red Spice slowed, then stopped; the thousands of men that were once sent in by wagonloads slowed down to a few hundred, then a few dozen. And I realized what my shortsightedness had wrought. If I kept doing things as I had, caring about nothing but myself, I would have lost my power, perhaps even been killed. I, the heir of Juno, would have birthed no heirs, and the line of Juno, the first goddess, would have ended. I couldn’t let that happen. So I set about to tighten my grip, and crush the rebels myself.” 

Cybele’s mouth twisted into a look of anger. She held five eunuchs in her right hand. She tightened her grip, at first just a little, but then forcefully, as tight as she could. Livia felt through her mother the sensation of their bones shattering, their skulls and bodies being crushed into nothingness. She felt how easy this was, how weak and fragile the men were. Blood ran down through her fingers, pouring down her breasts and spilling into the water.

“I trampled my way through the rebel armies with an army of men and giants. I tore through one group of rebels after another, crushing countless men under my heel. I crushed the rebel cities until there was nothing left to destroy. The rebel governesses I took hostage. I had… other uses for them. I consolidated my power, and Rome slowly started to become strong again. 

‘I’ve always been hesitant to tell you my true feelings on this matter Livia, I’m afraid, because I worried that your weak stomach might prevent you from digesting my wisdom. Your coronation nears. Soon you’ll be a goddess, and you need to start acting the part. While I suppose your compassion is admirable in a certain way, it will make you weak. Your sister is rash, but you could learn much from her. 

‘The people of Rome are our sheep. You will devour many of them, or use them in other ways, if you desire. And in time, you will desire it. But they are also our flock. We must watch over them, keep them strong enough and numerous enough so that they may provide for us. They will sacrifice themselves to us, upon the altar of our appetites. And you will accept those offerings. And if anyone dares to stand against our family, or blasphemes us, or is in any way disloyal... crush them. Mercilessly. ” 

Cybele gazed across the water for a minute, before looking back towards Livia. She spoke in a hushed tone. “Have you noticed? We have an interloper here, in this garden. A man, a full man, has trespassed here.”

“What? I… I had no idea. What do you mean?” Livia tried her best to avoid glancing over towards Aureus, but it was difficult. Suddenly, her thoughts returned to her lover, and became anxious once more. Did she see him?

Those Who Trespass Against Us

“It’s a crime punishable by death for a man to desecrate the baths with his presence. The same punishment is meted out to all men who violate our bodies by gazing upon a Goddess naked. This man has doubly blasphemed us, and he must be punished.”

Livia’s thoughts raced. What if it was him she spoke of? “Perhaps this man is worthy of compassion, for an act of mere folly?” 

“’Mere folly?’ ‘Compassion?’ I wonder if you might forgive murderers so easily. They have at least only sinned against other men. This one has sinned against a goddess. He has sinned against my perfection, by beauty, my power. His crime is thus infinitely worse. My daughter, if you lack the will to punish such a crime, you lack the will to rule, and you are unfit to become a goddess. I will see to it that you slaughter this man yourself.”

Livia was stunned. She started to raise her voice in protest, but what she saw gave her pause. 

Cybele turned her head, not towards Aureus, but towards the statue of Juno on the far side of the pool. The huge golden statue stood grand and triumphant on a wide marble pedestal. The statue was even bigger than Cybele, and had a resemblance to her, the same voluptuous body type and slender face. But there was something else. At the base of the pedestal was a small, white speck. It took Livia a few seconds to realize that this speck was a man.

Cybele walked across the pool, snatched the man as he tried to run away, and walked back. Her colossal body sent high waves through the water, prompting Livia to climb out of the pool. She carelessly tossed the man from twenty feet in the air. He crashed to the ground in front of Livia. He was still alive, though badly hurt and struggling to breathe. 

“Go on, punish this wretched creature. Let him know what it means to blaspheme a goddess.”

Livia looked at the man. He was a pitiful, broken man, and she imagined he had been even before Cybele cast him down. He looked like an outsider. She had no idea how he had managed to get into the Palace, let alone the Sacred Baths, or what need had driven him here. But here he was. He stared up at her, a pained look on her face, and tried to speak. Livia thought back to Cybele’s words, and perhaps in some sense she was right. But this was still a man, she thought, and he was worthy of compassion. 

“Please, my daughter, let’s not take all day? I’ll leave you alone as soon as you take care of this mess.”

Then Livia heard something, a rustle from the giraffe-shaped bush that Aureus was hiding behind. Cybele seemed to notice. What if she heard him? I have to take care of this poor wretch now, she thought. He’s not long for this world. Even if I refused, Cybele would finish him off. She looked down at the man. He gasped, then struggled to say something in a strange tongue. Livia didn’t understand the words, but knew what he must be saying: “help me.“

Livia had never killed anyone on purpose. Once, on a tour of Rome’s walls, she accidentally knocked a man off a fifty foot high defense barricade. Another time she didn’t look before sitting down, and ended up crushing a servant, who died later from internal bleeding. She had killed people on accident, and each time, she was racked with guilt. But now she had to deliberately end a man’s life, and she wasn’t sure how she could do it.


“I’m sorry,” she said quietly to herself, and she looked at him one last time. I should do it quickly, she thought. One swift stomp. I stand fifteen feet high, I weigh over two thousand pounds… this shouldn’t be that difficult. Livia raised one of her legs above the man’s head, closed her eyes, and stomped as hard as she could. At the last second, she flinched, and her leg went off to the side. Her foot came crashing down hard on the man’s leg, breaking his bone into splinters. The man let out a scream, the first she had heard from him. She tried again to stomp on his head, but again fear of killing the man kept her from hitting her mark. This time her foot came down hard on his thighs, shattering his pelvis. Yet still the man lived. Livia felt shock, and horror, and something else. She felt powerful. Yet she still had compassion for the man. She tried to bring herself to stomp on him, or to punch his face in, but couldn’t. 

Exhausted, Livia let herself fall down against a nearby marble pillar, legs spread. The man looked even more pitiful now, his bottom half crushed beyond recognition. The man was sitting there right in front of her, suffering, but she was too weak to do anything. She felt her mother’s immense eyes looking down on her, waiting, judging. Livia closed her eyes. Then she heard a terrible sound. She looked. The man was somehow rasping her way towards her, propelled with some terrible energy. He was already right in front of her, between her seven foot long legs. Livia saw the look in his eyes. It was no longer the look of a man begging for mercy. It was the look of a lecher, the look of a rapist. She remembered now what he was: a desperate man. He wanted her. How had she been so naïve? The man had snuck in the baths to see a goddess naked, and here was what he wanted, sitting there right in front of him. Livia saw his wretched body reaching for her, clawing for her. She tried to back up, but couldn’t, her back still against the pillar. She tried to stand up, but somehow felt paralyzed. He was between her legs, then her thighs, and…

Then, driven by a primal urge, Livia felt her thighs pressing together, squeezing the man’s head and body and lifting him off the ground, her knees up in the air. The man’s arms flailed about wildly. She felt herself squeezing tighter and tighter. She felt his shoulders dislocating, his ribs crunching. She looked and saw blood running through the man’s eyes and out of his jaw. It was terrible to look at, but she couldn’t look away. She squeezed as tight as she could, with more strength than she knew she had. She felt the man’s skull compressing, then cracking. Blood ran down the crack in his head. She let go, and the man’s limp body fell to the ground. It was over. It was finally over.

“That took far too long, my daughter.” said Cybelle, her voice booming down from above like she was speaking from the heavens. ”Unless you were trying to make him suffer, which the man surely deserved. But I doubt it, knowing you. Yet you did kill the pitiful little miscreant. Good. You will find your bloodlust yet. The Red Spice will cleanse you of your weakness. How do you feel?”

Livia searched within herself. She felt exhausted. She felt like she had killed a man. She felt terrible. Yet as she looked down at the man’s body, she also felt something else. Strength. Pride. Righteousness. It frightened her a bit that she felt that way. Yet a small part of her felt good. A small part of her enjoyed it.

“I… I feel good,” Livia said, not believing it.

“I’m glad to hear it. Savor that feeling. This is your first real kill, your first of many to come. You’ll come to enjoy it more as time goes on. I promise you. I’ll leave you alone now, we both have business to attend to. The Games will be held at the Coliseum tomorrow, in honor of your coming coronation. Many dignitaries and patricians will be there. Your sister has decided to fight in the arena; you can do the same if you like, though I don’t expect that you will. Very well, my daughter. Put some clothes on, and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

With that, Cybele put on her red dress and walked off into the night, each step of hers ringing like thunder. She waited for a few minutes as her mother walked away. When her mother was no longer in sight, Livia ran over to look for Aureus, calling his name. She looked around the bush that he was hiding behind earlier, but there was no one there. Aureus must have escaped somehow. She looked around, but there was no one except for a single eunuch. Livia wondered if she would be able to see Aureus again before her coronation. Or after, for that matter. If it was this dangerous to meet with him, how would they stay together? Livia had fantasized about freeing him. Maybe one day, she could even legitimize him, make him a noble. They could rule side by side. Of course, that could never happen. Not as long as Cybele and Julia were around.

Livia walked over to the body of the interloper she had killed. She felt sorry for him, even after what the man had tried to do to her. It was right to kill him. He had sinned against a goddess, and he had to die. She had done a poor job of killing him, though. If she had to kill another, she would do it well. She would do it quickly and cleanly. Like Cybele did. Well, maybe cleanly isn’t the right word to use, she thought, looking over at the bloody mess that Cybele had made. Livia thought back to how disgusted she was at the overseers whipping their slaves, or her sister killing men for pleasure. Yet when Cybele did the same thing, it somehow seemed right. Why? What was the difference? Because, she thought, because Cybele is a goddess. And soon she would be one as well. And, she supposed, so would her sister… but there were worse things. It’s good to be a goddess… 

Livia watched the last eunuch kneeling over by the pool. He was lit by the warm light of the lanterns as he scrubbed off the body of his former friends. She walked over towards him. The man heard her coming, and bowed down in front of her. Livia kneeled down next to him and whispered in his ear. The eunuchs were blind and mute, but their ears still worked.

“I am Livia of house Junius. You have served our family well with your service. One day, when I am a goddess, would you like to sacrifice yourself to me? Would you like me to crush you between my breasts?”

The man paused for a second, then smiled and nodded, looking up to her with empty eye sockets. Livia kissed him on the forehead with her thick lips.

“Then I will.” With that, Livia put on her dress and walked off, out of the baths and towards her chambers. The games were tomorrow. Livia had a big day ahead of her.

The Great Coliseum

Part 1: The Slaves' Overseer

Aureus and his fellow slaves pushed their way through the sun-drenched, crowded halls of the Great Coliseum, their overseer guiding them along with a whip in her hand. The Great Coliseum was immense. They say it was twenty times the size of Rome’s original coliseum, and Aureus didn’t doubt it. They were in the ground level of the coliseum now. Hundreds of thousands of lower caste men were crammed together tightly on the dirt floors, each trying to peer above those in front of them. Some tried to watch the Arena, others tried to catch a glimpse of the Goddesses above. They were mostly helots, field serfs; the lowest of the low, Aureus thought. Even Rome’s slave laborers looked down on the serfs. At least a slave had a master, and could rely on getting fed. But this week, all of Rome celebrated. The serfs bought as much wine as they could with whatever petty coins they had managed to scrounge over the years. The men were drunken and bawdy, pushing and shoving and jostling around for a better view. Some sung, or fought, or stumbled around blindly.

Aureus looked around. Up above them was the second tier, where women and wealthy men sat in wide auditorium-style seats. Above them was the third tier, where the Royal family and the truly elites luxuriated in their immense wealth. He could see the biggest of them from here, eighty and ninety-feet tall women reclining on pillow beds. That’s where Livia is, thought Aureus. 

Aureus and his crew were on their way to meet Princess Livia, a fact which pleased Aureus greatly. Aureus, though a mere slave, had a relationship with the 15-foot tall princess. They had carried on in secret for over a year, though was getting more and more difficult for the two to meet each other without anyone finding out. A friendly servant had helped to accommodate them in the past. He arranged last night to have Aureus’ work duties changed. Now, instead of working as a laborer, he was on his way to become one of Livia’s pleasure slaves. 

Aureus thought back to what that crude overseer had told him about his duties: He’d “lotion her tits, feed her grapes, fan her face, do whatever else she wants you to. Anything she wants, you’ll do it, and you’ll call her Mistress, Goddess be praised. Pleasure slaves don’t live long, but it’s the best job a worm like you will ever have.” The penalty for a slave disobeying their master was death, he thought. That meant that anything she asked him to do, any sexual favor she wanted, he had no choice but to do it. If she wanted to suck his cock, he’d have to comply, or she could crush him under her foot. It’s all part of the job description. Somehow, the thought of being forced to please Livia made the idea even more appealing. Maybe, he thought, I don’t want to be freed after all.

Aureus looked over at the overseer. This overseer stood close to nine feet tall, higher than most of her lot. She had a stern demeanor that often gave way to a kind of malicious playfulness. Her body was clearly feminine, with strong hips and hefty breasts, but her subtly toned musculature betrayed her impressive physical strength. She wore tight brown leather armor that left most of her breasts and legs exposed: a good overseer used her sexuality as much as her whip to keep her men in line. She carried a long whip in her right hand. None of her subordinates had ever known their overseer by her real name: they all called her Magistra, or Mistress.

A dark-skinned slave with a strange accent turned towards Aureus. He spoke quietly. “This would be good time to run,” the slave said. “Look at crowd… how many serfs? Thousand? More? We look just like them, only with iron neck and wrist. No chain together. Maybe we run? So many, they never find us. They never even know we gone.”
Aureus whispered back. “That’s a bad idea. The Magistra would kill us. Just keep walking.”
“I want to run for while now. This is good time.”
“Don’t. You’ll get killed. We’re going to belong to princess Livia. Trust me, she treats her slaves well.”
“Princess Livia? I know of her sister, Julia. Evil goddess. Beautiful but evil. She like kill slave. Crush slave. I hear sister Livia even worse. Some slave like bad goddess: like imagine giant woman crush them with foot. Think it sexy. Some slave crazy. I like to live.”

The overseer suddenly turned around and stared down the slaves. Each of the men stopped dead in his tracks. The overseer spoke, raising her voice. Her tone was in turns commanding and playful, seductive and authoritative, kindly and cruel. 

“There’s a bit of a crowd ahead. You little pitiful little worms might be thinking about running away. Don’t. Livia, her highness, praise her beauty, insists that her slaves not wear chains. She might even free some of you unworthy little rodents. But I’m not done having fun with you yet. Until I take you to Livia,” she said with a playful smile, “every one of your adorable little cocks belongs to me.” She walked forward to one of her slaves. He looked like a dwarf next to her. She knelt down and grabbed his balls.

“If any one of you try to run… I’ll get to have some fun with you.” She squeezed the man’s testicles with her strong fingers. The man let out a scream and stumbled back.

“Do not make noise unless you are spoken to, worm!” She hit the screaming man over his back, knocking him down. She bent down to look the man in the eye. “I know what it takes to geld a man. You’ll be fine, you little weakling. If you behave, I’ll let you keep your balls. If not, I’ve been sharpening my heels. Do your understand?”

“Yes mistress,” the slaves said in unison. With that, she led the way.

At first the crowd was relatively tame. The overseer’s nine-foot stature was intimidating to serfs, who weren’t used to seeing a real giantess. As they went ahead, though, the crowds got denser and the men got drunker. The overseer whipped any men who stood too close in front of her, knocking some of them down and bloodying others. She did it casually, without thought, Aureus observed, the same way most people would swat a fly. As they got deeper into the crowds, Aureus noticed something. The crowds were getting thicker, yes, but something else: the mood seemed to be shifting. The crowd was getting drunker, wilder, angrier. At this rate, he thought, there could be a riot. 

A few minutes later a brawl broke out in the crowd. The overseer quickly pushed forward, using her whip to clear out the serfs in front of them, but it wasn’t enough. One serf tried to tackle the overseer from behind. She was furious. The overseer effortlessly grabbed the serf and lifted him above her head like a ragdoll. She tossed him far into the crowd, toppling half a dozen men over like dominos. She fought her way through the crowd, throwing and whipping and punching any men who got too close to her. When men bumped into her, she would shove them down with incredible force or knock them down with a swift kick to the groin. Aureus looked at the overseers’ face and saw a wicked smile. She was loving this.

A wild-looking serf ran up to the overseer and tried to grope her breasts. He grabbed her blouse, ripping her top open. Her enormous tits poured out of her blouse. They had looked big under the leather blouse, Aureus thought, but not nearly this big. Had she been binding her breasts all this time? For a second the overseer looked shocked, but then a confident smile went on her face. The overseer turned and effortlessly grabbed the man by the hair. She picked him up one-handed, as easily as if he were a doll. Pressing his head firmly between her breasts, she pushed her breasts together with her other arm. 

“You like my tits?” The man struggled, but she held him tight. He struggled to speak but couldn’t manage anything beyond a few muffled groans. The man’s head was buried between the overseers’ huge tits. “You must like them, why else would you try to grab them? You’re cute, for a tiny little helot worm. Mmm, it feels good having a man suck on my tits.” The man flailed his arms around and tried to hit her, but it was no use. “Are you having a hard time breathing? Are these big, luscious tits just too big for you?” The man fought and fought to no avail. He managed to get a couple of words out: they sounded vaguely like ‘please’ and ‘breathe.’ “Do you not like this? Is that why you’re trying to get away? Too bad, I’m having fun. I’m going to kill you with my fucking tits. I’ve always wanted to smother a man to death with these enormous fucking tits.” The man tried to breathe, tried to scream, but every sound was muffled between her huge breasts. The man’s face was starting to turn blue. 

“Mmmm, yeah, seeing you trying soooo hard to breathe is such a turn-on. I want to watch you die gasping for air. I’m getting off to this. Oh yeah, I feel so fucking powerful. I’m going to smother you to death with my fucking tits...” The man flailed his arms and legs wildly. His face was a sort of blue-violet color. “Feel the power of my fucking monster tits.” The main kicked his legs one last time, then suddenly went limp. The overseer breathed a deep, satisfied smile on her face. She let out a long sigh. “Fuck that was good.” 

She snapped his neck to be sure, and then threw his limp body hard against the ground. The overseer looked back towards the group, grabbing her enormous breasts with both hands. “I’m in a good mood. If you make it to Livia alive, I might let one of you touch these massive, perfect tits. But if any of you try to run, I’ll rip your head off with my fucking pussy.” If he didn’t know better, Aureus would have described the look on her face as a sweet smile. He wondered if this was her idea of flirting. “Do you little worms understand?”

“Yes mistress,” they quickly replied in unison. Turning around, she took the dead man’s toga, wrapping it around her chest, and continued on. The serfs were falling over each other to get out of her way as she strode confidently through the crowd. Aureus looked at his dark-skinned slave friend: he didn’t think the man planned to try and run. Not anymore.

The brawl seemed to be calming now. Aureus and the others were getting close to the stairwell when they heard the crowd starting to cheer. It started out as a few scattered shouts, but turned into a deafening roar that consumed the entire crowd. Aureus looked out towards the arena. Dozens of gladiators stood out in the middle of the fighting arena, armed with a variety of blunted melee weapons. Then, from a wide gateway came two African war elephants, each with five soldiers riding on the backs. All of them seemed to be on the same side. With that many fighters, Aureus wondered what the opposing team would ook like. 

And then he noticed something else. Usually an arena would have the lowest level of spectators elevated above the fighting arena, or at least protected by some kind of barricade. But there was nothing to divide the lower level from the fighting area, not even a fence. The elephants could spill out into the crowd, causing untold deaths. And knowing Rome, it wouldn’t just be elephants they had fighting.

Aureus took note of the huge, closed gate on the far side of the arena. Forty or so men lined in the arena, twenty on each side of the gate. They picked up two chains lying on the ground and started to pull. With a loud creek and a series of banging sounds, the gate slowly opened. Aureus saw the opposing side. 

A single, huge giantess stood there, over thirty feet tall. A mesh of thick ropes were wrapped tightly around her back and breasts, holding up her massive tits, while a chainmail skirt protected her groin. She wore nothing else, save the red blindfold covering her eyes, and the iron shackles around her wrists. She was a slave, Aureus realized. A gladiatrix. 

The gladiatrix bent over and got on all her hands and feet. She loped out of the gate on all fours. Then she stopped. Turning her head, she sniffed the air until she found the gladiators' scent. She had found her quarry. Arching her back, she thrust out her chest and let out a deafening, bestial roar.

The games were about to begin.

The Gladiatrix

Jengo never wanted to be a gladiator, but he was good at it. For years he had been a hunter in the fields of North Africa. He roamed the Savannah, finding and killing massive beasts, which he would haul back to his village. There was never a better hunter than Jengo. He could bring down a full-grown hippo with nothing more than a knife. Once he and a friend took down an elephant with nothing but a rope to entangle its legs. He enjoyed hunting, and it brought him pride. But three years ago, he was captured by strange soldiers in shiny armor, and brought to this arena. 

This land was strange. He spent most of his time in the training pits, and had no contact with the world outside of the arena. The only time he saw the outside world was when he fought in the arena, yet even from that he could tell this place was strange. The arena was impossibly big. After each fight he found himself amazed by the sheer number of people gathered around him, most of them with the strange pale skin of his captors. There were so many, he thought, almost all of them men. And yet, when he looked off to the distance, he could see the highest levels of the arena. And there, he sometimes thought he saw women. But not like any women he had seen: they were huge, bigger than any beast in Africa.

Instead of killing beasts, Jengo now killed men. He was a natural killer, fearless and athletic and resourceful, and quick to master new weapons. But Jengo took little pride in killing men in the Arena. Sometimes they would let him fight alongside other men in the arena, killing lions, or tigers, or other strange beasts. That he enjoyed. Killing beasts made him feel like a man. But for each man he had killed, and it had been more than twenty now, he felt a terrible sadness. He would look at their face as they lay down in the dust. He knew that he had ended the life of another man, a man with whom he had no quarrel. He told himself that he was not a murderer, for he had no choice. And yet he still felt like a killer. Jengo was no pacifist. Sometimes he imagined killing his captors, leading his fellow fighters against the very men who forced them to slaughter each other in the arena. But until that day came, Jengo wanted to kill no man. 

Jengo was told he wouldn't be fighting other men today. Today was different. Today was strange. Today Jengo would fight alongside other men. A hundred of them, he was told, and elephants and horses as well. They would be fighting against a single terrible beast, so great and powerful that it would take all of them to fight it. Yet they were not allowed to use swords or axes. The beast, he was told, was so valuable that it must not be killed. Instead, he was only allowed to use his blunted training sword. He was given one other thing: a small dagger, too small to inflict much injury on such a large beast. Its blade, the trainer told him, had been laced with a strange poison to sedate the creature. But his trainer said the poison had other effects as well. Jengo distrusted such things: poisons were an evil art, and best left to old women. Yet he kept the dagger in the leather case by his side, just in case. 

It was time to fight, and he ducked through the low gate that led from the fighting chambers to the brightly-lit arena. He looked around the crowded arena, amazed by the sheer number of men he would fight alongside. He saw over a hundred gladiators, several horseriders, and two massive elephants, each with several men riding on their back. At first it seemed like an impressive force, but as he looked again, he changed his mind. Many of the men had blunted weapons like him; others seemed to have no weapons at all. Most of the men wore little armor, and some were only wearing robes. They were unprepared for whatever beast they would have to battle. His side, he thought, was not expected to win. He would do his best to change that. With only a blunt sword and a short dagger, he might have to improvise a weapon. He looked around the arena for anything he could use. He noted the pillars that circled the edge of arena. They stood roughly ten feet high, with rounded tops, and were placed every thirty feet or so. He also noticed a long, thick rope coiled in a corner. Aside from that there was little else, save the golden sand of the arena .

Then he noticed the other men staring at a huge gate, nearly thirty feet high. The gate had always been there, but Jengo had never seen it opened. There was a chain attached to either side of the gate. Jengo watched as men pulled the chains, slowly opening the gate. The heavy gates creaked and screeched as they pulled up. Jengo wondered what beast could be terrible enough that they would need such gates. Maybe it was a lion with a scorpion’s tail, or perhaps some giant nine-headed serpent? Jengo heard its roar. It was a powerful, feminine roar, like the roar of a lion in heat. Except it sounded different somehow, it sounded… human. Like a woman. Then Jengo thought back to the women he had seen at the top of the Arena. How could he be so foolish? It was one of them. It had to be one of them. 

The gates opened a bit more, then came to a stop. A single, huge giantess stood there, nearly forty feet tall. A mesh of thick ropes were wrapped tightly around her back and breasts, holding up her massive breasts, while a chainmail skirt protected her groin. She wore nothing else, save the red blindfold covering her eyes, and the iron shackles around her wrists. She was beautiful, thought Jengo. Beautiful, and bestial, and deadly. 

The beast bent over and got on all her hands and feet. She loped out of the gate on all fours. Then she stopped. Turning her head, she sniffed the air until she found the gladiators' scent. She had found her quarry. Arching her back, she thrust out her chest and let out a deafening, bestial roar. It was a woman, and a beast, Jengo thought. This would be a difficult battle. 

The gladiatrix loped over towards the first group of gladiators she smelled, sniffing the air as she went along. She found them quickly. Her hands felt along the ground until she felt one gladiator, then another, then another. Her fingers were barely long enough to wrap around their torsos, yet she managed to grab two of the men with her right hand. They struggled at first, and one hit at her with his blunted sword. It did nothing, save anger the beast. She squeezed harder, until the man dropped the sword and the others stopped squirming. 

Jengo watched, stunned. The beast lifted one of the men into her mouth. The man was too big, Jengo realized, for her to swallow whole. Instead, she put the top half of the man’s body in her mouth. The beast bit hard, pulling on his legs with her hand and tearing the man in half. She tore through his torso, chewing the man’s upper body like a steak. Then she swallowed, and tossed away what was left of the man’s lower body. The others, she wasn’t so gentle with. The beast lifted her left hand to her mouth, biting off the heads and upper torsos of the two men in her hand. Then she slammed her hand down against the ground, crushing what was left of them. 

Jengo looked at the beast. Most of these other men were inexperienced, too young and too weak to have any real chance of taking her down. He would have to do it himself. He thought about running in, thought about stabbing her with his dagger. She was turned away from him now, still on all fours, and Jengo was close to her. But then Jengo watched as a group of gladiators charged in front of him. The gladiators ran up behind the woman, blunted swords in hand. It looked like they might have a shot at hitting the back of her legs, as much good as it might do with such weapons. But the beast had noticed. She leaned back, letting herself fall hard on her rear. Her thick ass came down upon them with crushing force, turning their bodies to a splatter of blood on the sand.

She noticed them, Jengo thought. But those men were loud and slow. Would she notice me? While the beast was still getting up, Jengo ran towards the beast. He unsheathed his dagger as he charged towards her. He leapt towards her back. Just one cut, he thought, that’s all it would take… but just as he was about to stab her, the woman quickly turned. She hit him out of the air with the back of her hand. Jengo felt the air knocked out of him, felt his back hit the hard sand of the arena. She was coming towards him. Unable to get up, he scrambled backwards as fast as he could. 

The beast’s giant head loomed above him, sniffing the air. Her hand felt its way along the ground. It was coming towards him. But before her hand found Jengo, it found the legs of another gladiator. The beast grabbed him by his legs, tossed him above her mouth, and ripped him apart. She threw her head to one side, then, the other, gnashing her teeth wildly. The force tossed what was left of the man’s body a good twenty feet. Then she turned around. Jengo realized now that the men on the elephant had arrows. Useless things, he thought, probably as blunted as my sword.

Jengo managed to stand up, though it wasn’t easy. As he searched the ground in front of him, Jengo saw his dagger. He walked towards it, but every movement of his legs was slow and painful. The fall had hurt him badly. He wouldn't be able to run like he had earlier, not for some time. He kneeled down by the dagger and placed it back in its sheathe.

Jengo watched as the beast fought. She stood on two legs now, like a woman, though Jengo could tell it was not her preferred gait. A dozen soldiers circled around her. They tried to stab her feet with their pathetic swords, doing their best to dodge when her huge feet came down on them. He watched as she stomped down, catching an armored gladiator below her foot, squishing him like a bug. She did the same to another, her foot crushing him to goo. A third man wasn’t so easy to catch. She tried to stomp on him, but found herself missing. The man jumped out of the way, hitting the back of her knees hard with his blunted sword. The beast fell back in pain, landing on several gladiators and crushing them. She felt the man hit her again with his sword, this time hitting her on the side. She grabbed the man with a furious energy, squeezing her hands together until thick red fluid ran between her fingers. She threw his crushed body hard at the ground. 

The elephant was next. Men sat on top of the beast, shooting blunted arrows at the beast’s blindfolded face. The woman let out another terrible roar, before charging on all four towards the creature. The elephant panicked, running as fast as it could away from her and throwing the men off its back. The gladiatrix charged after it, a look of intense anger on her face. Her feet and knees crushed several men as she ran on all fours towards the elephant. Finally, she tackled the creature, wrapping her legs around the elephant’s body, her arms around its neck. With a single motion she effortlessly broke the creature’s neck before shoving it aside. She stood up and sniffed the air again.

The gladiatrix let out another long roar before charging towards another group of gladiators. Jengo watched as she crushed and chewed her way through another group of men. She had killed two dozen men, and she wasn’t even winded. To attack her now, Jengo realized, would be folly. He would bide his time, waiting until she became tired, or her bloodlust sated. Then, he would strike. This would be a long battle.

The Walk

Aureus pushed forward through the screaming crowds, watching what he could of the battle. The gladiators surrounded the enormous woman as best they could, hitting him with their swords, but it was little use. One by one, she crushed them, or tore them in half, as if they were dolls. It was grisly, thought Aureus, but he had to admit, it was an entertaining show, and not only because of the woman’s skimpy clothes. 

After what seemed like hours of walking, Aureus and his companions were nearly to the third tier of the Coliseum, where Rome’s elites were gathered. It was a steep climb up the uneven stairs to the third floor, but at last they had made it to the platform. A plethora of male soldiers guarded the stairs; behind them towered two female Praetorian guards, each standing over twelve feet tall. The Praetorian were the Empress’ personal body guards. They wore red skirts covered with skimpy leather cuirasses. Metal shin guards protected their lower legs and knees. One carried a sword, the other a mace, and each carried a simple leather whip by their side. 

Aureus watched as a short man holding a box walked past the guards without even making eye contact. Without hesitating, a Praetorian deftly bent over and grabbed the man by his arm, lifting him into the air. He dropped his box to the ground. 

“No commoners in the third tier. Leave now, scum.”

“But…but… I’m a vendor… I have my cards and everything. Look, my box is filled with pastries. Please, I beg you!”

“It checks out… very well, go on if you wish. Just be on good behavior.” 

The man continued on. Aureus’ overseer nodded at the guards and walked past the checkpoint, her slaves behind her. 

Aureus looked around in wonder. He had seen giantesses before, but never more than a few at once. There were dozens here, easily, if not hundreds. Some of them were only ten or twelve feet tall, but many stood thirty or forty feet, and a few stood close to a hundred. Most of the giant women were reclining. They sat on the flat, bed-like couches that were popular with the Roman elites. He looked over as they passed one such couch. Five women were sprawled out on a single huge couch, each taller and more beautiful than the last. 

The giant women paid Aureus and his crew no attention. The giantesses seemed to be completely absorbed by one another. One woman, a thin-faced brunette, playfully stroked the face of the busty woman beside her, while the busty woman slipped her hand up the brunette’s legs. Two black-haired women, each nearly thirty feet tall, held each other in their arms and kissed lightly. All the while dozens of slaves attended to their every need, lotioning, fanning and feeding them. The black-haired lovers rolled over each other as they embraced, completely oblivious to the slaves below them. The suddenly terrified slaves did their best to scramble out of the way. But one slave tripped and fell. Aureus cringed as a woman’s wide ass came down upon the poor slave. When the pair rolled over again, Aureus noticed the bloody outline of the crushed slave one the woman’s butt. A shame, he thought. The women didn’t seem to notice: eyes closed, they kissed each other passionately with open lips. Even if they did notice, he thought, they probably wouldn’t care. 

As they carried on, they felt the ground shaking, then saw the trio of enormous women walking towards them. The three women were laughing and joking as they walked, oblivious to everything but their conversation. The smallest of them was fifty feet tall, big enough that a single misstep could crush half of Aureus’ group. The slaves quickly got up against the wall to their left. They were lucky: they stood along a wide portion of the path. Ahead a group of men were trapped along a narrow section, a high wall to the left and a far drop to the right. Aureus recognized one of them: the vendor they had seen earlier. With their long legs and huge stride, the huge women were upon them quickly. 

By the time the men realized their predicament, it was too late. As they tried to run away, a huge foot, bigger than they were, came crashing down upon two men, crushing the men to goo. Another man tried to jump off the wall, but ended crushed below another woman’s foot. The vendor narrowly avoided being crushed by the third woman. Aureus watched as the vendor ran back and forth, box in hand. He jumped out of the way as a foot was about to come down upon him, the ran to the side, then ducked as another foot hit the ground with a loud boom. Somehow the man survived unscathed, still holding onto the box of pastries. The women passed harmlessly in front of Aureus’ fellow slaves. As the women walked past he saw the blood and body parts on the bottom of their feet. Did they not notice, or did they just not care? Was it really possible to be that indifferent to human life? Between the thunder of their footsteps Aureus heard the women joking and laughing, not a care in the world. 

As they continued forward, they watched the vendor approach a fat giantess who stood nearly forty feet tall. “Hello, beautiful young woman! Would you like to buy the sweetest pastries in all of Rome?” 

“Why, that sounds delicious, I’ll take them all,” the woman said with an earnest respect. Then she picked up the man and tossed him in her mouth, box of pastries and all. She swallowed him in a single gulp, then carried on as if nothing had happened. Aureus looked over at his friend. “The cost of doing business,” he said. He looked up, and noticed the woman eying them hungrily as they passed.

The crew carried on for a while, before stopping abruptly at the base of another giant couch. This one looked like it was built strong, with wide legs and a thick metal bedframe. From below it looked empty, save a few male slaves he could see near the side. The overseer turned around to address the group. “Aureus, your new Mistress is at the top of that couch. Your balls belong to her now. You better hope she’ll be as nice to you as I am.” 

“Livia,” Aureus found himself saying out loud. Even her name was beautiful.

“Aww, I’m afraid you won’t get to meet the pretty-pretty princess. The others are going to work for her, but you belong to someone else.”

“What? But I thought we were going to…”

“Did you want to meet the pretty pretty princess? I’m sorry. Maybe I can make you fell better,” she said walking up to him, “I said that if you were good, you could touch my huge, wonderful tits…” She opened her blouse and tore off her breast binder. The overseers’ massive tits poured out. She cupped them, holding them up with her hands. She walked over to Aureus. Even standing up, he didn’t quite stand as high as her breasts. The bottoms of the overseer’s huge breasts were just above his head. Suddenly the overseer slammed them her heavy tits down on Aureus’ head. The massive breasts hit Aureus with great force, knocking Aureus down. “Did you like them? I didn’t say how I’d let you touch them. Now climb, worm! Your new mistress is up there, and I’m sure she wants to meet her new property!” She snapped her whip at Aureus, sending him scrambling up the oak legs of the giant couch.

Aureus quickly climbed up the couch’s leg and mounted the top. Looking down, he saw that he was nearly twenty feet off the ground now. He saw the overseer walking away with the other slaves. He could try to run, try to find Livia, but it could be dangerous. Maybe it would be best if he at least found out who his new owner was, his new Mistress… But where was she? 

Aureus looked around the gigantic couch, curious eyes staring back at him. The huge bed stretched on for what seemed like a hundred feet in every direction, littered with what must have been a hundred slaves. None of them moved, or even made a sound. It was quiet up here. The masses of cheering crowds seemed distant now, even though the battle in the arena still raged on. But where was the new mistress? Then in the far corner, he saw his new mistress and walked towards her. The woman sat there, eyes closed. Had she been standing, she would have stood ten feet tall. A solid gold bikini hugged her thick curves, and a metal choker was tight around her neck. "Mistress?" Aureus called.

A New Mistress

Aureus walked towards the woman. The bed wasn’t especially soft, he noted. The cushion was thin, only an inch or two thick, with hard stone beneath it. “Mistress?” He continued over to the tall woman. Standing, he stood almost as high as she did sitting down. He found himself looking at the curves of her hips, her thick thighs and narrow waist, the soft breasts contained in the golden top. Aureus introduced himself. It took him a moment to remember the words. “Mistress, we are yours now. We come to offer our bodies and our lives in your servitude. Anything you ask we shall give. We are unworthy to be crushed beneath your feet. May you strike us down if it pleases you.” The woman in the bikini kept sitting, eyes still closed. “Mistress? Mistress?”

“Oh, hi there!” The woman’s voice was coming from behind the woman in the gold bikini. Aureus looked around her, and saw something he wasn’t expecting. A thirty-something woman smiled back at him, no more than five feet tall. A few male slaves were attending to her, rubbing her back and fanning her upper body. The woman’s face wasn’t stunningly beautiful, but she was undeniably cute when she smiled. She looked thin as a twig in her tight-fitting robe, her hips as narrow as her stomach and her chest flat as a board. 

“Mistress?”

“You must be my new slave! I’m your new owner now. You’re a cute one. Not often I get a slave so handsome and muscular. And that lovely golden hair! Have a seat,” she said patting on the ground next to her, looking Aureus in the eyes and smiling her guileless smile. “You don’t have to call me mistress, that sounds so official. My name’s Irena Crassus, but you can just call me Irena.” 

“Irena. Mistress, we are yours now. We come to—“ she cut him off. “Well aren’t you adorable? You don’t need to do that. I’m not into all that silly slave and master nonsense. I just think of slaves as friends that I happen to own. Now sit down, don’t be shy. I promise I won’t eat you. Not that I could anyway—you’re taller than I am! Now I know you’re probably thinking I’m short, for being one of the wealthier women in Rome. Well, I’ve never believed in all this Spice nonsense myself. Red Spice and White Spice… the only Spice I ever needed was a little basil and some paprika!”

Aureus sat down beside Irena. She wasn’t Livia. But until he was able to reunite with his princess, Aureus thought, he could do far worse. She was a little annoying, but he had never met someone so thoroughly nice. At least as long as he was with her, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone crushing him. “You’ll fit right in with the other slaves. I see you already met Destiny, my loveslave. She doesn’t speak a word of Latin, but just she’s a delightful girl! Destiny! Hoos ka miccuk!”

Aureus watched with rapt attention as the curvaceous ten-foot tall Destiny got up. She got up, slowly and seductively, her back turned to him. Then slowly, she turned around. She cupped her breasts, then her side, then her thighs. The slave started towards Aureus, swaying her hips from side to side as she walked. Then she stopped in front of Aureus. Irena spoke. “She puts on a swell little show, don’t she? Isn’t she just a treasure?” Aureus didn’t disagree. 

Destiny loomed over Aureus. He stood up: his head didn’t quite come up to the bottom of her breasts. Her hips must have been over two feet wide. He looked up at her face, or what he could see of it between the substantial breasts she had locked away in her golden bikini. She placed a hand against his thigh, stroking his groin and up his chest. Then without warning, she shoved him down with one hand, playfully but hard. Aureus felt his back hitting the soft pillows below. He looked up, and saw Destiny crouched down above him, her wide hips gyrating just above his crotch. Destiny’s bit her lip, eyes still closed. Aureus noticed the other slaves staring at him, but didn’t care. 

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean for her to accost you like that. She’s hard to stop once she starts, though; it’s best to let her play on through. You know, I don’t think we ever thought to teach her the word for ‘stop.’ Oops!”

“It’s… okay,” he responded, all but hypnotized by the hypnotic swaying of her hips. He felt her soft thighs rubbing against his. Then the sides of his crotch. Then his… ‘Yes,’ he found himself saying out loud.

Aureus felt himself getting hard. For a minute Livia crossed his mind. He was loyal to Livia, he loved her more than anyone else, but this felt incredible. Besides, he thought, was it even safe to try and get out of this? He’d seen what happened when the overseer was upset. It was a bad idea to upset a horny, love-crazed ten-foot tall girl. But, he remembered, he had promised himself to Livia.

“Wait,” He said. “Stop.”

She didn’t respond. He tried to back up, tried to move out from under her. She lowered her thick hips, pressing hard against him until he was pinned to the ground. She grabbed one of his arms, pinning it down. He felt her big hands all but crushing his wrist. Well, he thought, I may as well enjoy this. Not that it would be hard. Destiny grabbed his collar with her left hand. With a single hand she ripped her way down his robe, tearing it in half. 

He felt his penis rubbing against her thick labia, getting wetter and wetter each time. She moved her thighs against him, and he watched himself slip in and out of her. Then finally, she slipped it all the way in. She was wet. Wet, and warm. Then she leaned back, and he felt her weight upon him for the first time. Her seven hundred-pound body pushing him against the ground. Her thighs pressed hard against him, making his abdomen sink lower and lower into the bed. It felt like his hips were about to crack, but the pleasure overwhelmed the pain. 

Destiny let out a series of low moans. He felt his cock deep inside of her, felt the warmth and the simple pleasure as he rubbed against the inside of her vagina. The feeling was intoxicating. He looked at her tits, rhythmically bouncing in and out of her golden bikini top as she thrusted against him. He grabbed them and groped them with his free hand. 

Destiny screamed out words of pleasure in a strange tongue. She shifted her motion, bouncing up and down on top of him, harder and harder. He felt her heavy hips slamming down on him like a hammer. Fuck! It hurt, but it was worth it. Her tits were bouncing like crazy now, slapping her shoulders as she bounced. Aureus felt something he’d never felt before. An intense sensation of warmth was building in his groin. It was almost painful at first, but soon an intense euphoria overcame him.

Still the giant slave girl slammed up and down on his pelvis. This might break my pelvis, he thought, and yet I don’t really care. He heard the slave scream again with pleasure, louder than before, as she thrusted up and down on top of him. It finally ended in a moment of ecstasy. He felt fulfilled. So that’s what that was like, he thought.

Destiny slipped out and sat up. Her eyes were still closed, but as she gave him a mischievous half-smile he had the distinct feeling that she was watching him. She lied down next to Irena, putting a hand on her hip. Aureus felt his own hips, feeling their tenderness. They would be bruised, and badly. Well worth it, though, he thought. 

Irena looked at him with the same friendly smile as before. “I’m glad you liked Destiny. She’s just such a little bundle of joy, isn’t she? I can’t wait for you to meet her twin.” Aureus’ ears perked up a bit upon hearing the word twin. “I’ve never needed more than a few slaves at a time. Most of these slaves aren’t mine.” Aureus noticed a deep, rhythmic boom coming from the distance. A giantess was coming their way. She was big.

“Who do all the other slaves belong to?” Aureus looked around. There must have been a hundred slaves on the bed.

“Kim! Why, you haven’t met Kim yet, have you?”

“No, who’s Kim?” The booming continued.

“Aside from being the most lovely, wonderful person in Rome? Why, she’s my wife! You’ll love her! She’s just the most delightful, good-natured woman. So beautiful and friendly and caring. People always say we make a great couple.” The rhythmic booming noise was getting louder. He felt the bed shaking below him.

“Is she… big?” The booming was getting louder and louder. 

“Oh, I don’t really think about people in terms of things like race, or class, or size. But now that you mention it, I guess she’s quite a bit bigger than I am.”

Aureus looked to the left, and saw her. Walking towards them was a giantess clad in a white bikini, one of the tallest women Aureus had ever seen. She was beautiful, with coconut skin, an hourglass figure, and enormous breasts. The woman stood over seventy feet tall. Her massive, heavy breasts were barely contained by her tight white bikini top, and were so big they covered much of her abdomen. They bounced and rippled with each step, heaving and undulating with incredible weight. 

Kim stood in front of the bed, towering over them at nearly eighty feet tall. The slaves looked like mice compared to her. Her slaves started bowing to her immediately. “Hi honey!” said Irena.

Kim

Aureus looked to the left, and saw her. Walking towards them was a giantess clad in a white bikini, one of the tallest women Aureus had ever seen. She was beautiful, with coconut skin, an hourglass figure, and enormous breasts. She stood over seventy feet tall. Her massive, heavy breasts were barely contained by her tight white bikini top, and were so big they covered much of her abdomen. They bounced and rippled with each step, heaving and undulating with incredible weight.

“It’s been too long,” said Kim, with sad longing in her voice. “I’ve missed you baby.” Watching Kim lovingly talk to Irena was like watching a tower lovingly talk to a person, or a person lovingly talking to an ant. Kim was so immense, and powerful, and beautiful, Irena so tiny and mild-mannered. It was strange seeing them speak as equals. Although, Aureus thought, it might not be too long before Livia was that big. Not that he would mind.

She stretched and slinked across the bed, giving the slaves just enough time to scramble out of the way before they started bowing again. Kim was laying down on her stomach now. Her back was arched up, showing off her massive cleavage. Aureus tried his best not to stare. Even pressed against the bed, her cleavage was taller than he was. He looked up at her face. She was almost as beautiful as Livia, he thought. She even looked a bit like Livia, albeit darker-skinned. Perfect skin, delicate features, the same thick lips and big eyes. Yet as beautiful as she was, she seemed sad, somehow.

“Kim, sweetie, it’s good to see you, you look as pretty as ever. This is my new slave.”

“He’s a cutie. I like him. All big and strong and sexy, with golden hair.”

Aureus remained silent. He felt his eyes being drawn towards her massive cleavage. They were so massive and full and round, and there was something about the way they bounced as she shifted her weight, and… Aureus wiped a bit of drool off of his face, before looking back up to Kim’s eyes.

“Kim, sweetie, you look sad. Is something wrong? You can be so emotional when you’re sober.”

“It’s just… Slave boy, were you just looking at my tits?”

“No, of course not!” said Aureus.

“Of course you were staring at her tits! Everyone looks at her tits!” Chimed in Irena. “They’re so big and luscious, how could you look away?”

“No, no, I swear, I would never stare at her breasts!”

“Of course the cute slave boy wasn’t looking at my breasts! Who would? Why would anyone look at something so small and pathetic?” Kim tried, and failed, to hold back tears.

Irena scolded Aureus. “Now she’s crying! Why would you say such a thing? Of course you were looking at them! Poor dear, you get so sensitive when you’re sober. Do you want to give me a kiss?” Irena stepped forward, two of her slaves walking with her.

“Of course.”

The pair kissed, if you could really call it that. Kim’s lips were far wider than Irena’s head, and thicker than Irena’s head was high. Kim wrapped her thick lips around Irena’s head, slowly opening and closing her lips. Presumably, Irena did the same, though it was impossible to tell. Kim’s enormous, soft lips all but engulfed Irena’s head. She could have easily sucked Irena up, and for a moment, it looked like she would. They tongued for a second. Kim’s long tongue licked the sides of Irena’s face and upper body. Her tongue, Aureus noted, was as big as Irena.

“Honey?” Kim looked at Irena, and at the slaves standing next to her, showing off her expressively sad puppy dog eyes.

“Yes love?”

“I get so hungry when I get sad… Can I have just one of your slaves?”

“Oh, of course, honey! It’s just one slave. Treat yourself!”

The slaves must not have spoken Latin, because neither of them responded to the conversation. The one on the left, however, seemed extremely confused when Kim’s next kiss was centered on him instead of Irena. He seemed even more confused when Kim wrapped her long tongue completely around him. Presumably, he was also rather bewildered when she pulled him into her mouth with her powerful tongue and swallowed him whole. One can only imagine how perplexed he was as he was digested by acid inside of her stomach. Aureus, meanwhile, slowly backed a few feet away from the giantess. Aureus realized that she could still grab him if she wanted to, but there’s something to be said for being out of convenient snacking range.

Aureus wasn’t sure what to think. She just killed an innocent man… but there was something about her beauty and size that made it seem somehow acceptable. And more than that, he felt himself getting a little turned on. He pictured Livia on day, maybe even bigger and bustier than Kim, eating slaves of her own. Not him, of course. She would never eat him. But if a goddess like Livia wanted to eat a slave, could he complain? And if the idea of someone so big and beautiful taking advantage of their power turned him on, was there anything wrong with that?

Kim kissed the other slave. This one seemed frightened, but did his best to stand strong. Kim wrapped her lips around this one’s head before sucking him up like a piece of spaghetti. He didn’t make a sound, save for the gurgling noise in her stomach a while later.

“Kim!” yelled Irena, in the thoroughly non-threatening manner that overly kind people sometimes yell. “I said you could have one of my slaves. Not two. Not everyone here has ninety slaves that they can just go through whenever they feel like it. And buying all those new slaves is getting expensive.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I just was hungry and all, on… on account of feeling so ugly, and short, and tiny, and flat-chested…”

“Aww, honey, I can’t stay mad at you. Look at those beautiful saucer eyes! And those big, big breasts. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“No,” Kim said sadly. “That cute slave was right. They’re so small and pathetic, nobody even notices them. I look as flat as a board. I eat all the red spice I can, and the slaves rub milk of the poppy all over them, but it’s not enough, they’re still so small…” Kim turned onto her side. As she moved, her massive breasts heaving and bounced like immense bowls of jelly. They had an incredible mass to them. Each breast, Aureus thought, must weight as much as an elephant. Kim unhooked her tight bra. As the last hook came undone, her massive breasts poured out onto the bed, their weight compressing the bed’s thin cushions. Her hard, brown nipples were as big as a man’s head. “Slaves,” she said sadly, “rub some poppy milk on my pathetic little breasts. Maybe that will make me forget that they’re so tiny…”

The slaves happily gathered around and started lotioning her breasts. It took dozens of them to lotion all the way around the circumference of her breasts. The rest watched from a distance, silently enraptured as the tiny hands jiggled the immense blobs of soft breast tissue. Her right breast was pressed against the ground. Some of the slaves tried to lift the lower part of her breasts up so they could lotion the front of the breast. Try as they might, though, they couldn’t even come close to lifting their weight.

“See, don’t you feel better now?”

“A little, maybe. I’ll let them get the sides…”

Kim rolled onto her stomach with a casual, almost playful motion. What was casual for her, though, had some rather important implications given her size. Had she stood 6’8’’ and weighed just over 100 pounds, as she once had, simply rolling over on the bed would have had no real impact, save for perhaps wrinkling some laundry or frightening a housecat. But Kim now stood over seventy feet tall, and instead of weighing just over a hundred pounds, she weighed just over a hundred tons. Kim was less than fond of mathematics, and could often be rather inattentive to these seemingly minor details, like the difference between pounds and tons. Those around her, however, often found themselves extremely aware of Kim’s size, often in tragic ways. As Kim rolled onto her stomach, two dozen slaves found Kim’s breasts rolling on top of them. And they found that those breasts, the ones Kim worried were so small, weighed somewhere around the order of eight tons.

Those same slaves found the breasts pouring over them like a wave, engulfing them completely. They became extremely aware of the breasts’ weight as they felt the huge breasts pressing upon them. It wasn’t enough to kill them, not quite, with a hundred pressing down on every square foot of their body. But the pressure was enough to pin them down, making it all but impossible to breathe.

One slave was near the edge. He could almost move his head out from under the immense breasts, but the weight was simply too much, and the more he fought, the more air he used. Trying to inhale simply pulled her soft breasts into his mouth. Another slave was closer to the center, and felt the full heaviness of her massive breasts. His lungs collapsed, and as he struggled he found one of his ribs after another cracking. Yet this one found himself not minding it so much. There were far worse ways to die, he thought, than death by tits. Although the weight of her massive breasts made it difficult for him to move his mouth, on the inside, he was smiling, even as he felt his nose break and another rib snapping. He felt himself hardening, and felt the weight of her breasts enveloping him through his clothes. A good way to die.

“Honey, you’re going to crush all those poor slaves! Look at them, they’re suffocating!”

“I know… but it feels good,” said Kim, with an embarrassed smile.

“Oh, Kim, I hate to see you sad. You can kill them if you really want to, just this once, alright? I say if it makes you feel good, it’s worth it. I can always buy some new slaves.”

“Thanks Irena. The way their little arms and legs squirm around, it tickles. It feels good to have them under me like that. They’re struggling to breathe right now, gasping for air. I can feel my huge tits pressing down upon them, crushing them, making it impossible for them to move. Maybe my tits aren’t so tiny after all. You know, blondie, you’re the cutest slave boy we’ve had in ages. Nothing would make me feel better right now than to know that my tits to turn you on. Slave, does this make you like them more? Do you like them now?”

“I…  I… I love them. They’re amazing.”

Aureus felt sympathy for the slaves who were struggling for breathe under her massive breasts, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t like them more now. There was something about the idea of a breast. Something so utterly harmless, meant to give life… but Kim was so massive and powerful, even her tits had godlike power. Even something as simple and innocent as rolling onto her side could mean death for a dozen people. Those slaves were trapped under her massive tits, being crushed by their vast weight.

“It looks like you like them. My big old fat titties are going to suffocate all these poor slaves. That’s how big and powerful my tits are. Do you want to see what my tits can do?” Aureus saw the giantess looking at his crotch. He hadn’t realized until now that he had an erection.

“You should… It’s just that, your tits are going to suffocate those poor slaves.” Aureus knew it was the right thing to do, although a part of him enjoyed watching Kim crush the slaves under her breasts.

“Oh?” Kim put her hand around Aureus. “Do you not like this? Do you think I’m ugly? Because maybe I don’t think you’re so cute after all. Maybe I should crush you between my tits, along with all these other slaves.”

“No, no, your breasts are huge and beautiful. It’s just that, well…”

“Of course. You don’t just want to see these slaves suffocating under my tits. You want to see my huge, immense tits crush these slaves into goo. All I’ll have to do is press down on them, just a little bit, and they’ll all be squished like little bugs. It’ll feel so nice and squishy.”

“Please, don’t!”

“Why not? Don’t act like you don’t like it. All I’ll have to do is just shift my weight… Just a little bit…”

“But they’re people! You can’t just kill people!”

“ ‘I can’t just kill people?’ Of course I can! I’m seventy feet tall, and I’m filthy rich. I can do whatever the hell I want to. Especially to my own pathetic little male slaves. Do you have any idea how cheap your kind are? How disposable? I own them, just like I own you now. I’m sure you know the Oath of Subservience? Recite it!”

Aureus recited the oath, doing his best to ignore the muffled screams coming from below her huge breasts. “Mistress, we are yours now. We come to offer our bodies and our lives in your servitude. Anything you ask we shall give. We are unworthy to be crushed beneath your tits—Sorry, feet! May you strike us down if it pleases you.”

“You offer your bodies and your lives in servitude. You will give anything I ask. I may strike you down if it pleases you. Which it does. That means if I want to, I can crush you under my tits, and no one will care. It’s all perfectly moral, and completely legal.” Her eyes stared into Aureus’ very being, her lips twisted into a dark smile.

Irena chimed in. “Well, honeycakes, Aureus is my slave, not yours, so I own him. And I like him. I don’t give you permission to hurt him,” she said, raising her voice.

Kim looked nonplussed. “Well, we’re married, so I own everything you do, and vice-versa.” Kim picked up Irena with her hand, and lifted her in front of her face. Irena looked positively miniscule in comparison. “But the last time I checked, my little love, I weigh over a hundred tons, and you barely weigh a hundred pounds. My labia weigh more than you do. Which means that I’m in charge. Don’t pretend otherwise. You were the richest woman in this city, aside from the royals. But ever since we married, your family’s fortune is mine, your lands are mine, and your slaves are mine. Size is power. You gave up your power when you decided to not take the Red Spice. I love you, honey. I love you deeply and truly. But don’t pretend like you’re my equal. You’re my pet, my favorite little pet gerbil Irena. And,” she said with mock sympathy, “if I accidentally slipped and fell on my poor little lady love, nobody would care except me. I’d become the sole owner of all your family once had, and no one would bat an eyelash. So don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, my little pet.”

She set Irena down. Irena looked up at her, her voice quivering a bit. “You’re in charge, sweetie. Do whatever you want.”

“I won’t crush your new little blonde slave. I was just playing with him. I’m fond of him too. But I will crush the other slaves. All of them. And it will feel so good.”

Kim cupped her breasts as best she could, her immense breasts pouring over her proportionately small hands. She lifted her breasts off the ground and arched her back up. The dozen or so slaves were still alive underneath, struggling to survive. They were slow to get up. She arched her back up high enough off the ground so that her breasts didn’t barely touched the bed, even after she let go of them. Using both of her hands, Kim reached out to her sides and behind her, grabbing all the slaves she could. Some struggled, other gave in. Kim placed them all under her breasts. There were well over two dozen slaves under her tits now. She leaned back down, her breasts enveloping the slaves. The weight of her massive tits pressed the slaves down hard against the bed. Some of the slaves weren’t completely underneath her breasts. A few of them tried to escape, their arms or legs pinned under the immense weight.

Kim looked at Aureus. “Do you want to see me crush them? Watch my enormous tits turn their little bodies into jelly?”

Kim leaned down on her breasts, putting heavy weight on the slaves below her. “I can feel them now. My tits are so sensitive. The poor slaves’ little ribs are breaking. Some of them are screaming. Can you hear that? It sounds like mmmmmphhh, mpphh, mph… I hope you like this, slave. You’re getting quite the show. What’s your name, cutie?”

“Aureus. My name is Aureus.”

“Cute name. Part of you probably hates me right now. These poor men are slaves, just like you. They’ve been loyal to me, and here I am, ending their little lives. And why? Because I enjoy it. Because it gets me off. Because I was feeling a little sad, and I thought this would make me feel better. A few seconds of pleasure mean more to me then the lives of all these men. Does that disturb you? In the next few minutes, I’m going to kill a dozen men, just for fun. A hundred little slaves, just like you. And tomorrow, I’ll buy a dozen more, with my wife’s money, which is really my money, and then I can do it all again.

‘I can feel them wriggling around under there. It tickles. I’m not sure how many are under there right now. Twenty? Thirty? It doesn’t matter. All of them are going to be crushed under the weight of my massive tits. Their bodies are already compressing under the immense, crushing weight of my breasts. They don’t have a chance now. Look at that one, trying to crawl away. You’re going to be crushed too, little buddy, just like everyone else.” Aureus watched as the slave tried pitifully to crawl out from under the massive breast that was crushing his body. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t get away.

“You’re not going to crawl away from me.” Grabbing her breast with one hand, Kim lifted her nipple up and placed it on top of the man’s head.

“My nipple is bigger than this little slave’s head. I can feel my nipple getting bigger and harder. Look. The nipple is engorged now, and it’s hard as a rock. Watch Aureus. I’m going to crush his head with my nipple.” She placed her hand on her breast, just above her rock-hard nipple. As Kim pressed down, her nipple pressed the man’s head harder and harder against the ground. Aureus couldn’t look away. He watched as her huge brown nipple pressed against the man, harder and harder. The man’s head stood firm, only given way ever so subtly. Then, in an instant, her nipple came down hard, pounding against the ground like a boulder. The man’s head was crushed like a watermelon.

Aureus didn’t know what to think as he looked at the blood and gore dripping from her now blood-drenched nipple. It was an ugly, violent display, and yet found himself lusting after the giantess. What power, that even one of her nipples is a deadly weapon? It felt wrong, he realized, and yet even though it felt wrong, he felt a part of himself wanting to see more of it.

“Did you like that, Aureus? Seeing me crush a man nipple with my nipple? That was just the appetizer. Now for the main course.” Kim put her hands on top of her huge breasts and pressed down. Her breasts flattened and spilled outward against the ground.

“I feel their little bodies crushing underneath me. Let me just press a little harder…. There! Their pathetic little bones are breaking. Their organs are rupturing, and it feels good. There’s no better feeling than feeling pathetic little bodies crushed under your tits. I am a goddess! I am power! Struggle, scream, writhe, it won’t help you now. Now as hard as I can… Ugh, yes! I can feel them squishing. Crushing under my weight. Feel my massive tits grinding your bodies, crushing you to dust! How does it feel to be flattened by a woman’s boobs?”

Aureus couldn’t see most of the slaves: Kim’s massive breasts had completely engulfed most of them by now. But the sickening sound told him all he needed to know. As red blood pooled up in the depression around her breasts, he could tell that one of them, then another, was being crushed. The ones near the outside were the last to die. He sawone of them. The man was completely engulfed by her breasts, save for part of his head. The man’s face was twisted in agony, shifting from one pained expression to another. Then, suddenly, his expression went blank. Aureus looked at the man’s face, and felt sympathy for the poor man. But then he looked again, and remembered that the man’s head was scarcely more than a spec below the vastness of Kim’s breasts.

“I feel the blood running underneath my tits. Blood and guts and come, everything all running together. It feels so warm… So dirty… So good. My little old tits just crushed who knows how many people into goo. I feel satisfied… for now.. My only regret is that I’ll have to get them cleaned off later. Which means I guess I’ll have to keep at least a few of the slaves alive. Did you like that, Irena, my wealthy little pet?”

“I’ll have to buy new slaves now, my dear... but I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Kim raised herself up into a crouching position. Then she sat down, her wide ass crushing half a dozen slaves as they tried to scamper out of the way.

“Oopsie, did I smoosh some more? You guys are so squishy, it’s hard not to crush you.”

Aureus looked up at Kim, and her huge breasts, now naked. The bottoms of her immense tits were covered with a thick red goo, made up of blood and whatever else was left of the men she crushed with her massive tits. Her breasts rippled and bounced greatly with even the slightest movement. The blood dripped with each subtle bounce of her breasts. Kim looked down at Aureus. It was almost surreal, seeing such a huge, almost godlike being looking down at him with her wide eyes.

“I trust you enjoyed that? It’s okay, you don’t need to answer. I know you did. I’m feeling better about myself now. I apologize for my little moods. It’s just that sometimes, I feel like I’m not as big or powerful as I want to be… Reminding myself how weak and insignificant almost everyone else is always makes me feel better. Are you scared of me? Because I just killed all your tiny little friends? Don’t be. Those men were just slaves to me. You’re my slave, but you’re something else too. You’re my little pet. My plaything. Just like Destiny is. Just like Irena is. I’ll find ways to have fun with you. Why, I’ll keep you around forever. At least, unless I get extra hungry… but for now, I have plenty of slaves to keep me full. Now let me hold you.

She grabbed Aureus, pressing the front of his body against one of her massive breasts. Aureus did nothing, said nothing. What could he do, or say? He merely stood there, idly, feeling the pleasant sensation as his penis rubbed against the vastness of her warm, soft breast. She pressed a bit harder. He felt himself sinking into her cleavage, felt the soft and smooth fat of her breasts engulfing his body. And as her breasts surrounded his face, he felt it becoming harder and harder to breathe. Soon, his body was completely immersed in the softness of her breasts. He felt himself struggling to breathe, and failing, her soft breasts pressed against his mouth.

“Oh, poor Aureus. Is it getting hard to breathe? Here, let me move you somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

Kim lifted Aureus out from against her breast. She lifted him up above her cleavage. He looked down at the enormous globes below him. Kim’s breasts were big enough that they naturally pressed together, even without a bra. Then she dropped him. Aureus felt his body falling, before bouncing against the smoothness of her breasts. He slid part way between them before coming to a stop. Aureus felt himself wedged between the softness of Kim’s enormous breasts. He could move around, sort of, but it was a strange feeling, like climbing through molasses. They reacted subtly to his every movement, shifting and jiggling as he pressed against them. Yet his body was too small to move them in any real way. They were massive, in the truest sense of the word. Aureus climbed up closer to the top of her breasts. There were far worse places to be stuck.

There was greatness to them, he thought. To the giantesses. Did that make it okay somehow? Did their greatness excuse the terror they caused? Is it madness for man to criticize the morality of a god, or a goddess? Or should any being, regardless of their greatness or perfection, face the same moral scrutiny as a lowly man? Maybe great beauty balances out great evil. Maybe Scarlett and Kim have a kind of grandeur to them: a grandeur that makes almost any transgression seem somehow acceptable. Could breasts like these really do something wrong? Aureus realized that he felt a nearly religious awe, not just of Kim, but of her breasts. It was a strange notion, that a body part could be deserving of worship. Yet here he stood, surrounded by billowy breasts that seemed powerful enough to conquer kingdoms.

“You look comfortable, little guy. How does it feel, having your world consist of nothing but my bosoms? But you could use some company.”

Aureus couldn’t see who Kim was reaching over to pick up: his field of view was the thin slice of horizontal space that wasn’t dominated by the immense breasts that surrounded him. But he looked up, and saw Irena as Kim gently lowered her down in front of him. Kim pushed Irena up against Aureus. He felt his crotch against her thin, tight behind. Irena turned around towards him. “Hi there sweetie! Looks like we’ll be spending some time together.” Then, Aureus realized that Kim was holding someone else above him. Kim’s giant hand was barely able to wrap around the thick curves of Destiny’s ten foot tall body. He looked up and saw that she was naked now. Her thick labia showed from between her pressed-together thighs. Her ass, thick yet firm, was coming down above him. Aureus felt her thick thighs wrap around his neck as her heavy body came to a rest upon his shoulders. Kim’s breasts must have absorbed most of Destiny’s weight: instead of crushing him, Destiny’s six-hundred pound body pressed down with a heaviness that stopped short of being painful.

“I hope my little pets are comfortable in there. Let’s watch the battle.”

In fact, Aureus was utterly comfortable, surrounded as he was by softness and by women. Aureus looked around the arena, or what little of it he could see with Destiny’s thighs, Irena’s head and Kim’s immense breasts blocking most of his view. He saw the dozens of slaves still below them on the huge flat couch, bowing down before Kim. He looked up, and saw the hundreds of thousands of spectators cheering, and became immediately aware of the wall of noise he had been tuning out. And he looked towards the arena, and saw that a fight was still raging. In the blood-red sand of the arena, an angry giantess fought what looked like several hundred men. There weren’t that many gladiators before, he thought. They must have gotten reinforcements. The gladiatrix, almost forty feet tall, stomped and crushed her way through the gladiators.

For a moment Aureus felt sorry for the gladiators. But then he sat back, and though about how lucky he was right now. As long as Kim had plenty of slaves to keep her full, and he did as she asked, he was safe. Kim had taken a liking to him, as had Irena and Destiny. Here he was, surrounded by three beautiful women: the giant, beautiful Kim, wealthy, kind Irena, and Destiny, the extremely friendly Amazonian slave. Aureus still loved Livia more than anything else, and he would find her as soon as he had a chance. But for now, for him, things were good. Aureus watched as the gladiatrix stomped the ground, crushing a few men under her foot. This would be a good show, thought Aureus.

The Gladiatrix Part 2

The hot air rang with the cheers of the crowd, punctuated by the rhythmic booming of the Gladiatrix’s steps. The sand was more red than tan now, and littered with the bodies of men and horses and elephants. It had been a little over two hours since they released the first giantess from her chamber.

Jengo watched the beast as she crushed another gladiator. . She stood nearly forty feet tall. A mesh of thick ropes were wrapped tightly around her back and breasts, holding up her heavy breasts, while a chainmail skirt protected her groin. She wore nothing else, save the iron shackles around her wrists. The red blindfold she once wore had fallen off a while earlier, and now lied, torn, near the edge of the arena like a fallen banner. She was dirty, and her arms and legs were crossed with small cuts, but otherwise she looked no worse than she had at the start of the fight. Blood now stained her feet, her hands, and much of her body, though little of it was hers.

There had been over a hundred gladiators facing her at first. She crushed and stomped her way through them, killing many, and badly injuring Jengo. When there were only a few soldiers left, Jengo thought he was done for. Soon, there were only a few other gladiators left, and Jengo thought the beast would come for him soon. But then, another huge gate was opened, and an even larger crowd of gladiators poured out, equipped with the same blunted swords as the last group. There must have been two hundred of them in all, not counting the ten or so horse-riding equites. More fighters, thought Jengo, before remembering what the men truly were: fodder. Perhaps it‘s only a matter of time until she kills me, thought Jengo. I’ve always been a better Bestiarius than a gladiator. There are worse ways to die than to go out fighting a great beast, and a beautiful one at that.

She was still angry, thought Jengo, as he watched the carnage from the far side of the arena. Jengo was no coward, but his legs were too badly injured for him to fight. He watched as a group of gladiators fled from the beast, but Jengo saw little sense in their running. It might buy them an extra hour of life, he thought, but what were a few extra minutes spent running in fear? Better to stand and fight, and die with honor. It wasn’t like they could run very far. Hundreds of armored guards stood around the edge of the arena, ready to kill any gladiator who tried to escape. Guards with real training and real swords, not like this batch. Some of the gladiators seemed to be experienced, but many looked like they had never held a sword before, let alone fought in the arena.

Jengo watched as a group of gladiators tried to circle around the beast, throwing rocks and blunted spears while trying to keep their distance. It was little use, though. The blunted weapons did little more than annoy her. The beast chased after the gladiators. The men tried to run, but it was little use. Each of her strides covered more distance as the man could reach in ten. Soon she was on top of them. With two quick motions, she came down upon two of them, smashing down upon them with the palms of her hands and crushing the men’s bodies into the ground.

A group of gladiators sprinted away from her, running towards Jengo, though they were a ways off. She chased after them, running like a beast on all fours. The men sprinted away as fast as they could, but it was no use. She overtook the men in the back, running on top of them as if they weren’t there. The gladiatrix crushed one under her fist, another under her foot, a third under her knee, grinding their bodies into the sand. A fourth managed to dodge her feet, as she passed over him. She paid him no heed, for he was not her quarry.

The beast came upon the two men at the front of the group. She snatched up one of them with each hand before stopping in her tracks. She looked at one of them almost playfully as she turned her hand about to get a better view. Then, arching her hand behind her head, she threw him as hard as she could, as easily as a man might throw a small rock. He flew far, his long scream ending when he hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

She took another man, deftly grabbing him with her hand. The beast raised him above her chest, She slipped him through the mesh of rope that held up her immense breasts so that he rested between her cleavage. The man’s upper body was held up by her full breasts, his legs dangling down below, then becoming caught in the mesh. She grabbed her breasts with both hands, squeezing them together. The man struggled at first, but soon gave up. She squeezed weakly, then a little harder. Her firm breasts all but enveloped the gladiator’s body. All the while a few gladiators below hit her legs blunted swords, but the beast barely seemed to notice. Then she pressed harder still. Her breasts wrapped further around him. It was difficult to see the gladiator now, with the gladiatrix’s huge breasts flowing over him. A little harder. He started to scream. The expression on the beast’s face was difficult to read from such distance, but Jengo thought it was amusement. Harder still. It looked like her hands were being swallowed by her round breasts, and you could no longer see the gladiator’s upper body. Then she pushed as hard as she could. In an instant, his body was crushed with near-explosive force, sending a quick spray of blood onto the giant woman’s breasts. She let go of her breasts, and the gladiator’s body fell from between her cleavage, his feet still tied up in the mesh of the rope. He dangled upside down for a few seconds before falling unceremoniously to the ground.

Jengo watched as the beast stood up on two feet, her arched back showing off her ample breasts. Half a dozen gladiators surrounded her now, harmlessly attacking the beast’s feet and shins. The beast looked annoyed, but not hurt. She stomped down on one, then another, then another, as easily as a man might crush a bug under his heel. She wasn’t even winded, thought Jengo. If the beast once had a fear of us, she had lost it. Her demeanor was not that of one fighting for her life, but of one toying with her prey. Now she picked over us, one by one, like a cat stuck in a room full of mice.

A Strange Dream

The Great Coliseum was filled with people, more than Livia had ever seen before. Princesses and peons alike awaited the games, all of them energized by the bright afternoon sun. They said that that the coliseum could fit a million people, but Livia thought it looked there were even more than that here today. Below her were countless slaves and laborers, packed together tightly, pushing and jostling each other around. Above were Matriarchs, the descendants of Rome’s ruling Patrician class: wealthy women of great power, great wealth and often great size. Cybele, Goddess Empress of Rome, towered over all of them, sitting in her specially made throne that was set at the top of the arena. Around her were various important dignitaries, wealthy governesses and influential politicians. Some of them were nearly as tall as Cybele. In Rome, you could get a rough idea of a woman’s wealth by looking at their height. Judging by the size of these women, they were all quite important. 

Cybele’s daughter, princess Livia, wanted to be sitting with these important dignitaries and governesses. She wanted to speak with them and learn about the state of Rome and the colonies. But Cybele saw fit to seat Livia on the lower deck of the upper tier. Livia shared a crowded flat couch with several young noblewomen, each of whom were much taller than Livia. It was tradition in Rome for women of different families to share a single couch at these gatherings, a tradition that Livia was less than fond of. The two women to Livia’s right had been making out for the better part of the hour, rolling over as they kissed and elbowing Livia as they did so. ‘At least I don’t have to talk to them,’ Livia thought. The woman on her left wasn’t quite as bad, but she made horrible slurping sounds as she swallowed one live monkey after another. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, someone worse appeared. Livia saw a man standing on the ground below her couch. She recognized him instantly: Follis, the man she was slated to wed one day. 

Noble women in Rome were married off to noble men, but noble men were difficult to find. For unknown reasons, children of the lower castes were almost entirely boys. But wealthy women, who were able to afford the Red Spice, had almost exclusively female children. Noblemen of high birth were thus considered valuable commodities, even if they were still considered far lower than females. They were able to get away with things that most slaves would never dream of trying. And one day, if they were lucky, they might have the chance to impregnate a noblewoman. The marriages tended to be very short-lived, and it was almost unheard of for these noblemen to survive their wedding night. At the very least, they could expect a shattered pelvis. 

Follis was descended from some wealthy noble family, though neither Livia nor Follis knew which family. It was considered shameful for a noblewoman to birth a man, and the lineages of their descendants were thus kept secret. At any rate Follis was first in line to marry Livia, though there were others behind him if anything happened. 

This meant she was expected to one day have sex with him, a fact that he was extremely fond of reminding her about. As for the ‘not surviving the wedding night’ thing… well, Follis didn’t seem to really get that part, or at least didn’t care. He wasn’t known for his intelligence. He was, at least, an impressive physical specimen. Like many noble men expose to the spice had aided his growth. He stood over seven feet tall, strong and muscular, with a square jaw. Livia might have even been attracted to him, if she could overlook how stupid looking his face looked. Well, that and his personality. Although, when she was in the right mood, Livia found their one-sided verbal spars amusing.

“So, I know we’re not married, yet, but if you want to, you know…” Follis said, moving his hands around oddly. Livia assumed that it was supposed to be some kind of obscene gesture, but it didn’t resemble any kind of sex act that existed outside of Follis’ head. 

“Follis, you may have high blood, and you’re first in line to bed me, but mother has about a dozen suitors lined up behind you, and I’m far fonder of all of them than I am of you. All it would take is one little accident and ‘whoops!’ I guess it’s onto highborn suitor number two. I’m sure mother would understand. After all, Julia’s on her fourth suitor now? Wait, sorry, I mean fourteenth. I’m getting behind schedule. Let’s hope I don’t forget you’re standing there and accidentally sit down on you.”

“Well,” said Follis with a self-satisfied smile, “you sitting on my face doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It does, when you consider I weight a ton. As in a literal ton. Well, a bit more than that, actually. Your skull would look like a pumpkin after the toss. No one would suspect it was anything other than an innocent accident, and even if they did, no one would care.”

“So the princess of peace and enlightenment is talking about wanting to smash my face in now? I thought you didn’t believe in hurting us poor little men?”

“Men being the operative term there, I’m afraid. I’m not sure exactly what you are, but a man isn’t it.”

“You’ve never killed anybody. You can talk all you want, Biggus Breastus, but I know you’d never actually hurt me.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, placing her large hand around his shoulder. “But I don’t know if you want to test that right now. You know, it might be fun. I’m feeling a bit hungry… I bet you’d taste great.”

“Yeah, well, um…”

“Yes. That’s right. ‘Well um.’ Now leave me in peace. I’m enjoying the game.” 

She actually wasn’t: Livia hated combat. It was much too violent, and she loathed seeing all those poor gladiators get killed. Thankfully, out of decency, fear or boredom, Follis wandered off. For a second, Livia fantasized about crushing Follis. She imagined her foot, bigger than his head, coming down on top of his upper body. She pictured herself shifting her weight onto the foot, crushing his head flat against the ground. It was a grisly image, but the thought amused her.

Of all the hundreds of millions of people in the world, why, she thought, did it have to be him? She wished her boyfriend Aureus could be there with her instead. She’d arranged for Aureus to be delivered to her during the games, but he hadn’t arrived up yet. Livia wondered if something had gone wrong. ‘No,’ she thought, ‘I’m sure he’s okay. He has to be okay.

Livia looked over at the Matriarchs who were lying next to her. Aside from the Royal Guards stationed in front of her, there was little to differentiate Livia from these lower noblewomen, a fact that displeased Livia. ‘Cybele treats me like I’m twelve,’ thought Livia. ‘The people love me, as do the Matriarchs. But soon I’ll be declared a Goddess, and perhaps Cybele will be wise enough to make me the next Empress. I can make the people love me in a way that Julia never could.

‘But then again, for an Empress, what’s love without respect? A sword without a hilt. I need to be a strong ruler. Not strength like my twin sister Julia has. Her strength is like iron, cold and cruel and lacerating. No,’ thought Livia, ‘I’ll have to find another kind of strength.

‘After I have the Red Spice, though, everything will change. They’ll declare me a Goddess. They people will worship me, as they do Cybele and Juno. I’ll have an entire church devoted to myself, with millions of men and women utterly devoted to me. They’ll offer everything to me: their gold, their bodies, their very lives. And I’ll be a merciful goddess, and reward my followers greatly.

‘But what is it,’ thought Livia, ‘to be a goddess?’ When Livia was young, she believed the stories wholly and entirely. She thought back to the stories. Juno was granted immense power by the heavens, and became something more than a woman. She became Goddess of Rome and its people, with beauty and power and glory immense. The people stood in awe of her, worshipped her, as was only right for them to do. They sacrificed themselves to please her, for their small lives were nothing before her greatness. To repay their gratitude, she brought great riches to Rome, and crushed the enemies of the Empire. Juno birthed a single daughter, Cybele, who became a goddess nearly as great as herself. 

Then Juno died, as all Romans know, for even a Goddess must die one day. Yet though her body was dead, as the stories went, she lived on. For it was the day of her death that Juno was reborn as a true Goddess, one far greater and more powerful than she had been even in life. She ruled from a great throne in the clouds, high above Mount Olympus. All the women in Juno’s line would follow in her footsteps, becoming goddesses in life as well as death. 

And so it would go on, until one day a Great Enemy would arise. On that day, the goddesses would come down onto the mortal plane, and their footsteps would crack the very foundations of the earth. A battle would ensue between these giants, and the great cities of the earth would be trampled under the footsteps of these goddesses. In the end, the faithful said, the goddesses would prevail.

That was the story that they told, and it was shouted with great conviction by every Priestess in the Empire. It was the story that Livia had been told since she was a young child, and one that she once believed in with all her heart. Yet as Livia grew older, her confidence began to wane, and soon she found herself doubting the stories. What made Juno or Cybele any different from any of the other Matriarchs? What if Juno wasn’t reborn in the heavens? These questions nagged at Livia. Livia felt like a princess, but not a goddess, and she wasn’t sure if any spice could chance that. Maybe, thought Livia, the Red Spice wasn’t any more magical than Pepper or Paprika. Then again, Paprika didn’t make you grow to enormous heights. The Spice did. Even if couldn’t grant everlasting life, it could grant immense size. And size, thought Livia, was power.

The Dream

Livia, feeling sleepy, tried to imagine what it would be like after she started to have the Red Spice. She pictured herself in the white glory of the great temple, surrounded by countless worshippers. Her eyes closed, and the softness of the couch pulled her away from the clamor of the coliseum. 

The sights and sounds of the Coliseum faded away, and the images in her mind became more real. She was drinking the Red Spice from a heavy gold cup, the glowing red crystals of the spice dissolved in a dark merlot. She felt the warmth of the spice engulfing her, surrounding her, like they said it did. In her dream, she pictured a powerful sensation overtaking her. And as that happened she felt herself growing, felt herself becoming bustier and fuller as she grew taller. It happened slowly at first. Her blouse felt tighter, then her panties, then her robe,. The fabric of her clothes stretched, then ripped, and soon her robe and undergarments were torn and lying in a pile below her on the floor. And she felt herself growing, faster now, the sensation of warmth becoming more and more powerful. At first it didn’t feel like she was getting bigger, not exactly; it felt like the world around her was growing smaller. The men around her came up past her knees only a few short moments ago, but seemed to be shrinking smaller and smaller.

She was growing, becoming not just taller, she realized, but more massive. Her height had more than doubled by now, but her weight had increased twenty-fold. Her arms and legs felt heavy. For a second she felt as if she couldn’t bear her own weight, until she realized that the strength of her muscles and bones had grown twenty-fold as well. 

She felt an incredible strength within her, and Livia became aware of how powerful she was. She was still growing, and she grew bustier and fuller as she grew taller. Livia felt her breasts becoming huge and heavy. She felt her body growing heavier, far heavier, and she heard the hard tiles of the temple floor cracking beneath her weight. She looked down, and suddenly noticed the hundreds of men that were gathered around her. Though they were grown men they looked smaller than mice to her. To her amazement they hadn’t tried to run: the stood there, staring up at her with stunned silence. 

As she grew, Livia felt something else: hunger. Livia bent over. Without fully realizing what she was doing, Livia felt herself grabbing one man, than another, and stuffing them into her mouth. Bent over, she grabbed them up by the handfuls as she walked around, not watching her footsteps. The men didn’t make any attempt to run, or even move out of the way. They barely seemed to react at all. There was something strange about them, but Livia didn’t stop to think. Instead, she bent over again to grab some more. She was still growing larger: now she could scoop up a dozen men or more with each hand. She tossed them into her mouth and swallowed greedily, one after another. In the dream, questions of morality didn’t even occur to her: she simply liked the way they squirmed as they fell down her throat.

She grabbed another man, but as she was about to toss him into her mouth, she heard him call “Livia!” and she recognized his voice. Livia looked down at the man, and instantly recognized his golden hair: it was her boyfriend, Aureus. “Livia,” he called out, “please, I love you!”

Livia said nothing, her big eyes looking down at Aureus full of sympathy. Livia didn’t want to hurt him, but she was so, so hungry… His tiny eyes stared back at her. “I’m sorry, love,” she said, and tossed him down her mouth. And as a tear welled up in her right eye, she swallowed Livia felt the vibration from his muffled screams as he was pushed down her throat, and it felt good. ‘It’s okay,’ Livia told herself, not believing it. ‘He’s… part of me now. He’ll always be with me. He’s…. No… No…”

But then, a powerful sensation of pleasure went through Livia. As much as it hurt that Aureus was gone, the pleasure was enough to make her forget. Eating him felt good. Livia, for a moment, was satisfied.

“Livia!” “Livia!” “Livia!” Livia heard a thousand voices calling her from down below. She looked into the crowd, and saw hundreds of men standing there, staring up at her. And then she noticed what had been strange about them. Each of them had the same long, golden hair. Each of them had the same color of skin, the same body, the same voice. Each of them, she realized with horror, was Aureus. 

“Aureus,” she called out… And just then, she felt herself growing, much faster than before. Each second the men looked tinier and tinier, yet still she grew. Her long legs felt strange as they grew, and the ground below her seemed to be falling away as she grew upward. Livia lost her footing, and felt herself stumble. Her feet came crashing down upon the crowd, crushing dozens of the identical men. A shock of terror went through Livia, and yet a part of her liked the way it felt to crush them. A part of her wanted more. She tried to stop, but found her feet coming down again, then again, each time leaving a bloody crater in the temple floor. She tried to stop herself, but it was no use.

Livia felt herself growing even faster now, and the walls of the temple were growing tight. She felt her head crashing through the temple ceiling, and a moment later the temple itself seemed no larger than a child’s plaything. She grew again. Her already large breasts had grown to be so huge that she could scarcely have held them up now with both hands. The city of Rome stood before her, in all its glory, and yet it looked so small, so delicate. Livia saw its streets were teeming with people. She tried to stand still, but a strange impulse was driving her forward. Her feet were as wide as the temple now. One step, and she felt a square of buildings crushed to nothingness below her feet. Another, and she felt a crowded marketplace crushed into the ground below her. She heard hundreds of voices screaming out, their voices squelched as her foot came down upon them. And the destruction horrified Livia, but what horrified her most was something else: she liked it, she realized. She was enjoying this. 

Livia threw her body down upon Rome, in agony and ecstasy. She felt thousands of buildings crushed below her, leaving an outline of her curvaceous body on the city streets, painted in blood and death and destruction. And she felt so many lives ending. Ten thousand lives being ended by her immense tits alone as they crashed down, destroying every building that lied under them. Part of her wanted so badly to stop. But as terrible as the destruction was, it all felt so good.

But then she felt a new sensation, at first deep in her abdomen, and then between her legs. It wasn’t lust, or at least wasn’t only lust. It was a hunger, the likes of which Livia had never felt before. The hunger was growing greater and greater, and with it the pain, until soon the pain was too much for her. She writhed in agony. Livia tried to ease the pain by pleasuring herself, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. And then she felt another pain, a stranger pain, and yet this one too was tinged with pleasure. She felt her body changing, felt her stomach twisting. And she felt something else. It was growing deep inside of her, something with a terrible hunger and terrible power. Something that could come to control her, maybe even come to destroy her. Yet she wanted it more than anything else. Livia she felt a pain worse than any she had felt before. And in her dream, she screamed. 

Livia woke up in a cold sweat, and felt sick to her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she had actually screamed or not. ‘But what,’ she thought, ‘was that dream about?’ Livia thought of Aureus. She would never hurt Aureus. She would never hurt anyone, for that matter, not unless she had no choice. ‘Well... perhaps,’ thought Livia, ‘if they were enemies of Rome, or if they had committed a crime, or maybe, just maybe, if they had offered themselves to her freely as a sacrifice. But still,’ she told herself, ‘I would not enjoy it. And not Aureus. Never Aureus.’ She remembered how sick she had felt after executing the interloper in the baths. But in the dream, it all felt so good. 


Livia watched the arena below, trying to forget about the dream. The gladiatrix picked up a live elephant with both hands, throwing it into a group of gladiators. The elephant rolled along its side, knocking down gladiators like bowling pins. While the men were still lying on the ground, the gladiatrix stomped on them. Her feet came down on top of them, one after another, the weight of her body crushing them like bugs. Livia cringed at the slaughter. ‘What a waste,’ she thought, disgusted. ‘How cruel,’ thought Livia, ‘to force men to participate in such barbarity!’ But what really disgusted her was something else. Part of her, she realized, was starting to enjoy the bloodshed.

The Great Coliseum was filled with people, more than Livia had ever seen before. Princesses and peons alike awaited the games, all of them energized by the bright afternoon sun. They said that that the coliseum could fit a million people, but Livia thought it looked there were even more than that here today. Below her were countless slaves and laborers, packed together tightly, pushing and jostling each other around. Above were Matriarchs, the descendants of Rome’s ruling Patrician class: wealthy women of great power, great wealth and often great size. Cybele, Goddess Empress of Rome, towered over all of them, sitting in her specially made throne that was set at the top of the arena. Around her were various important dignitaries, wealthy governesses and influential politicians. Some of them were nearly as tall as Cybele. In Rome, you could get a rough idea of a woman’s wealth by looking at their height. Judging by the size of these women, they were all quite important. 

Cybele’s daughter, princess Livia, wanted to be sitting with these important dignitaries and governesses. She wanted to speak with them and learn about the state of Rome and the colonies. But Cybele saw fit to seat Livia on the lower deck of the upper tier. Livia shared a crowded flat couch with several young noblewomen, each of whom were much taller than Livia. It was tradition in Rome for women of different families to share a single couch at these gatherings, a tradition that Livia was less than fond of. The two women to Livia’s right had been making out for the better part of the hour, rolling over as they kissed and elbowing Livia as they did so. ‘At least I don’t have to talk to them,’ Livia thought. The woman on her left wasn’t quite as bad, but she made horrible slurping sounds as she swallowed one live monkey after another. And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, someone worse appeared. Livia saw a man standing on the ground below her couch. She recognized him instantly: Follis, the man she was slated to wed one day. 

Noble women in Rome were married off to noble men, but noble men were difficult to find. For unknown reasons, children of the lower castes were almost entirely boys. But wealthy women, who were able to afford the Red Spice, had almost exclusively female children. Noblemen of high birth were thus considered valuable commodities, even if they were still considered far lower than females. They were able to get away with things that most slaves would never dream of trying. And one day, if they were lucky, they might have the chance to impregnate a noblewoman. The marriages tended to be very short-lived, and it was almost unheard of for these noblemen to survive their wedding night. At the very least, they could expect a shattered pelvis. 

Follis was descended from some wealthy noble family, though neither Livia nor Follis knew which family. It was considered shameful for a noblewoman to birth a man, and the lineages of their descendants were thus kept secret. At any rate Follis was first in line to marry Livia, though there were others behind him if anything happened. 

This meant she was expected to one day have sex with him, a fact that he was extremely fond of reminding her about. As for the ‘not surviving the wedding night’ thing… well, Follis didn’t seem to really get that part, or at least didn’t care. He wasn’t known for his intelligence. He was, at least, an impressive physical specimen. Like many noble men expose to the spice had aided his growth. He stood over seven feet tall, strong and muscular, with a square jaw. Livia might have even been attracted to him, if she could overlook how stupid looking his face looked. Well, that and his personality. Although, when she was in the right mood, Livia found their one-sided verbal spars amusing.

“So, I know we’re not married, yet, but if you want to, you know…” Follis said, moving his hands around oddly. Livia assumed that it was supposed to be some kind of obscene gesture, but it didn’t resemble any kind of sex act that existed outside of Follis’ head. 

“Follis, you may have high blood, and you’re first in line to bed me, but mother has about a dozen suitors lined up behind you, and I’m far fonder of all of them than I am of you. All it would take is one little accident and ‘whoops!’ I guess it’s onto highborn suitor number two. I’m sure mother would understand. After all, Julia’s on her fourth suitor now? Wait, sorry, I mean fourteenth. I’m getting behind schedule. Let’s hope I don’t forget you’re standing there and accidentally sit down on you.”

“Well,” said Follis with a self-satisfied smile, “you sitting on my face doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It does, when you consider I weight a ton. As in a literal ton. Well, a bit more than that, actually. Your skull would look like a pumpkin after the toss. No one would suspect it was anything other than an innocent accident, and even if they did, no one would care.”

“So the princess of peace and enlightenment is talking about wanting to smash my face in now? I thought you didn’t believe in hurting us poor little men?”

“Men being the operative term there, I’m afraid. I’m not sure exactly what you are, but a man isn’t it.”

“You’ve never killed anybody. You can talk all you want, Biggus Breastus, but I know you’d never actually hurt me.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, placing her large hand around his shoulder. “But I don’t know if you want to test that right now. You know, it might be fun. I’m feeling a bit hungry… I bet you’d taste great.”

“Yeah, well, um…”

“Yes. That’s right. ‘Well um.’ Now leave me in peace. I’m enjoying the game.” 

She actually wasn’t: Livia hated combat. It was much too violent, and she loathed seeing all those poor gladiators get killed. Thankfully, out of decency, fear or boredom, Follis wandered off. For a second, Livia fantasized about crushing Follis. She imagined her foot, bigger than his head, coming down on top of his upper body. She pictured herself shifting her weight onto the foot, crushing his head flat against the ground. It was a grisly image, but the thought amused her.

Of all the hundreds of millions of people in the world, why, she thought, did it have to be him? She wished her boyfriend Aureus could be there with her instead. She’d arranged for Aureus to be delivered to her during the games, but he hadn’t arrived up yet. Livia wondered if something had gone wrong. ‘No,’ she thought, ‘I’m sure he’s okay. He has to be okay.

Livia looked over at the Matriarchs who were lying next to her. Aside from the Royal Guards stationed in front of her, there was little to differentiate Livia from these lower noblewomen, a fact that displeased Livia. ‘Cybele treats me like I’m twelve,’ thought Livia. ‘The people love me, as do the Matriarchs. But soon I’ll be declared a Goddess, and perhaps Cybele will be wise enough to make me the next Empress. I can make the people love me in a way that Julia never could.

‘But then again, for an Empress, what’s love without respect? A sword without a hilt. I need to be a strong ruler. Not strength like my twin sister Julia has. Her strength is like iron, cold and cruel and lacerating. No,’ thought Livia, ‘I’ll have to find another kind of strength.

‘After I have the Red Spice, though, everything will change. They’ll declare me a Goddess. They people will worship me, as they do Cybele and Juno. I’ll have an entire church devoted to myself, with millions of men and women utterly devoted to me. They’ll offer everything to me: their gold, their bodies, their very lives. And I’ll be a merciful goddess, and reward my followers greatly.

‘But what is it,’ thought Livia, ‘to be a goddess?’ When Livia was young, she believed the stories wholly and entirely. She thought back to the stories. Juno was granted immense power by the heavens, and became something more than a woman. She became Goddess of Rome and its people, with beauty and power and glory immense. The people stood in awe of her, worshipped her, as was only right for them to do. They sacrificed themselves to please her, for their small lives were nothing before her greatness. To repay their gratitude, she brought great riches to Rome, and crushed the enemies of the Empire. Juno birthed a single daughter, Cybele, who became a goddess nearly as great as herself. 

Then Juno died, as all Romans know, for even a Goddess must die one day. Yet though her body was dead, as the stories went, she lived on. For it was the day of her death that Juno was reborn as a true Goddess, one far greater and more powerful than she had been even in life. She ruled from a great throne in the clouds, high above Mount Olympus. All the women in Juno’s line would follow in her footsteps, becoming goddesses in life as well as death. 

And so it would go on, until one day a Great Enemy would arise. On that day, the goddesses would come down onto the mortal plane, and their footsteps would crack the very foundations of the earth. A battle would ensue between these giants, and the great cities of the earth would be trampled under the footsteps of these goddesses. In the end, the faithful said, the goddesses would prevail.

That was the story that they told, and it was shouted with great conviction by every Priestess in the Empire. It was the story that Livia had been told since she was a young child, and one that she once believed in with all her heart. Yet as Livia grew older, her confidence began to wane, and soon she found herself doubting the stories. What made Juno or Cybele any different from any of the other Matriarchs? What if Juno wasn’t reborn in the heavens? These questions nagged at Livia. Livia felt like a princess, but not a goddess, and she wasn’t sure if any spice could chance that. Maybe, thought Livia, the Red Spice wasn’t any more magical than Pepper or Paprika. Then again, Paprika didn’t make you grow to enormous heights. The Spice did. Even if couldn’t grant everlasting life, it could grant immense size. And size, thought Livia, was power.

The Dream

Livia, feeling sleepy, tried to imagine what it would be like after she started to have the Red Spice. She pictured herself in the white glory of the great temple, surrounded by countless worshippers. Her eyes closed, and the softness of the couch pulled her away from the clamor of the coliseum. 

The sights and sounds of the Coliseum faded away, and the images in her mind became more real. She was drinking the Red Spice from a heavy gold cup, the glowing red crystals of the spice dissolved in a dark merlot. She felt the warmth of the spice engulfing her, surrounding her, like they said it did. In her dream, she pictured a powerful sensation overtaking her. And as that happened she felt herself growing, felt herself becoming bustier and fuller as she grew taller. It happened slowly at first. Her blouse felt tighter, then her panties, then her robe,. The fabric of her clothes stretched, then ripped, and soon her robe and undergarments were torn and lying in a pile below her on the floor. And she felt herself growing, faster now, the sensation of warmth becoming more and more powerful. At first it didn’t feel like she was getting bigger, not exactly; it felt like the world around her was growing smaller. The men around her came up past her knees only a few short moments ago, but seemed to be shrinking smaller and smaller.

She was growing, becoming not just taller, she realized, but more massive. Her height had more than doubled by now, but her weight had increased twenty-fold. Her arms and legs felt heavy. For a second she felt as if she couldn’t bear her own weight, until she realized that the strength of her muscles and bones had grown twenty-fold as well. 

She felt an incredible strength within her, and Livia became aware of how powerful she was. She was still growing, and she grew bustier and fuller as she grew taller. Livia felt her breasts becoming huge and heavy. She felt her body growing heavier, far heavier, and she heard the hard tiles of the temple floor cracking beneath her weight. She looked down, and suddenly noticed the hundreds of men that were gathered around her. Though they were grown men they looked smaller than mice to her. To her amazement they hadn’t tried to run: the stood there, staring up at her with stunned silence. 

As she grew, Livia felt something else: hunger. Livia bent over. Without fully realizing what she was doing, Livia felt herself grabbing one man, than another, and stuffing them into her mouth. Bent over, she grabbed them up by the handfuls as she walked around, not watching her footsteps. The men didn’t make any attempt to run, or even move out of the way. They barely seemed to react at all. There was something strange about them, but Livia didn’t stop to think. Instead, she bent over again to grab some more. She was still growing larger: now she could scoop up a dozen men or more with each hand. She tossed them into her mouth and swallowed greedily, one after another. In the dream, questions of morality didn’t even occur to her: she simply liked the way they squirmed as they fell down her throat.

She grabbed another man, but as she was about to toss him into her mouth, she heard him call “Livia!” and she recognized his voice. Livia looked down at the man, and instantly recognized his golden hair: it was her boyfriend, Aureus. “Livia,” he called out, “please, I love you!”

Livia said nothing, her big eyes looking down at Aureus full of sympathy. Livia didn’t want to hurt him, but she was so, so hungry… His tiny eyes stared back at her. “I’m sorry, love,” she said, and tossed him down her mouth. And as a tear welled up in her right eye, she swallowed Livia felt the vibration from his muffled screams as he was pushed down her throat, and it felt good. ‘It’s okay,’ Livia told herself, not believing it. ‘He’s… part of me now. He’ll always be with me. He’s…. No… No…”

But then, a powerful sensation of pleasure went through Livia. As much as it hurt that Aureus was gone, the pleasure was enough to make her forget. Eating him felt good. Livia, for a moment, was satisfied.

“Livia!” “Livia!” “Livia!” Livia heard a thousand voices calling her from down below. She looked into the crowd, and saw hundreds of men standing there, staring up at her. And then she noticed what had been strange about them. Each of them had the same long, golden hair. Each of them had the same color of skin, the same body, the same voice. Each of them, she realized with horror, was Aureus. 

“Aureus,” she called out… And just then, she felt herself growing, much faster than before. Each second the men looked tinier and tinier, yet still she grew. Her long legs felt strange as they grew, and the ground below her seemed to be falling away as she grew upward. Livia lost her footing, and felt herself stumble. Her feet came crashing down upon the crowd, crushing dozens of the identical men. A shock of terror went through Livia, and yet a part of her liked the way it felt to crush them. A part of her wanted more. She tried to stop, but found her feet coming down again, then again, each time leaving a bloody crater in the temple floor. She tried to stop herself, but it was no use.

Livia felt herself growing even faster now, and the walls of the temple were growing tight. She felt her head crashing through the temple ceiling, and a moment later the temple itself seemed no larger than a child’s plaything. She grew again. Her already large breasts had grown to be so huge that she could scarcely have held them up now with both hands. The city of Rome stood before her, in all its glory, and yet it looked so small, so delicate. Livia saw its streets were teeming with people. She tried to stand still, but a strange impulse was driving her forward. Her feet were as wide as the temple now. One step, and she felt a square of buildings crushed to nothingness below her feet. Another, and she felt a crowded marketplace crushed into the ground below her. She heard hundreds of voices screaming out, their voices squelched as her foot came down upon them. And the destruction horrified Livia, but what horrified her most was something else: she liked it, she realized. She was enjoying this. 

Livia threw her body down upon Rome, in agony and ecstasy. She felt thousands of buildings crushed below her, leaving an outline of her curvaceous body on the city streets, painted in blood and death and destruction. And she felt so many lives ending. Ten thousand lives being ended by her immense tits alone as they crashed down, destroying every building that lied under them. Part of her wanted so badly to stop. But as terrible as the destruction was, it all felt so good.

But then she felt a new sensation, at first deep in her abdomen, and then between her legs. It wasn’t lust, or at least wasn’t only lust. It was a hunger, the likes of which Livia had never felt before. The hunger was growing greater and greater, and with it the pain, until soon the pain was too much for her. She writhed in agony. Livia tried to ease the pain by pleasuring herself, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. And then she felt another pain, a stranger pain, and yet this one too was tinged with pleasure. She felt her body changing, felt her stomach twisting. And she felt something else. It was growing deep inside of her, something with a terrible hunger and terrible power. Something that could come to control her, maybe even come to destroy her. Yet she wanted it more than anything else. Livia she felt a pain worse than any she had felt before. And in her dream, she screamed. 

Livia woke up in a cold sweat, and felt sick to her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she had actually screamed or not. ‘But what,’ she thought, ‘was that dream about?’ Livia thought of Aureus. She would never hurt Aureus. She would never hurt anyone, for that matter, not unless she had no choice. ‘Well... perhaps,’ thought Livia, ‘if they were enemies of Rome, or if they had committed a crime, or maybe, just maybe, if they had offered themselves to her freely as a sacrifice. But still,’ she told herself, ‘I would not enjoy it. And not Aureus. Never Aureus.’ She remembered how sick she had felt after executing the interloper in the baths. But in the dream, it all felt so good. 


Livia watched the arena below, trying to forget about the dream. The gladiatrix picked up a live elephant with both hands, throwing it into a group of gladiators. The elephant rolled along its side, knocking down gladiators like bowling pins. While the men were still lying on the ground, the gladiatrix stomped on them. Her feet came down on top of them, one after another, the weight of her body crushing them like bugs. Livia cringed at the slaughter. ‘What a waste,’ she thought, disgusted. ‘How cruel,’ thought Livia, ‘to force men to participate in such barbarity!’ But what really disgusted her was something else. Part of her, she realized, was starting to enjoy the bloodshed.

Julia

As the gladiatorial games raged below, Julia watched from her private balcony, set on the top tier of the Great Coliseum. Julia, at almost thirty feet high, towered over her two armed protectors, each of whom barely came up past her hips. She wore a skimpy leather cuirass over her short black skirt, enough to protect her from minor scratches, and not much more. It was all the armor Julia expected to need for the day’s fight. 

Julia walked over to her recliner, where a dozen or so small slaves waited for her. She started to sit down, and her slaves quickly scrambled out of the way. They learn quickly, she thought. She had just gotten this batch a few days ago. Julia didn’t remember what she had done to the slaves that she had before. Did they end up inside her stomach, or under her foot, or somewhere else entirely? She didn’t recall, not that it mattered either way. The best slaves came from the far eastern nation of Sinae. They had been hard to come by the last few years, and Julia had burned through her supply. These slaves, meanwhile, were cheap, ill-trained, disposable things. If she broke them, as she often did, there were countless more waiting to take their place. 

“Lucunditas,” ordered Julia, as she lifted up the front of her red skirt. The slaves didn’t speak Latin, but they at least understood a few basic commands. The slaves looked at each other, before one of them walked up in front of Julia. After hesitating a moment, he walked over to her, ducking under her skirt and crawling between her legs. They were proportionately thin, yet each of them was as wide as the trunk of a midsize tree. Then, with some trepidation, he did what he was expected to do. 

The slave, nestled under Julia’s skirt, walked between his mistress’ thick legs. Coming to her crotch, he hesitated for a moment, before he slowly pulled apart Julia’s labia. The scent overwhelmed him at first: it was at once heavier and sweeter than he had imagined. He looked for the button, as they called it in his language. He wasn’t experienced, but he found it easily enough, and without wasting any time he started. He moved his head between her labia: they were just high enough that his entire head fit neatly between them. He placed his mouth around her clitoris, as big a mandarin orange, and he started to lick. It came naturally to him. He wanted to please her however he could. He did it a little more, using his lips this time. Julia’s legs shook, and the slave felt her powerful thighs push against him, almost knocking him over. He realized how easy it would be for her to crush him, if she wanted. It that moment that he truly realized just how powerful she was. 

Julia, on the other hand, had always been well aware of how powerful she was. She knew just how easy it would be to crush that poor, lucky slave between her legs. If I actually pushed my thighs together, she thought, or not so accidentally… But she wasn’t about to stop him. This slave wasn’t the best she’d had, Julia thought. He was certainly nowhere near as good as Unum, her first female slave. Julia thought of Unum’s thin fingers and long tongue, and wished she’d brought the slave with her to the Coliseum. And Julia had her share of female friends and servants, some of whom had gotten quite adept at pleasing her over the years. But this one wasn’t bad for a man. Not bad at all. 

To be fair, thought Julia, it wasn’t really fair to hold male slaves to the same standard as women. They’re such pathetic little creatures, and it’s not like they can get much experience. After all, she thought with a smile, I’ve never had a man please me and live to tell the tale. As they say, no man can touch the body of a goddess and live. And I’m practically a goddess. Besides, she thought with a smile, it feels so good to crush them. 

The slave was pleasing Julia, yet she sat up on her couch, careful not to crush the slave between her thighs. Not yet, she thought, not until I’m finished. Julia looked down. Far below, down in the arena, a forty-foot gladiatrix was busy decimating a crowd of gladiators. Julia watched with amusement as the giantess crushed a succession of small guards, stomping on one, then another, crushing them like bugs. She’s a Brute, thought Julia. This fight won’t be easy. But it will be fun.

The Brutes had once been women who reacted poorly to the spice. They would grow bigger and stronger at a rapid pace, but they lost their minds in the process, becoming simple and animalistic. They were considered almost as low as men, the only highborn women who ever became slaves. Sedated and trained properly, they could become laborers or builders, using their impressive strength to lift immense bricks and stones. But some never lost their animalistic nature. Those Brutes became warriors, to be loosed on the enemy in battle like wild dogs. Julia had seen them firsthand, watching from behind the frontlines. They could tear through enemy forces with a mad ferocity, crushing enemies and friends alike. Even smaller Brutes could be deadly. The biggest of them were beautiful whirlwinds of violence and fury. And, thought Julia, they were a hell of a lot of fun to watch. Some of the warriors would be trained as a Gladiatrix: to fight in the arena, like this one, slaughtering woefully outmatched gladiators. 

Julia thought that she could defeat the Gladiatrix. The Brute stood ten feet higher than her, sure, but Julia had trained against larger opponents. The Brute would be strong, and fast, and bloodthirsty, but so was Julia. By the time they fought, thought Julia, the Brute would have been fighting for hours. It would be winded, perhaps even wounded. But there was another reason for her lack of concern. Julia’s personal trainer had given her something, in case the fight got out of hand: a dagger, which felt small in her hand. More of a needle than anything, really. Her trainer told her that the dagger was laced with a rare poison from the Far East. It was a kind of sedative: one swipe, and the Brute would go down, just like that.

Julia watched the Gladiatrix. She moved like a beast, thought Julia, yet her body was utterly feminine. Julia admired the creature’s beauty. Heavy breasts, a round ass, and that young, narrow face… If it wasn’t for her strange gait and her beastlike roars, she could have almost passed for a noblewoman. In fact, maybe she had been once. Julia preferred to kill things she considered ugly: things like men. Although even men, Julia thought as the slave sucked on her, aren’t entirely without a purpose.

Power. It was Julia’s reason for living. She loved having it, and she loved using it, with a kind of recklessness and nonchalance her sister hated and her mother often found distasteful. And in time Julia planned on being Rome’s empress, a position which would give her almost limitless power to abuse. As the firstborn daughter, Julia felt that she was the true heir: even if she had only been born half an hour earlier, and even if the priestesses insisted that they should get to decide. As long as her mother made her Empress, and not her weak sister Livia, it would all be hers. 

As the slave suckled on her womanhood, Julia imagined herself as Empress, with all the might of Rome belonging to her. And the thought pleased her, perhaps even more than the slave’s tongue did. Julia’s eyes shut. This one is good, thought Julia, as he sucked on her clitoris, gently, but not too gently. She bit her tongue. And though Julia said nothing, her lips mouthed a single word, over and over. “yes, yes, yes…”

Julia’s legs convulsed, as they did before an orgasm. The slave didn’t stop; he couldn’t stop. He was enjoying this almost as much as Julia was. And he could tell that she was about to climax. Her legs flung apart, then pressed together. The slave felt her thighs pressing hard against his body. At first, it felt good, being enveloped in the softness of her thighs. But then she pressed together harder, and harder, squeezing the slave’s shoulders and ribs painfully. The slave felt as if her thighs would crush him. Julia yelled out, “yes, yes… Yes!!!” and though the slave didn’t know her language, he understood exactly what she meant. The slave felt a deep shudder go through Julia’s body. Julia’s legs came together, then flew back apart. The slave felt a sense of accomplishment: he had pleased his mistress, and a beautiful mistress, at that. He was a man now. And he was still alive.

Julia felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This slave was talented, for a male. She could leave him alive; keep the slave around for the next time she felt like a good time. But why ruin her perfect record? The slave was still between her thighs. She pressed her legs together, as hard as she could, and felt her powerful thighs crush him. She felt his upper body squeeze flat, felt his bones crush, and felt the warm trickles of blood running down her legs. She spread her legs apart, and the slave’s body, or what was left of it, fell onto the ground in front of her. And for a second, she felt a twinge of something that alien to her: regret. But soon, it faded. 

Julia didn’t have to say a word: her slaves knew what to do. The other slaves came over and dragged away the body, dumping it off the side of the bed, where other slaves would haul it away. Other slaves washed the blood off Julia’s thighs with white towels, which soon became stained with splotches of deep red. Julia picked up one of the slaves and dropped them into her mouth. The other slaves looked up at her for just a second, a shocked look on their faces, and then quickly carried on with their scrubbing. 

The slave barely fit in her mouth. Julia had always wanted to be able to swallow a man whole, to feel a man squirm as he slid down her throat. For now, thought, she didn’t mind having to chew them up first. Julia could feel him sitting on her tongue, his arms flailing wildly against the roof of her mouth. Julia toyed with him for a bit, pushing him around with her tongue. The slave struggled, fighting to get out. He was able to reach a single arm out of her mouth before Julia’s long tongue pulled him back in. Julia started to chew on the slave. He let out a short scream, which stopped as she chewed again. Julia enjoyed the way their flesh tore between her front teeth, the way her molars grinded the men into a thin red paste, the way their pain was transmuted into her pleasure. She chewed on the slave, swallowing him one chunk at a time. 

Julia looked down towards the arena and watched the gladiatrix fight below. I’m looking forward to this fight, she thought as she swallowed the last of the slave. It should be fun. She smiled, blood showing between her white teeth.

The Envoy

The envoy looked up the Goddess as she sat on her throne, and tried his best to stop his legs from shaking. Cybele towered above him, bright sunlight warming her perfect skin. It was hard to believe she was a truly a woman, and not some shapely Colossus statue in a crimson dress. The throne was as big as a castle, and Cybele was every bit as immense. She was beautiful, a true Roman goddess, with dark hair and olive skin. Her thick curves were barely contained by her dress, and her huge breasts spilled over the top of her blouse. The goddess didn’t bother to look at the envoy, though he knew that she was aware of his presence. Instead she looked out towards the arena. There was a steely look on her beautiful face that sent chills running through his spine. He was an experienced speaker and a talented envoy, yet in front of her he could hardly work up the nerve to say a single word. He knew that she wouldn’t like what he was going to say.

“Y-Your-your grace,” he said, trying to compose himself. He spoke loudly, for although this section of the Coliseum was strangely quiet, some of the clamor from below seeped through. “Your Grace… Your Grace, Your Goddess, your beauty and glory, I come before you, though I am not worthy of your attention. Me and my fellow envoys represent the humble nations of Britannia, a nation which has long pledged their loyalty to Rome.” They envoy hadn’t come alone: though he represented the whole of Britannia, ten other representatives, representing specific districts, stood behind him.

For a moment the envoy forgot his words. He looked around for a moment, taking in the glory of the scene in front of him. They were in a special throne room on the highest level of the arena, reserved for the Empress to use during the games. Sunset poured through the open-air room, reflecting off the dark iron of the throne. The long room looked narrow compared to the goddess, yet the envoy realized that it was wider than any building he had stepped foot in until today. It had no ceiling, no roof, yet huge stone columns stretched up along the walls, holding up nothing in particular. Cybele, tall and curvaceous and beautiful in her red dress, sat in an iron throne as immense and overwhelming as she was.

Flanking the sides of the long and narrow room were dozens of Queen’s Guards, giant, steely-eyed women in skimpy steel cuirasses and red capes. Their scant armor was designed more for showing off their athletic builds than protecting them in battle. The Queen’s Guard was mostly ceremonial, as Cybele was more than capable of taking care of herself, but all of her guardswomen were extremely capable soldiers. The steel cuirasses provided some protection to their abdomen, leaving their arms, chest and upper legs completely exposed. They were lined up in order of size: the shortest guards, standing barely forty feet high, were near the entrance, while the tallest, near the throne, stood just over fifty. The tallest guards barely came up past Cybele’s waist.

Around the base of the throne were a dozen male slaves, quietly lotioning Cybele’s feet or painting her toenails. Up above, he realized, there were dozens of slaves sitting on the throne’s wide armrests. These slaves simply stood there apprehensively, as if they were waiting to perform an unpleasant duty. Without looking down at the envoy, Cybele spoke two words: “Come closer.” Though her tone was understated, there was a powerful command to her voice, which boomed and echoed through the narrow room. The envoy’s mind raced as he wondered what Cybele was thinking.

The envoy walked towards the goddess, stopping just in front of her feet. The other envoys followed behind him. He realized how small he was next to her: at six foot one, he barely stood as high as her ankle. Her feet, though not large in proportion, were as long as draft horses, her legs stretching up like redwoods under her long dress. He stared for a moment at her feet, taking in just how big they were. She could crush all of us in a single step, he thought.

Cybele said a single word: “Speak.” Her voice was commanding, but it was something more than that. It was as if she somehow knew exactly what the envoy planned to say, and was displeased by it. The empress lifted the front of her huge feet off the ground. It was a gesture that should have been harmless, yet her immense size made it threatening. The slaves rushed underneath, and started to rub and lotion the bottom of her feet.

The envoy took a moment to gather his thoughts before he began. “Your Grace and Glory, Britannia has served the Empire with unfailing loyalty. We have dedicated our churches to the adoration of your grace, the Empress and one true Goddess. We have sent you troops to aid you in battle, tens of thousands of men, each of them proud and strong warriors. We have ended our civil wars at your behest, for they weakened us and made us less able to serve the Empire. And we have sent gifts of tribute each week, as you asked, generous gifts of gold and beasts and men.”

“And?” said the goddess, with barely veiled anger in her voice.

“Rome has brought great fortune to Britannia, and nothing would please us more than to show our thanks. Yet we are a small nation, and not a rich one. We send you heavy shipments of gold, though our own reserves are running short. We give Rome countless oxen and cattle, though in much of Britannia our own people are starving. And you ask for men—”

Before the envoy could finish his sentence, Cybele’s feet slammed down against the floor. Her heavy feet crushed the dozen slaves who had toiled beneath her with a sickening crunch. In an instant Cybele’s powerful feet crushed the slaves into goo. A thick splat of blood hit the envoy’s forehead. Streams of crimson liquid slowly ran between Cybele’s toes and trailed along the stone floor. A dozen lives ended, thought the envoy fearfully, because of a whim.

“Yes, I ask for men.” Cybele spoke calmly, even politely, as if nothing had happened. “I ask for men, and gold, and food, for I am a Goddess, and you are my subjects, and you will serve me however you can. Rome has brought you great blessings over this last century. All I ask for in return from Britannia are a few meager gifts of tribute. Guards, bring the envoys to me. Set them down where they’ll be more comfortable.”

The two Queen’s Guards nearest to the throne responded. Each of them stood over fifty feet tall. They were much alike: long, dark hair, athletic builds. Each was attractive without quite being beautiful, and each had the same air of ruthless, dispassionate confidence. They walked towards the envoys with long strides, shaking the ground with their steps. One of them bent down in front of the envoy, looking down at him, her pretty face devoid of any obvious emotion. Soon the envoy found himself enclosed in hands that were larger than his body. The female guard lifted him up into the air. A moment later, the envoy felt the guard’s fingers opening up, dropping him above the Goddess’ lap.

He fell onto the softness of Cybele’s thigh, and felt himself rolling into the center of her lap, the fabric of her dress bouncing him like a trampoline. The Queen’s Guards dropped the other representatives onto her, and they rolled one by one onto the dress’ fabric, suspended between her thighs. Cybele lowered her knees. Suddenly, the envoy felt himself rolling head over heels towards the edge of the shelf formed by Cybele’s huge dress. It was a long fall to the ground below. Then, as he was just about to roll off the edge, he felt himself suddenly stopping as Cybele raised her legs.

For the first time, Cybele looked down at the envoy. “You really ought to be more careful,” she said with a tone of cruel mock-concern that was somehow almost convincing. “Come closer.” With that she rose her legs back into the air, sending the envoy and his crew rollicking towards onto her lap. They came to a rest near her crotch, nestled between her thighs. “Now what,” said Cybele, “did you want to tell me?”

He stood up as best as he could on the fabric of her dress, faltering at first before regaining his balance. “Your glory, each week for the past thirty-eight years, with a single exception, the nation of Britannia has sent you one thousand men as a tribute. Each of the thousand men is in good health, as you specified, no younger than eighteen and no older than thirty five. They’re rounded up, chained, and shipped in carts, all the way to Rome. Some of these men were willing volunteers who decided to sacrifice themselves to you. Most were criminals, vagabonds, the like, undesirables. And until recently, we rarely needed to look beyond our prisons to find one thousand men. But the recent famines have hurt our numbers, and it's been difficult to find enough men. We’ve had to round up men in the streets, forcing innocent men into the wagons at sword-point. And all those young men, simply gone… it’s been a terrible drain on our resources. We don’t have enough men to work the fields, enough to man our defenses. And all those innocent lives…”

“So?” There was something almost seductive about the way she spoke that word. Cybele reached her right hand beside the throne’s armrest, where dozens of loincloth-clad slaves stood waiting. In an instant, the envoy realized what they slaves were waiting for. He watched as Cybele reached out to pick up a single slave, a man who stood no taller than the queen’s middle finger. Cybele wrapped her fingers around the slave with an elegant motion. Then, without bothering to look at her food, she leaned back her head and dropped the slave into her mouth. She swallowed him as if it were nothing.

Cybele looked down at the envoy. He looked back up at her, gazing past her mountainous breasts. “Well?” Her ever-shifting voice seemed almost caring now. “Do the people of Britannia believe my tributes are too onerous? Too burdensome?”

With that, she reached her arm back over to the armrest, this time with a carelessness to her motions. As she reached her arm out, her arm shoved a few slaves off the side of the armrest, sending them plummeting forty feet to a hard stone floor. Cybele barely seemed to notice their screams, let alone care. This time Cybele didn’t pick up a single slave, but a small handful: it was difficult to tell whether it was three or four of them. She dropped them into her mouth, one after another, and swallowed. The envoy realized this was no meal for her; these men were mere snacks.

“Speak, envoy.”

It took the envoy a moment to gather the courage. “Your grace, I have been tasked by the great houses of Britannia to ask a simple request: that you allow us to send you fewer men in tribute, at least until the famine ceases. I believe it is a reasonable request, and I—“

“And this is a matter for an envoy, not a goddess, to decide?”

“Your Grace, I—“

“You peon, I am Empress of Rome and the only living Goddess on this earth. It is my place to demand whatever I wish from my worshippers, and your duty to submit to it. Or do you aim to dishonor me?”

“No, your Grace, I only aim to ease our peoples’ burden—“

“‘To ease your burden.’ As if it is a burden, and not an honor, to sacrifice your men to me. Why are these Britons so unwilling to sacrifice themselves? Is Britannia a nation of atheists and idol worshippers, and if it is, why shouldn’t I cleanse its filth from this earth? Or are you simply unwilling to sacrifice for me?”

The envoy felt fear and rage building up inside of him. Suddenly, he found himself yelling out, “They fear you!”

Cybele took a moment to respond. “They fear me?” she said with bemusement. “Why do they fear me?”

“There are stories…”

“Stories? What kind of stories? Tell me.”

“Stories about what you—what your Grace does… what happens to the tributes…”

“Go on.”

“…They say that every man sent to your Grace as a tribute…dies.”

“All men die. But go on.”

“…They say that your Grace devours her tributes. That you can eat ten thousand in a single day. That you swallow most of them whole, so the acids of your stomach burn through men’s skin while they still live.”

“And?”

“…they say that you like to… crush the men, as you did to those slaves earlier. Under foot. And under your posterior. And between your… your…”

“My what?”

“Between your… breasts.”

“Oh?” She said, fidgeting her arms. The motion made her enormous breasts heave and shake in her blouse. “Do go on. Tell me all about the rest of these rumors.”

“Some of these acts are improper to speak of in front of any lady, let alone a goddess like your Grace.”

“Please. You may speak freely. In fact, I insist.”

“They say… The rumors say that you insert men into your… your womanhood. And some say… but this is truly unbelievable… some say that your womanhood somehow… devours men, sucking them up, as if it were a beast.”

“What stories,” she said with a twisted smile. “And yet Britannia’s men are reluctant to sacrifice themselves to me? With stories like that, you’d think they’d be all too eager.”

“They have not gazed upon the beauty of your grace, I’m afraid.”

“But you and your friends now have.”

“Yes.”

“Envoy,” she said, pausing for a moment to toss a slave into her mouth. She swallowed, then continued on. “You mentioned earlier that Britannia has always delivered their tributes… with a single exception, some twenty years ago. Do you remember what happened when Britannia failed to pay their full tribute?”

“…Of course, your grace. You sent an army to Britannia, an army of women, giant women, some nearly as tall as yourself. You sent them to Yorkshire. I had grown up in Yorkshire. I wasn’t there at the time, but I heard the stories. Immense women, some eighty feet tall, crushed homes and churches like they were mere toys. Men and women were crushed underfoot like insects. Few survived, and there was nothing left of the city. I lost my father, my mother, my younger brother… Everyone I had ever truly known. Gone. Crushed into the dirt. Just like that.”

“You speak as if my actions were unjust? You dare to question my actions? Britannia did not give me what was rightfully mine, so I took it, and then some. Every man and woman in that city was delivered as a blood sacrifice unto me. There is no higher honor for such people. Though I admit, I enjoy the sacrifices far more when I take them myself. I’m disheartened to learn that your people have so little love for me. That they would ask me to change my mind, as if learning the hardships of some pathetic little men would assuage my desires. I have learned much for our conversation.

‘I’ve learned that the people of Britannia are a wretched lot of heathens and atheists. I’ve learned that Britannia has no loyalty to me. Perhaps it would be a mercy to crush your pathetic nation, if you are so unworthy. I could send my legions in. I could have Britannia burnt to the ground in a week.

‘But I can be a merciful goddess. I will not destroy the people of Britannia. But changes will be made. Atheism and heathenism will be outlawed, punishable by death. A woman of my choosing will be instated as Governess of Britannia, to rule in my honor as she sees fit. You will bow to her every whim as you would mine. As punishment for your nation’s insolence, and for having the impudence to speak with me as you did, I demand a larger tribute. Britannia’s tribute will be increased to two thousand men each week, for me to crush and devour as I please. The new Governess will see to it that you do not fail.

‘You look displeased, envoy. Does something about my orders upset you? Ah, perhaps it’s because I forgot the last part of my orders. I’m taking you and your compatriots as an additional tribute.”

“No… Please… but… your Grace, who will deliver the message?”

“Rome has no shortage of couriers, and it’s not as if it would be difficult to relay a message. You know, those rumors you spoke of weren’t so far off,” she said, taking one of the representatives in her hand. He was a large one, tall and stout with a great beard, yet she picked him up as if he weighed nothing. “I like to kill men. I like to eat them, to crush them, to use them for my fulfillment. It… pleases me greatly,” she said, speaking slowly, savoring each word as if it was a delicacy. “Some say it’s the spice that gives women such desires. Surely that’s part of it. But there’s another reason. I’m a Goddess. And a goddess requires worship.”

She set him between her knees. She extended her feet forward. He rolled down her dress, between her legs. The dress came to an end about ten feet off the ground, and from there he fell. He hit the ground with a thud, landing hard on his side. The man found himself unable to move, unable to speak, unable to scream. Cybele moved her huge foot on top of him, slowly, almost playfully, before pinning him down, with the man’s head under her little toe, and his feet partway towards her heel. The man felt her foot pushing down on him.

“I think I’ll have a little fun with you. It feels sooo good,” she said, “taking a man’s pathetic little body and crushing it under my feet. It’s so easy. Just a little pressure at first. You feel his body start to give way. Then you push a little more, then a little more…” she pushed down ever so slightly on her heel, and the flesh of the man’s legs was pinched against the ground. A little more, and he felt his breaking, his pelvis shattering. And yet somehow, he never screamed.

She pushed down harder with her foot, collapsing his ribcage, yet not yet killing them. “Even my little toe is bigger than your head. I could crush your tiny, pathetic head with my little toe.” She pressed her toe against his head. Her toe pressed down against him, softly at first. “I will accept your offering.” Suddenly she pushed down as hard as she could. His head collapsed instantly under the pressure, cracking like a watermelon, and spilling blood and brain onto the stone floor.

“My feet have been worshipped enough for now. But these… these need some devotion,” Cybele said as her hands cupped the bottom of her immense breasts. She opened the top of her blouse. Her huge, full breasts spilled over her dark velvet bra. “All these tedious petitioners, it’s just been one after another… My breasts haven’t gotten enough worship lately.” She grabbed another one of the representatives, this one short and thin, and nestled him between her huge breasts. Then, she reached up onto the armrest and grabbed a few slaves with her right hand, again dropping them onto her breasts. She pushed them between her ample cleavage, nudging them with a delicate touch. She pushed her hands against the sides of her breasts. Her hands pushed her huge breasts together, and lifted them upward until the top of her breasts almost reached her chin.

The envoy watched his compatriot, whose head just barely rose above her cleavage, reaching his hands into the air in an attempt to climb upward. After a moment, the man stopped fighting. His head, then his arms, were soon enveloped by her pillowy breasts. She pushed harder, squeezing her gigantic breasts together until it looked almost painful. Cybele pushed together as hard as she could. “So pathetic, so weak. Feel how powerful my tits are. Worship… my… tits!” A sickening crunch. Crimson blood splattered onto her breasts. She let go of her breasts slowly. As her breasts lowered and separated, the crushed bodies of the men became visible, though they could hardly be recognized as such. They were little more than blood-red goo splattered onto her breasts. She rolled her head back, a look of deep satisfaction on her face.

The envoy looked behind him, and realized that only three of his compatriots remained. He looked back up at Cybele. “I feel like a goddess,” she said, “but body worship always makes me feel so hungry.” The envoy stood and watched as Cybele’s arm came down. She wrapped her long fingers around all three of them, picking them up and lifting them above her head. Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth and dropped one in. He managed to climb partway out of her mouth before Cybele’s long tongue wrapped around him and pulled him in. She swallowed. She dropped the second one into her mouth and swallowed greedily. The third she gently lowered down between her lips. He slid slowly between her partway-opened lips, then along her tongue. Cybele curled her head back and swallowed.

Cybele reached over and picked up the envoy, lifting him up so she could see him better. “Don’t feel apprehensive about the deaths of your comrades. Each of these men accepted their fate before they died. They offered themselves in sacrifice to me, one way or another.” She looked into his eyes. “I lost my scribe earlier today,” she said. She glanced down at her breasts with a look of mock-embarrassment. “I get a little… careless sometimes. You belong to me now, and I’m going to crush you between my tits. You’d look nice as a blood splatter between my cleavage, wouldn’t you?”

She smiled at him. “I could do it now. Take you as a tribute, feel your warm blood running between my cleavage. But you have another choice. You could become my new scribe. Your Latin is impeccable for a foreigner. I can tell from your speech that you’re a man of letters and a polyglot. I can use you. You’ll still be mine,” she said, closing her blouse. She set the scribe down between her cleavage. “Sooner or later I’ll sacrifice you to myself. But until that day, you can serve me. As a slave, and as a scribe.”

He hesitated for a moment. He tried to look up at her, but all he could see was the underside of her chin, her long neck, and the mountainous breasts that he rested between. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your slave.”

“Good. You’ll be of service to your goddess. What’s your name, slave?”

“Robert.”

“Robert? A strange name, but it will do. I take it you have a quill and some paper on you? Delegates from Greece and Seres are waiting to speak to me. Just write down what they say. And don’t make any mistakes,” she said, pushing her breasts together. Her cleavage enveloped Robert, pressing against his body and face, suffocating him. He turned his head to the side so he could breathe. “Or else. Oh, and your first order of Business? I have an idea for the new governess of Britain. Write down this name: Scarlett.”

The Arena

Dried blood and dismembered corpses littered the sun-baked sand of the arena. There were too many bodies to count: hundreds of men, dozens of horses, a few elephants, a handful of tigers. There was even one unfortunate giraffe, his long neck twisted by the beast’s huge hands. Only a few dozen gladiators were still alive and standing. They were scattered about the battlefield, fleeing whenever she got close, hoping that the beast would simply grow too tired to hunt them. Injured and exhausted, they had long since given up on fighting. The stragglers simply did their best to survive, trying to keep their distance from the huge beast that stalked them. But they could only run for so long. 

The gladiatrix was bruised and winded, her body caked with dried blood and dirt. Only her face was still clean, yet she was still beautiful for all her brutality. Her body was naked, save for three things: the mesh of ropes tied around her large breasts, the shackles on her wrists, and the chainmail garment that was tight around her hips. She sniffed into the air, searching for her next quarry. The gladiatrix no longer moved with the vigor that she had a few hours earlier, but she was still out for blood. 

She smelled one of them, a man standing near the edge of the arena. His scent told her that the man was tired, wounded, scared. The gladiatrix gave chase, standing up to walk on two legs. The man hobbled away on broken legs, but with her long strides the gladiatrix was upon him quickly. His back turned, she grabbed his legs, dragging him to the ground before lifting him up into the air. Tired, she let herself fall down onto the sand. The guard dangled by his feet, wriggling and writhing like a caught fish, but his struggle served only to entertain the cheering crowds. 

The gladiatrix dropped him into her mouth, closing her lips as soon as he was inside. He tried to back out of her mouth, feet first, forcing his feet out from between her lips. But then she chewed, biting down on his midsection once, then again. The man’s body went limp. His body was covered in sand and dirt, and while the gritty texture displeased the gladiatrix, she had grown used to it these last few hours. She chewed and swallowed his torso, then his lower body. The gladiatrix became suddenly aware of the fullness of her stomach, rubbing her hands over her now protruding belly. She had eaten many men today, dozens if not more, yet only now did she begin to feel full. 

Fullness was a sensation she was unused to. Her handlers often starved her: to keep her lean, and to keep her vicious. It was far from the only cruelty they visited upon her. When she trained, they would attach heavy chains to the shackles on her legs, which clanked and rattled as they dragged against the ground. The chains made her slow and clumsy, so that every movement was difficult. With so much weight on the shackles, and ankles would chafe and bleed. 

Sometimes she would refuse to fight, or try to flee from the arena during training, and they would shoot at her legs with. She had dozens of tiny scars from where the arrows had pelted her, some of them still painful. She would try to catch the archers, but with the heavy chains on her feet, she never could. But today, they had taken off the chains. Today, she was not starved. Today she could feast.

Remembrance of Things Crushed

Just before the battle, they had given her blood to drink, as they always did: but this blood was different. It had a strange, red glow to it, an unnatural glow. It was a glow that she hadn’t seen in years, a glow that reminded her of a time she had forgotten. 

She was young then, and small, smaller even then the gladiators she now so readily devoured. She remembered herself speaking, though the words she formed then now had little meaning to her. Another girl, as small as she was, had given her a small cup. It was filled with a strange liquid. A sound came to her, “Wine,” though she did not remember what it meant. The sound made her remember something: a taste she had once found pleasant, at once sweet and bitter. But then they poured some strange powder into the drink, and the wine started to glow. As she remembered the strange sensation, she thought of another sound: “Red.” This sound made her think of the blood she had spilled on the arena, and of the crimson banners that flew above the coliseum. And another sound came to her: “Spice.”

She remembered her friend taking the cup, pouring a small handful of crystals into the wine. Her friend drank first. The spice made her friend giddy, and she and started giggling uncontrollably. Then, slowly, her friend began to grow. Soon her clothes had become too tight. Her friend’s legs stretched out until her dress barely came to her knees. Her hips grew wider, until her once-loose dress now hugged her curves tightly. Her breasts grew, and her blouse started to tear, then suddenly ripped open. And then the growing stopped. Her friend, now almost a foot taller, laughed in amazement at her own growth.

She remembered taking the cup into her own hands. Memories rushed to her, half-recalled fragments of images and sensations. She remembered looking at the cup, half-full with the blood-red wine, the liquid glowing strangely. She remembered the strange feeling she had before drinking the wine, and another sound came to her: “Reluctance.” And yet she had taken the cup in her hand, and swallowed, just a bit at first, before swallowing what was left of it. She recalled the strange tingling in her throat, and the feeling of warmth that permeated her body. She remembered the pain that she had felt as her body started to grow, her limbs stretching, her clothes becoming tight. Her dress started to tear. And she remembered her body continuing to grow, until her dress suddenly ripped open. Her friend had laughed as her now tattered dress fell to the ground. She tried to cover herself, grabbing her breasts and crotch, and suddenly realized how big her breasts had become. Her once tiny breasts had grown big, and soft, and heavy. She realized that her hips had grown wider, her behind fuller. 

She expected herself to stop growing then, like her friend had. They had only sprinkled a few grains of the Red Spice into the wine, after all. But she felt herself growing, now even faster than before. The pain of growth turned to a warm sort of pleasure that radiated throughout her body. After a moment her friend barely came up to her chest, then her waist, then her knees. And her friend, who seemed so small now, started to look concerned, even scared. It was at that moment that her vision first started to get blurry. And then she started to feel it, a rage that welled up from the pit of her stomach. It was the same rage that would one day control her. She felt her thoughts fading, the words drifting away from her mind. In its place were simple images, simple sensations, simple desires.

She didn’t remember hurting her friend. All she remembered was finding her friend’s dead body, naked, and broken, lying by her feet. As she looked at it, she felt remorse, only for a moment, before the feeling faded away. But still she craved violence. She found herself growing again, until she towered over the small stone houses that surrounded her. She stomped on one, guided by her anger, and the house crumbled and fell over like it was made out of wet sand. Then a few men down the street saw her. They screamed and fled away from her, but it only made her want them more. She ran them down, stomping on one of them after another. As she felt her feet crushing them, she realized how big she was, how powerful she had become. And she wanted more. She spoke a single word, the last word that she would ever speak aloud, before continuing her rampage. 

She charged through the town, crushing homes and tearing men apart with her bare hands. It wasn’t the next morning, when the town was little more than a smoking ruin, that they finally captured her. At first it was only men and horses that came for her, and she crushed them almost as easily as she had the townspeople. But soon female soldiers came, soldiers nearly as big as she was. And though she was stronger than them, they outnumbered her greatly, and they were able to subdue her. They put her in chains, and marched her down a strange road.

A few days later she arrived at the Coliseum. Her eyesight was nearly gone by then, but her ears had grown sharper, and her nose sharper still. She listened to the eerie silence of the empty stadium, and she knew at once how vast it was. She smelled the blood and sweat of the arena, and knew that blood had been spilled earlier, and knew that there had been many men here. Prey.

Then something brought her back to reality: a bottle breaking upon her forehead. She let out a beastly roar. Men were booing at her. She had been sitting there for several minutes, and the crowd had become bored and angry. The gladiatrix let out a long roar; the noise displeased her greatly. She wanted nothing more than to stomp her way through the crowd, and feel the insects crushed under her feet. 

For the first time in years, she thought of leaving the arena. They had trained her not to leave the boundaries: each time she tried to leave, the pelted her legs with arrows. But this day was different, and she had no long chains to slow her down. She remembered the blood she had drank earlier, the strange way it glowed. Another word came to her mind, though she didn’t know its meaning: “Grow.” 

Growing Strong

A powerful sensation shot like lightning through her body. It was happening again, like it had before, so many years ago. Her stomach became tighter, as her body finally digested the men inside of her. And she felt herself growing more curvaceous. Her clothes, skimpy as they were, were rapidly becoming tighter, constricting her now-growing curves. Her soft breasts poured between the mesh of ropes she wore as a bra, as her chainmail undergarments became tighter around her hips and ass. The ropes around her chest started to tear, and the small metal links of her undergarments gave way one at a time. Then, suddenly, the ropes burst apart, her now huge breasts spilling out in a torrent. Her chainmail undergarments tore upon, freeing her crotch and revealing her perfectly rounded ass. And yet she wasn’t done growing. Not yet. She felt herself growing taller and taller. One minute she stood forty feet tall, then forty five, then fifty. She felt herself growing stronger, though her muscles didn’t become large and bulging like a man’s. And she felt the shackles around her wrists and ankles growing painfully tight, until in an instant their metal joints snapped open and fell to the ground. And still she grew, until the men around her looked small as mice, and she stood nearly sixty feet tall. 

She felt free now, free and alive and vigorous. But more than that, she felt intensely hungry. The gladiatrix sniffed the air, searching for prey. Circling near the edge of the arena were a series of large poles. She knew from their smell that they had chained bears and lions to them some time ago, but they were there no longer. Beyond that she smelled hundreds of armed guards. They encircled the arena, standing watch with long spears. And beyond the guards stood teeming masses of cheering spectators. She could tell from their smell that they were men, and that they were many. That was all she needed to know. 

The Beast

As she started to walk, the gladiatrix felt a euphoric sensation of warmth, stronger than it had been before. Soon, another sort of hunger came over her. The gladiatrix placed her hands on her shoulders and moved them downward, feeling the curvature of her breasts, her waist, her hips, her thighs. She was pleased, as was the now-cheering crowd. And then her hands ran between her legs. With the chainmail garment removed, she was able to feel herself fully, for the first time in ages.

Her desire was powerful, stronger even than her hunger. She placed her palm against her labia and rubbed herself: softly at first, then harder. And yet it wasn’t enough. Then she pictured the poles that circled the arena, with their rounded tops and thick shafts. She rushed to the nearest one, an animalistic lust guiding her movements. She placed her hand against the pole, its iron almost hot to the touch from the day’s warm sun. The pole was nearly ten feet high, yet now it barely came up past her ankle. She squatted down, and the pole slipped between her labia and into her vagina. She moved up and down against it, the pole going deep into her, its thick metal shaft rubbing against her. She moaned out in pleasure, for once sounding more like a woman than a beast. She did it more, faster and faster, her huge, heavy thighs throbbing up and down against the pole. The crowd cheered wildly.

She screamed out again, louder this time. Her moans rang out through the arena, feminine and animalistic. They washed over the crowd like a siren song for the crowd. Tens of thousands of helot serfs stood just outside of the arena. They were desperate to feel the soft flesh of a woman; many of them were drunk, and most of them had never been with a woman before. At that moment, they pushed forward madly, fighting and shoving. They pushed their way past the spear-wielding guards, who were quickly overwhelmed by the crowd, and ran over to touch this immense woman. 

The crowd of drooling serfs poured out around her. They saw her, her left hand against the ground, pushing up and down desperately to please herself. Dozens of men pushed under her, jumping and stretching their arms up to grope her thighs and ass. They were too drunk and too desperate to think of the danger: to realize how massive she was, how easily those womanly thighs and ass could crush them. Up and down she went, moaning loudly, the fat of her ass shaking. She thrusted up and down even harder now, her massive ass coming lower to the ground, until the men could sometimes touch her without having to jump. The pole slipped in and out of her, plunging deep into her body. She was coming closer to the ground, until the men could almost bend their heads back and lick her. And then she bounced a little lower. The force knocked down a dozen men to the ground, and yet she continued as if nothing had happened. She screamed out again, fucking the pole harder and harder. The pole started to come loose, tilting forward and backward as she moved with it. And then, as she moaned louder than before, her legs began to shake. 

She stumbled backward. The men under her realized for an instant what was about to happen, but it was too late for them to flee. Her heavy ass came down upon them. The men collapsed, forced down by the heavy weight of her body. A second later, and she lost control completely, falling down with all her weight. Her ass came crashing against the ground, seventy thousand pounds slamming against the hard sand with incredible force. 

The serfs looked up for an instant, and saw her huge, soft behind about to come down upon them. The gladiatrix fell upon them the men, with a force that could crush armies. And in an instant, they were reduced to goo, crushed between the hard sand and the gladiatrix's soft curves.

The men felt a quick jolt of pain, and then an instant later, nothing. But the gladiatrix felt everything. She felt the pole, thick and smooth and warm, rubbing hard against her body, penetrating deep inside of her. She felt herself falling back, knowing that her weight would crush the men under her, and yet she didn’t care. And she felt her ass falling onto the crowd of men, pressing down with all of her immense weight. Her body, once something that had once been so small and light and delicate, was now gigantic and powerful. 

Loud cheers erupted from the crowd. The gladiatrix felt her body coming down upon the men. She could feel her ass slamming down against the men below: breaking their bones, crushing them, squeezing the juices of their bodies. And she felt her ass crushing the men into the ground, squashing them to a thin paste. To the gladiatrix, it all felt amazing. But she was far from satisfied. She wanted more. 

She took the pole out of her. There were hundreds of men surrounding her, all of them hungry for her flesh. But the gladiatrix was hungry too. She grabbed two men, tossing them into her mouth one by one. She was big enough now that she could swallow them whole. One gulp, and the first man was sliding down her throat. Another gulp, and she felt a second man slide down, writhing as he went. 

Animalistic Urges

Men fought to get closer to her, fighting and pushing to touch her huge womanhood. The men looked small next to her immense crotch. Her labia, tall and thick, had grown engorged since her transformation. They rubbed against it, licked it, grabbed it. One man started to push his way into her vagina. The gladiatrix looked startled for a moment, then pleased. She reached her fingers above her vagina, then shoved the man in with two long fingers. It was a tall, stout man, but he was not large enough to satisfy her: not anymore. She grabbed another man from between her legs and forced him in, but still she craved more. She grabbed another, then another, until she her vagina was filled tight. And then, her pussy still hungry, she stuffed in one more. She felt their bodies wriggling around inside of her: whether they were struggling to get out, or to get in deeper, she couldn’t tell. 

As the men continued their writhing, the gladiatrix rubbed her fingers between her labia. A few times one of the men would try to get out, pushing out from between her vagina. She would simply slip her fingers down a few feet and push him back in, and then start rubbing herself once more. Soon the men inside her started to gasp for breath. But just as they were nearing asphyxiation, the gladiatrix began to crave more. She grabbed the pole, pushing it back and forward like a lever until it came completely loose from the ground. She clutched the wide pole with both hands, sliding its wide, rounded tip into her vagina. 

Then, with an animalistic lust guiding her hands, she shoved the pole deep into herself. She forced it in as hard as she could, felt it hitting the men inside her like a battering ram. At first she it only went in a few feet, but with each blow she battered the men inside, and which each blow she was able to force it just a bit deeper. The men inside screamed as they thrashed about desperately, but for the giantess, their thrashing only served to heighten her pleasure. 

The gladiatrix screamed out in ecstasy, her cries of pleasure echoing through the highest levels of the Coliseum. She slammed the thick iron pole in again and again, hard as a battering ram, as she felt the men inside of her crushed by its heavy blows. She screamed out again. She felt the iron pole penetrate deep into her, rubbing against the walls of her vagina, crushing the tiny men. She slammed it in again and again, harder and harder, until there was nothing left of the men except for goo and gristle. And as she felt the men crushed inside her, she felt pleased. But she was not yet fulfilled. For her, this had only been an appetizer. 

She felt a single man still writhing about deep inside of her, and she plunged the pole in as hard and deep as she could. The first blow hit him, and she felt the pole crushing his skull, and found herself pleased with her own power. A second blow and the man’s bones were shattered, his flesh becoming tender. And then a third blow, and a fourth, and a fifth. And again, she felt herself crushing his body into nothingness, for no purpose except her own pleasure. And again, this pleased her greatly. 

She felt herself nearing orgasm. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, intense and all-enveloping, yet still she wanted more: so much more. She thrusted the pole into herself with her right hand, hard as ever. With her left, she grabbed men from the crowd in front of her, stuffing them into her pussy: as many as she could fit, and more, and then more still. She thrusted the pole into herself as hard as she could, smashing the men inside of her into goo. And as she crushed more and more, she stuffed in more still, filling herself again, until even that wasn’t enough. And then, when it seemed as if she would have to crush every man in the stadium to please herself, she felt herself starting to orgasm. 

She slammed in the pole one last time, and blood sprayed out between the walls of her labia. She let out a long moan, her call rattling through the stadium. And finally, she came. Gallons of clear liquid gushed out of her, drenching the crowd in front of her with womanly fluids. The gladiatrix let out a long, satisfied sigh. And all through the coliseum, men cheered at the top of their lungs, their voices booming into the rafters. 

The gladiatrix heard their cheers, and sniffed into the air. She smelled the countless thousands of men, drunken and sweaty, stretching on for acres upon acres. And she felt the men swarming around her. Some of them were still trying to touch her after what had happened, undeterred or perhaps even encouraged by the slaughter. There were so many of them, and she was so hungry. Another sound came to her, “prey,” and she liked the way it sounded.

Far above in the highest levels of the coliseum, another giantess watched the display. The giantess was sprawled out on a couch as big as she was. A tiny slave pleasured her, his body hidden under the skirt of her leather cuirass. “I like her,” Julia said with a wicked smile. The slave licked her, his tiny head wedged between her labia. She shoved the slave’s head down, easing him into her vagina, then thrusting him slowly into her. “That gladiatrix, the way she crushed those worthless helots… She’s so wild, so ferocious, so bloodthirsty. And so gigantic. Not to mention rather… luscious,” she said, as she toyed with her tiny slave, thrusting him into herself a bit harder now. “Slaves, fetch me my gear. I think I’m just about done waiting. This is going to be an amazing fight.”

The Arena

“My gear!”

The slaves heard her every word, even over the din of the Coliseum. Down below Julia’s opulent flat couch, they scrambled to get their mistresses’ gear. They wasted no time getting her things. One of them struggled to hold one of her daggers, still in its sheathe, which look like an unusually broad great sword in his hands. Three more of them carried out a single short sword. It was a huge, heavy thing for them, like a great plank of wood, nearly 10 feet long with sharp edges.

It took them about a minute to lift the sword and bring out from under the couch. By the end of it, their arms were marked with cuts, and bloodied, yet they made no complaint. Julia wasn’t fond of her slaves complaining; or speaking, for that matter, unless she spoke to them first. And Julia’s slaves learn quickly not to do things that Julia wasn’t fond of.  Instead, they set down the gigantic sword with the utmost care; their lives could be forfeit if the sword received the smallest scrape.

They heard movement above them, thousands of pounds shifting about on the bed. Then, a moment later, Julia leapt off the bed, landing with an uncanny lightness in spite of her immense weight. She was slender, standing just over 30 feet tall, wearing a brown leather cuirass with short red skirt. Her feet nearly missed two of her slaves, who were still struggling to hold up her short sword. 

One of the slaves reflexively looked back, to glance at the woman who had very nearly in his life. He glimpsed down at her feet, each of which was about the length of his upper body. And in doing so, he lost his grip momentarily. The sword slipped from his hands. The other slaves did their best to hold onto the huge sword, but it fell to the ground, clanging loudly against the red brick floor.

The slave knelt down and started to pick the sword up, but something pushed hard against his back, knocking him face first onto the ground. His neck grazed past the tip the sword, drawing blood; a little closer, and it might have slit his throat.

He heard his mistresses’ voice above him. “How dare you disrespect my things.”

The slave felt her long foot against his back, holding him against the ground. “That short sword was made by one of the best smiths in Rome. It’s worth more than your lives. Far more.” She pressed down harder on him, her toes pushing the slaves’ cheek against the hard stone floor. Then she pushed a little harder, and a little harder, on the side of her foot, and the front, until it looked like the slaves’ ribs were about to break, or his skull might cave in like a pumpkin. And she pushed a little harder on the heel, until it looked like his pelvis was about to crack. 

“It would feel good,” Julia said, “to feel your clumsy little body crushed under my foot.” She pushed down even harder. “But good slaves are regrettably hard come by these days, especially ones that speak Latin. You’re lucky you speak the mother tongue.”

Just when it seemed like the slave could take no more, she let up off him, and the slave breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Pick it up,” she said, “and be more careful next time. Put away the short sword, I won’t be needing it today.”

“Yes, Julia,” said the slave, looking up at his mistress. He turned away from her, but no sooner than he did, her foot pushed him down again, harder than before.

“ You worm! How dare you address me by name, as if we were equals! You are to address me as your grace, your highness, or your beauty. Master or mistress also suffice.” She put her right foot on his back, putting much of her weight onto him. “But under no circumstances are you allowed to refer to me by name. Under no circumstances will you ever be worthy enough to utter a single syllable of my name.” She pushed even harder, and he let out a scream. There was a popping sound, then a sickly cracking sound. “And under no circumstances… Under no circumstances, slave, are you to look upon my face.” Julia shifted her weight onto her right foot. She didn’t push down hard, or put any particular effort into it. Merely shifting her weight, however, was all it took. With a crunch, her foot crushed him like a bug; his entrails ran out under the sides of her foot, and blood ran along the cracks in the brick floor. Julia stepped off his body, and looked down pridefully at the mess she had made.

A slave still held Julia’s dagger. He stood there, staring at the ground, struggling to hold up the huge dagger with shaking hands. “Hand me the dagger,” Julia said. The slave did not respond at first. Julia walked up next to him, taking pleasure in the slave’s obvious fear. “Do you understand what I told you? Hand me my dagger.”

“Yes… Yes, your grace,” the slave said, still staring at the ground. Julia took the dagger from the overburdened slave, sheathe and all. 

***

Julia stepped out to the ledge. She looked down to the wide pit far below her, at the base of the Coliseum. There, in the sands of the arena, was the massive gladiatrix, lying on all fours like an animal. Were she standing up, the gladiatrix would have stood over 60 feet tall. Julia had studied the brute over the past few hours, watching its movements, learning its fighting style. She felt confident that she would win. The brute was far bigger than Julia, and certainly stronger, but Julia specialized in taking down larger opponents. And she liked a challenge.

Julia attached the dagger to her belt, and started to walk down the long stairway that led down to the next tier of the Coliseum. But, as she started, someone called for her: “your grace.” It was a royal guard, one who stood not quite as tall as Julia. The guard wore the standard Royal guard uniform, a Brown leather cuirass with She kneeled in front of the Princess. The guard looked down the ground, careful not to meet the royal girl’s gaze.

“Your grace, I come here on behalf of your mother, the Empress. In light of the gladiatrix’s recent growth, the Empress has decided it’s no longer safe for you to fight in the arena.”

Julia looked shocked. “What? But… I was to fight…”

“I’m sorry, your grace, but my orders come directly from the Empress. She asked that I escort you back to her throne. Please… Come with me.”

Her look turned to anger. “How dare she order me around like this!” Julia stood there for moment, staring off into the distance. Then, an instant, her demeanor suddenly changed. No longer upset, she looked utterly pleased with herself. “So she doesn’t want me fighting, does she? Well, she’ll have to stop me.”

With that, Julia sprinted off. The guard gave chase, but couldn’t keep up, and was quickly left behind. Julia was nothing if not quick. She made her way down one tier of the Coliseum, then another, leaping down empty stairways and over barriers. Soon, she was near the lower levels, where helots and slaves were densely packed together. Julia stopped. She turned around, and realized that the guard stopped chasing her long ago. They were no reinforcements coming after her. No one coming to drag her back to her mother; to drag her away from the fight. 

***

In the distance, loud drums started to play. Someone had recognized her, and realized she was coming down to fight. It was common knowledge in the arena that drums signaled a new challenger. Eyes started to turn away from the gladiatrix, sweeping over the Coliseum. Julia stood confidently, raising her sword above her head. Soon, every eye in the Coliseum was on her. A loud cheer rang out through the crowd. The cheers grew in strength until it seemed that they must have echoed to the farthest reaches of the Empire. 

In the center of the arena lied the gladiatrix, whose bestial fury had for once subsided. Tired from the slaughter, the gladiatrix now lay there on her side. Few of the male gladiators were still alive, and none of them dared attack her.

Julia climbed down the stairs the lowest tier, of the Coliseum. Between her and the gladiatrix was a sea of people: tens of thousands of low born men, helots and other masterless slaves, crowded together densely. They were looking up at her, with a mix of admiration, awe, and desire. The bottom tier was huge, stretching on for nearly a mile in each direction. There must have been hundreds of thousands of them, all crowded together so tightly that they could scarcely move.

Julia wasn’t one to a minor matter like a crowd deter her. Instead, she merely started walking towards the center of the arena, where the gladiatrix was waiting. The crowd of men did their best to clear out of her way, but their best wasn’t good enough. People pushed, and shoved, knocking each other down onto the ground. She took her first step, and felt her left foot crushing a man’s legs into the ground. Another, and her right foot knocked a man down, before crunching his upper body flat. Every step brought with it that same familiar crunching sound, the one Julia was so fond of. It took certain amount of effort for her to walk on them without losing her balance. She wasn’t yet like her mother, who was so colossal and size that she could walk upon crowds of men like they scarcely existed at all. For Julia, it was like walking on a thin layer of snow, where the ground depressed slightly with each step.

Julia continued across the crowd, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. Julia watched the men scramble away on the ground. Their fear amused her, not that it was unwarranted. With each step, another man’s body was crushed like a bug under her feet. Sometimes she would go out of her way to step on a particularly juicy-looking man, just so she could hear them crush under her foot like a dried leaf.

Soon, she had passed through the crowd. A ring of armed and armored male soldiers circled the arena. She made a point of stepping over them, careful to avoid their spears, which could stab like needles into her feet. 

***

In front of Julia lied the arena; white sands spotted with red blood, and littered with broken bodies. In the center was the gladiatrix, who was sprawled out across the sand, facing away. Julia started towards her slowly. The gladiatrix didn’t respond to Julia’s movement; she remained still. But as Julia came closer, she began to realize the sheer size of her opponent. The gladiatrix was twice as tall as her, yes, but it was more than that. Twice the height meant she had eight times the mass, and eight times the strength. It meant that the gladiatrix was big enough to throw her around like a toy, or crush her underfoot.

Julia readied her dagger. But just as she started to pull it out of its hilt, the gladiatrix started to move. The colossal giantess stood up slowly, the sand streaming off her back as she turned towards Julia. The gladiatrix stood in front of Julia now, completely naked, her clothes and restraints having broken off. Indeed, she stood more than twice as high as Julia, and looked vastly larger. The top of Julia’s head didn’t quite reach up to the bottom of the gladiatrix’s crotch. Julia, slim and slender, realized that her entire body was smaller than one of the gladiatrix’s legs. 

The crowd cheered wildly. Julia tried her best to look confident. The gladiatrix glared at her, before letting out a long, bestial roar.

Julia stared up at the immense gladiatrix that towered in front of her. The gladiatrix, nearly sixty feet tall, was twice the height of the princess, and looked far stronger. Julia did her best to push away her fears. ‘There is only the fight,’ she thought. And then she remembered her knife, still sheathed. With a practiced quickness, Julia pulled out her dagger, powerful sedatives dripping from its blade. Julia hoped that they were powerful enough.

The gladiatrix stood stark naked in front of her. She was beautiful, even now, her body covered in dirt and sand and crossed with small cuts; only her face was still clean, and still free of lacerations. With her huge size, hourglass figure and beautiful face, she could have almost been mistaken for a noblewoman. But there was something undeniably bestial about her, even when she stood on two legs. Her posture somehow looked less that of a woman, and more like that of a bear; you could tell it was not a stance she found natural, or spent much time in. After a moment the gladiatrix reared on to all fours, roaring like some great beast. Now she looked comfortable. 

Julia found something appealing about the creature; at once woman and beast, she was a creature of incredible ferocity, and undeniable beauty. For a moment, Julia wondered if she liked the gladiatrix because it reminded her in some way of herself. ‘Maybe I should think about a career as a gladiator, if this royalty thing doesn’t work out. But this,’ she realized, ‘is not a time for idle thoughts.’ 

Julia’s thoughts came back to reality, and just in time. With impressive speed, the gladiatrix lunged at her all fours. Julia dodged, barely moving out of the way. The gladiatrix turned towards Julia, rearing around like a panther. She let out a roar before lunging at Julia again, this time swiping at Julia with her hands. Her last swipe hit Julia, her huge hand knocked Julia down like a ragdoll. Julia, always agile, quickly jumped back up onto on her feet.

Before the gladiatrix could turn back around, Julia rushed towards her. With her dagger still in hand, Julia leapt towards the gladiatrix’s back, stabbing at her lower thigh. Julia slashed at the gladiatrix, once, then twice, then a third time. With each cut, more of the dark- brown sedative seeped into the skin of the gladiatrix. 

Before Julia could stab at her opponent a fourth time, the gladiatrix spun around. She lunged at Julia again, and once more, Julia dodged. This time, though, the gladiatrix anticipated Julia’s reaction. She landed perfectly upon Julia, tackling the Princess onto the ground. 

The gladiatrix kneeled, picking up Julia with both hands. With her hands wrapped around Julia’s abdomen, the gladiatrix squeezed as hard as she could. Julia struggled to breathe, and she felt her dagger slip out of hand, falling onto the ground. Julia struggled, trying to free herself, but the gladiatrix was too strong. She tried to hit and scratch the gladiatrix’s face, but couldn’t quite manage to reach. Instead, she dug her nails into the gladiatrix’s arms. ‘Is this the best I can do,’ thought Julia as she tore away at her opponent’s arms, ‘clawing at her like a pathetic little housecat?’ But Julia’s nails were sharp, and she scratched hard. The gladiatrix’s arms turned red, and as she winced in pain, her grip loosened. 

But instead of dropping her, the gladiatrix did something unexpected. The giantess leaned back, raising her arms, and Julia, behind her. With all her strength the gladiatrix threw Julia, catapulting her far across the arena.

Julia felt herself falling rapidly through the air, the world spinning around her. She braced for a hard landing against the hard sands of the arena. To her surprise, she felt herself land, back first, on something soft and squishy. She looked down and saw blood below her. For a moment she thought she had been injured. But Julia quickly realized what had stopped her fall. The gladiatrix had thrown her into the crowd, where countless slaves were crowded tightly together. Below her were the bloody remains of two dozen slaves, crushed flat into the ground by her ass and back. “Well, you did break my fall. I guess that means helots are good for something,” she said with a smirk. The crowd around her stared up on disbelief.

Julia stood up, slowly regaining her balance. But before she could fully steady herself, she felt a low, rhythmic rumbling in the ground. Her opponent, she realized, was coming towards her, and quickly. The gladiatrix was running on all fours, speeding towards her like a freight train.

The fight: Part II

A crowd of men stood between Julia and the gladiatrix. In front of the crowd was a line of male guards, armored and armed with long spears and swords. Julie if she could call upon them, and they would fight for her to the death, if she only asked. But Julia was not one to ask for help, least of all from some pathetic little guards.

The gladiatrix charged forward on all fours like some gigantic tiger, running with her palms and toes against the ground, the earth shaking with every rapid step. The guards saw her coming, and did their best to quickly scuttle out of her way. One guard, though, wasn’t quick enough. He had just enough time to look up and see the gigantic hand that would be his demise. Out of instinct, the guard gripped his spear as tightly as he could. An instant later the palm of her left hand came down upon him. But before the hand could crush him into the sand, it fell against something else: the guard’s spear. 

The spear penetrated deep into the palm of her hand. The gladiatrix let out a pained howl. She pulled up reflexively with her left hand, like someone who’d carelessly placed their hand on a hot stove. The guard survived; only his spear had broken.

They gladiatrix tried to catch herself, throwing her right arm onto the ground in front of her, but she was too fast, and too heavy. The crowds couldn’t flee like the guards; they were packed too densely. The men in front of her frantically tried to flee, but with so many bodies around them, they may as well have been running through molasses.

Instead, she toppled over, falling onto the dense crowd in front of her. Men tried to jump out of the way, but it was no use. In an instant, two hundred men, perhaps more, found themselves trapped under her. Her powerful, unyielding body destroyed everything below, reducing the men to viscera. Their crushed remains stuck to the gladiatrix like raspberry jam, dying her torso and breasts a deep hue of red. 

She started up, slowly and painfully, hobbling along on all fours towards the Princess. Julia held her ground; there was no sense in tiring herself out by running. The injured gladiatrix hobbled towards her, crawling on top of the crowd that was like a sea of insects to her. She was crawling on her left forearm now, with her right palm too injured to walk on. And so she crawled along, on her left arm and right hand, crushing more men with each step. 

As she crawled along, with each step, her chest came up and then down above the crowd. Her huge, pendulous breasts swayed and heaved in the air, then flattened as they pressed against the ground. With each step, her breasts came down onto the ground with incredible weight, crushing anyone trapped beneath them into jelly. The man in front of her tried to run away, but few of them escaped. The gladiatrix scarcely even noticed the men below her; they made no difference to her one way or the other. Right now, she cared only about her quarry.

***

Julia readied herself. She reached for her dagger that was attached to her belt, before remembering that she no longer had it by her side. Instead, he slipped her belt off; her skirt, after all, was tight enough to stay attached without it. The gladiatrix was nearly to her. The beast was still dangerous, even when it was injured, and perhaps more so then. Julia expected the beast to fight on its hands and knees, as it had earlier. With an injured hand, it would fight clumsily, which Julia could take advantage of. As the beast neared her, it took a swipe at Julia with its right hand. Julia dodged to the left, jumping onto the beast’s back. She grabbed onto one end of her belt with each hand. Then, before the beast could react, she slipped the belt over the beast’s head and onto its neck, pulling as hard as she could. 

The beast, in a rage, bucked like a bronco, trying desperately to throw Julia off. But Julia held on tightly, strangling the beast with all her might. As the beast heaved itself around wildly, Julia pulled tighter and tighter on the belt. Julia did this without anger, without hatred, and without fear. She loved fighting, and this was an excellent fight. The beast stopped bucking, and let itself fall down onto the ground. Still gasping for air, the beast reached for Julia. After a few attempts, its huge hand found her. With the beast’s last ounce of strength, it grabbed Julia, tossing her onto the ground. Julia landed hard: the crowd was getting sparse around them, as men fled away. This time, as she felt something squishy below her, Julia realized that she had landed on only a single man; hardly enough to break her fall.

The beast, still gasping for air, got up on its hands and knees and slowly stood up. It was tired now, from the fighting and the injuries and the sedatives. Julia hoped of the tranquilizer would be enough to take the beast down, but she knew better than to count on it. 

The gladiatrix was standing above Julia on two feet, towering above her. Julia was at a loss. She had no weapons, and couldn’t reach past the gladiatrix’s legs. The beast roared, then crouched down above Julia, her hands nearly touching the ground. Julia started to her feet; but before she could stand up, a huge hand hit her like a club, knocking her onto the ground. She started up once more, but again the beast’s right hand came down upon her. 

Julia felt her leg twist painfully as she hit the ground. She tried to crawl away, but the gladiatrix hit her again, knocking the air out of Julia’s chest. The gladiatrix stood above her now. It lifted one of its huge legs up above Julia, getting ready to stop down on her. But just as the huge foot smashed down against the ground, Julia rolled out of the way. It was a trick she didn’t expect to work twice. But just then, something flew through the air, stabbing the gladiatrix in the arm. Then another, then another. They were arrows, launched by nearby guards. Above the fearful screams of the crowd, a sound which Julia had long ago learned to tune out, Julia heard the deeper, more confident yells of the guards. Some of them were running up behind the gladiatrix, charging at her feet with spears. 

Before the guards could stab her, the gladiatrix heard them. She turned in a flash, still crouching. With the back of her right hand, she slapped a dozen of them away, breaking their armor and throwing them into the air. But there were many guards, and she was growing tired. Some of the guards had ropes, with stones or grappling hooks at the end. They tossed them around her legs, and as she crouched down to take off the ropes, they tossed more over her arms. Men grabbed the ropes, but she pulled hard on them, throwing some men into the air, and forcing more to drop the line. More ropes came down upon her. Before she could tear them off, guards tied the ends of the ropes to poles the huge metal poles that circled the arena. She broke through the ropes easily enough, but she was growing weak. 

Below the gladiatrix, guards circled around her feet. They stabbed at her with their spears; some of the spears broke her skin, and a few drew blood. The gladiatrix stomped down onto the guards, stomping on one, then another. 

Julia got up. For the first time in the fight, the gladiatrix was distracted. She watched the guards trying to ensnare the gladiatrix with their ropes, watched as they were tugged and tossed around by her like fish on a line. And as she walked towards the beast, she saw something on the ground; a powerful chain, long and well built, used on elephants and great beasts in the arena. Julia quickly grabbed the chain off the ground, running over behind the gladiatrix. The gladiatrix was standing still, her feet close together; she waved her arms in the air, trying to tear off the ropes. As she fought, her moves started to become more sluggish, as if the mere act thrashing her arms about was enough to exhaust her. Julia bent down, and started to wrap the chain around the beast’s ankles. If the beast noticed her, or simply decided to move, it would be all for naught. But a moment later, Julia had the chains tied around the beast’s legs. She pulled tight, and tied the chain together.

The gladiatrix, trying to tear the ropes off its arms, thrashed about wildly, and started to lose its balance. It tried to step forward, but the strong chain held its legs together. If it still had its energy, the gladiatrix could have tore apart the chains with its sheer strength; but it was tired, and injured, and drugged. The gladiatrix toppled over. Guards below scrambled to get out of the way. She fell hard against the sand with a loud boom, sending a shockwave through the ground, and a blast of sand through the air.

The gladiatrix lied still on the sand, her eyes closed. She looked beautiful, even now, and for once she almost looked peaceful. The Coliseum watched in rapt silence. For moment, Julia thought she might move. But she simply lied there, utterly still, save for her chest moving up and down as she breathed. After a moment, applause started to break out through the Coliseum, followed by loud cheering. 

Julia surveyed the arena. It was a glorious mess, littered with broken weapons and broken bodies, white sand splattered with red. She thought for a second how many men had died that day; perhaps seven hundred gladiators in the arena, two thousand spectators down in the pit, and hundred guards, not to mention all the slaves that the noblewoman had eaten or had their ways with. The thought of it all made her chuckle just a bit to herself.

She walked over to the surviving guards, of which there were still several hundred.

“Who ordered the guards to attack that brute?”

A guard stepped out, dressed in shiny red plate mail. He bowed in front of her, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I did, your grace.”

Julia stepped over to the guard commander, knocking him down with her foot and setting her foot on top of him. “I suppose you were trying your little best to help, but see to it that next time, you don’t sully my victory. You’ve caught me in a good mood. I have no taste for slaughter right now. I’m sated... For a few minutes, anyway. But if I ever see you again, I’ll crush your pathetic little body under my foot. And I’ll enjoy it.” She stepped off of him, and the guard gasped for breath.

Julia smiled at the cheering crowd and proudly walked out of the arena. She made her way towards the steps, as the crowd dispersed in front of her. Just when Julia was about to reach the top tier of the Coliseum, a Royal guard a Royal guard came up to her. She bowed in front of the Princess, careful not to meet the Royal’s gaze.

“Excellent fight, your grace. I was told to ask you what you wanted done with your opponent. If it pleases you, we could kill the beast as a sacrifice to your valor. Or if you want to show mercy, we could spare her, and put her back to fighting in the Coliseum.”

Julia thought for a moment. “I’ve never been much for mercy, but I hate to waste such a wonderfully violent creature. And it’s rather pleasing to the eye as well… I’ll let the beast live, but I won’t have her performing for drunks and helots in the Coliseum. No, I think I’ll take her for myself. I could always use a new pet.” Julia smiled to herself.

“Where’s Graybeard? He was supposed to meet me here half an hour ago…” 

Livia lied alone in the silence of her private garden, her white dress flowed over the perfectly-maintained grass.  Bright afternoon sunlight streaked onto her face, pouring from between the impossibly huge buildings to her West. Livia was sprawled out on her back, her knees folded upward. Without looking, she plucked a small flower from the ground. It looked like a truly small and delicate thing in he hands, which were small for her size yet nonetheless giant. Yet as she tried to pick up the flower, she found its soft petals crushed into a thin dust between her fingers. 

The Princess felt a vague unease. She had told her slaves and servants to wait in her bedroom, so she could be alone with her thoughts. Worry had taken hold of her, and anxious thoughts ran through her mind. Livia wondered what happened to her boyfriend Aureus. He should have been delivered to her earlier that day, but was nowhere to be found, and she feared the worst. On top of that, this was the day of her consecration; the big ceremony was only hours away. 

It was today, on the anniversary of Juno’s ascension, that the twin princesses would be deified. In a few hours, Livia would be officially recognized as a goddess, with all the honor and power that came along with the title. The consecration was also a coming-of-age ceremony, of sorts; although she had technically been an adult for over a year, this was the first time that she would be recognized as an independent entity from her mother, and a force to be reckoned with in her own right. For the first time, she would have political power, with the responsibility and benefits that come along with it. But it wasn’t this that made Livia anxious about her coronation. It was the Julia's stories that gave her pause. And something else: The Red Spice. 

Livia had to take the red spice to initiate the ceremony. After taking the spice, she wondered, would she be able to control herself? Livia had no desire to cause bloodshed, but she had no idea how the red spice would affect her. And even if she could control herself, should she? Some of the men were sacrificing themselves to her willingly. Was it wrong to accept their sacrifice, if doing so would help her become the giantess that she had always wanted to be? ‘Perhaps I could just have one or two of them,’ she thought, ‘and only if they offer themselves to me willingly. I just don’t want to be a monster, like Julia, or Cybele, or those other noblewoman…’

Livia’s thoughts were suddenly brought back to the world as she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her. “Graybeard,” she called out, “is that you?” 

She heard no response. Livia heard the bushes rustling again. She turned around just quick enough to see a full – sized tiger charging at her. Before she could react, the tiger pounced on her, its wide paws coming down upon her chest.

“Cora! No! Get down,” Livia said. “Come on Cora, I’m not in the mood right now.” With both hands, Livia gently lifted up the tiger, which was no bigger than a dog to her. She set it in the grass to her side. Cora, a three-year-old female tiger, was Livia’s favorite pet. Cora was a sizable beast, eight feet long and weighing five hundred pounds. But to Julia, who stood eighteen feet high and weighed nearly two tons, it didn’t seem particularly large. She had been raised in captivity, and was tame, at least for tiger. To most, Cora was an intimidating beast. But Livia, she was no more frightening than a house cat.

Cora crouched in the grass beside her, eying something in the distance. Then, without warning, the tiger shot up, leaping onto a spot of grass. Cora darted about here and there playfully, stalking and pouncing about after imaginary beasts. Finally, after running about for several minutes, Cora had tired herself out. She came to a rest, lying down peacefully next to Livia. 

Cora shot up once more, charging at something on the far side of the hedgerow. This time she seemed to be chasing after something real. 

“Beast… Cora… Get off me!”

Livia recognized the voice. She stood up quickly. Her tiger had indeed found its quarry; Livia’s old servant, Graybeard. The tiger had tackled him, and was now lying on top of the frightened old man. 

Livia yelled at her tiger. “Cora, get off!” The tiger looked back at her, a guilty look in its eyes, and then sprinted off into the distance. Livia ran over to Graybeard, who looked shaken, if not physically hurt. Livia kneeled down next to Graybeard, and gently lifted him up, cradling him in her big arms. To her, his body weighed nearly nothing; it was like holding up a small child, and a slender one at that. 

“I’m so sorry, Graybeard! Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“It’s okay, Livia, I’ll be all right, thank you. It didn’t get me too bad that time. I do wish you’d keep Cora caged up. It’s only a matter of time until that beast hurts someone. ”

“Beast?? Cora’s no more harmful than a kitten. She would never mean to hurt you, she just gets a little bit… playful, sometimes.”

“Apparently,” Graybeard said, wiping the dirt off his sleeves. “But who am I,” he said without irony, “to criticize the decisions of a Princess?” 

“Graybeard, where is Aureus?”

“You mean he’s not with you? He should’ve been sent to you hours ago, in the Coliseum.”

“So you don’t know, either? You were the one who was supposed to take care of this! Where is he?”

“I’m sorry, your grace, I’m afraid I know no more than yourself. I saw to it that he would be sent to you… Perhaps there was some mistake?”

“Mistake? My love disappears from the face of the earth, and you call it a mistake? He was under your protection. You promised you’d get him to me safely.” Livia stared into the distance.

 “I’m sorry, your grace. Discipline me however you wish. I’ve failed you.”

Livia stood quietly for a moment, before suddenly looking back down at Graybeard. “Then make it right. I have no desire to punish you. I had you do this because you’re the only one I know that I can trust. Find out what happened to him.” 

“Of course, your grace. It was one of the slave overseers that delivered him, a rather capable and intimidating woman. I’ll find her as soon as I can, and ask her what happened to Aureus. Hopefully she’ll know. Is that all, your grace?”

Livia hesitated. She looked down at Graybeard. He wasn’t particularly deserving of his name: his face was clean shaven as often than not, and his hair still had more than a hint of black left in it. Graybeard was barely older than fifty. He was still strong and healthy, and had a handsome, if rather craggy face. But even so, Livia had started calling him Graybeard years ago, and the name had stuck. He was, after all, one of the oldest men that she had known. Rome was a dangerous place for men, and few managed to survive into old age. And there was something sage-like about his manner, and his voice, that made him seem older than he truly was.

“Graybeard… I had some questions, about the ceremony. I've heard stories from Julia. I know I’m supposed to take the spice, and…”

“You don’t want to hurt anybody. Of course not, your grace. You’ve always had a tender heart. So unlike your mother, and your sister, and one of the things I respect most about you.”

“But?”

“Well, your grace… It’s a good thing for most to be tenderhearted. But you are not most. You are a Princess. Soon you will be a goddess, and one day you may be the Empress. And for an Empress, a soft heart is kin to weakness.”

“Are you saying I should be cruel or uncaring, like my family?”

“Not cruel, your grace, and not uncaring, exactly… But you must be strong. You must do whatever is best for yourself, in the Empire, and your family. Your compassion will make the people love you, but it will take more than that to make them respect you. It will take strength… And you must do whatever you can to get that strength.”

“So I should kill innocent men, if it will help me become a giantess?”

“Unless you want to see your sister become Empress instead of you, I’m afraid you have little choice. At the very least, you must drink of the red spice to complete the ceremony and become a goddess. And once the spice overcomes you…”

“Perhaps it won’t. Perhaps I’ll be able to control myself.”

“Perhaps. But I’ve been around Rome for a long time. I’ve known other noblewoman, kindhearted like you, who said they’d be able to resist the temptation… But then they drink of the spice wine, and their newfound appetites overtake them. 

Livia shot him an annoyed glance. “So that’s your advice? Just squash a few dozen men like bugs, if that’s what it takes to become a giantess."

“I know you’re not fond of the idea. In the end, I it’s your choice. But if you don’t drink the spicewine, you will never become a goddess, or a true giantess… And that means you’ll never be the Empress. I’ve spent much of my life teaching  you. You have what it takes to become a great leader. I can see it within you. Is it worth throwing all that away, just to save the lives of a few slaves?”

“ I don’t know. I really don’t.” 

“What’s more, they may not mind it so much. It’s considered a great honor to die in sacrifice to a goddess. Some of the men have sacrificed themselves willingly.”

“And the rest?”

“Well… Less willingly, I’m afraid. But if you’ll excuse me saying so, your highness, you’ve grown to be quite the beautiful woman. If a man has to go, even if he’s not the sort to be concerned with honor… there are far worse ways for a man to die, than under the foot of a goddess. Especially one as lovely as yourself.”

Livia kneeled down, and gently set Graybeard upon the grass. He stood up, looking up at her. Livia bent over, leaning down to Graybeard. She puckered her thick lips, which were as wide as Graybeard’s face, and planted a gentle, chaste kiss on the man’s forehead.  Graybeard blushed faintly, and tried to hide his smile. On his forehead, in dark red lipstick, was an outline of Livia’s lips, moist and full and wide, stretching all the way across his temples. He looked up to Livia, who was looking down upon him. Her body stretched upward, powerful and immense. And yet her face, for all the love it conveyed, was unable to hide her inner weakness.

“You’re kind, Graybeard. Maybe you’re right. But either way, I have to decide for myself. I’ll think about it, but I really don’t know what to do, and it’s not long until the ceremony…  You’ve said all you can. Wish me luck. I’d best start getting ready. Just… Whatever you do, just find him.”

He did, and then he went, leaving Livia alone in her garden.

The twins stood next to each other and the torch lit chamber. They wore the same matching dresses, made of the same white silk, with the same plunging necklines. Their long hair was done up in the same elaborate braids, which wrapped around their foreheads and ears. Their lips were painted the same deep tone of red, their eyes accented with the same black-violet eyeliner.  They had the same slaves attending to them, cleaning their bare feet and making last-minute changes to the hew of their long dresses, slaves who looked no larger than dolls next to their masters. They were both stunningly beautiful. And yet they looked nothing alike. 

Livia stood tensely, staring at the ground and fidgeting with a strand of her long blonde hair. After a moment she stopped fidgeting, then started again, tussling with her curled hair, which danced lightly on the top of her wide bosom. Julia, meanwhile, looked confident and eager. She stood with her hips flared to one side, one hand playfully poised on the side of her thin, athletic hips. Julia cocked her head slightly to the side, and side of her lips curled subtly upward in a wicked smile. She looked down at her sister Livia, who looked as small as a child next her, and asked her a question.

“So, are you looking forward to this?”

Livia didn’t respond, or give the question any thought; she didn’t feel like arguing with her sister now, and she had more than enough on her mind already.

“I know I am. You should look so glum, sister. It’s not every day you become a goddess. Are you feeling sad, because you might have to hurt some poor little people? Do you not want to get blood on your pretty little dress? Well I’m sorry to have to tell you, sister, but that white silk is going to be red by the time you’re done today. At least, it is if you want to become a goddess. And you do want to become a goddess, right?” Julia said, looking down at her sister. Livia crossed her arms below her breasts and turned away, feigning disinterest. This only encouraged Julia.

 “Then again,” Julia said, “I suppose you don’t have to try the spice after all. If you want to be a fifteen-foot tall runt for the rest of your life, it’s your choice. More Spice for me, after all. I wonder how tall I’ll get? And if you didn’t complete the ceremony, that would mean that you don’t want to be considered as the next heir to the throne. That’s perfectly fine by me as well. But I know you. You’re ambitious, in your own little way. You want to be a kind, gentle, merciful ruler, always watching your step to make sure that you don’t accidentally step on some poor little bug,” As she said ‘bug,’ Julia glanced down at one of her slaves, who was on his hands and knees, washing the sides of her feet. 

“Well, I think you see where I’m going with this. You’re smart. You always been more fond of books that I have. So you must see that this is one of those … What’s that word you like to use… Paradoxes? You can obey your principles and be kind and gentle; refuse to drink the spice, and be careful not to harm a single hair on your slaves’ heads. Which would mean that you’ll always be the family runt, and I’ll become the next Empress. And I think we both know exactly how ‘gentle’ I’ll be to those ingrates,” she said with a particularly wicked smile.  

“Or,” continued Julia, “you can compromise your morals, just this once. Go ahead and sip some spicewine, bite the heads off a few slaves, and spill some red blood on your pure little white silk dress. In other words, enjoy yourself; after all, this is a special occasion, isn’t it? If you do that, who knows: maybe you even become the next Empress. And then you could free all the slaves, and everyone would live oh so happily ever after, like in some wet nurse’s story. Except, of course, for those unfortunate slaves that you had your way with on that fateful night of your coronation. But what’s a few lives ended, if so many more can be saved? You can’t make an omelet without cracking a few skulls now and again, can you?

‘If you were smart, and strong, you’d do it. Sacrifice a few slaves, so that you might one day free them all. Become a goddess all costs, for the good of the little people. You’ve always cared so much about those dirty little helots, after all, so much more than you ever cared about your real family. 

‘But there’s one more little piece of the puzzle, and I’m sure the gears in your bright little head have been turning and turning, trying to figure this one out. What if you try that first sip of spicewine, and you happen to like it? What if you start to crave it, day and night, just like Cybele and Juno and Scarlett, and everyone else who tries the red spice? 

‘And that’s not the only thing you’ll get a craving for. Believe me when I tell you, domination can be so terribly addictive.” Once more, Julia looked down at the tiny slave who was washing her feet. She slowly lifted her foot up above his tiny body. The slaves looked up, aware of the danger but too frightened to move. 

 “Power. It’s a fine taste, and one that you’ll acquire soon enough.”

The darkness made it easy to underestimate the size of the crowd. A hundred thousand silhouettes blended together with the shadowy streets around them. The only light came from a line of torches across the front of the stage. Every face in the crowd watched the stage, their eyes reflecting the orange firelight.

HD image here: http://redfiredoglizard.deviantart.com/art/The-Coronation-454379600

Upon the stage, the ceremony was about to begin. Front and center was a priestess, standing on a raised platform. The priestess was a strange, foreign beauty, dressed in exotic fineries. She must have stood well over ten feet, yet to the crowd she looked small. Just behind her, after all, were the twin princesses, each more than twice the priestess's height. But there was someone else who dwarfed all of them. Behind the sisters, looming like a colossal shadow, was Cybele. For once you could barely see her, huge as she was. The shadow of her skin melded almost perfectly with the dark of the night sky. She was near-invisible, save for the eerie red glow of a crystal she wore, and the pale firelight that flickered in her eyes. 

***



Livia felt her mother's presence. She always did, somehow. Simply being around her was enough to fill most with a mix of fright and awe. It wasn't merely her colossal size, or the fact that she was Empress of Rome; Cybele simply had a presence about her. When she looked into your eyes, thought Livia, you felt as if she somehow knew all your secrets. And when she was upset, it never failed to send a chill down your spine.

Livia did her best to stand still as she waited impatiently for the ceremony to start. All day, it seemed, had been waiting; waiting for the gladiatorial fights to end, waiting for the servants to finish preparing her for the ceremony, and now this. It had taken hours for the servants to get her ready; everything had to be perfect for the coronation. She wore a bejeweled white dress, a long translucent thing that would have been almost modest if it wasn't practically see-through. Livia did her best not to think about how much they must have spent on the dress, and how much of her the crowd could see through the thin fabric. Her hair was curled into two carefully coiled buns, her face made up with violet eye shadow and crimson lipstick. She wore fine jewelry, made of silver and sapphire. 

Her sister, meanwhile, was barely wearing anything; a black two-piece that was barely more than underwear. Surely Cybele had ordered the servants to prepare her as well, so why wasn't she dressed in more appropriate attire? Then it dawned on her. Julia probably ate the servants, thought Livia. Or worse. The poor things made the mistake of telling her what to do, and now they're in her stomach. My beloved sister has never exactly taken instruction very well. No wonder she's dressed like a cheap prostitute on the night of her Coronation. With this fabric, I might be showing all of Rome my nipples, but at the very least I look like a classy prostitute.

At last the priestess stood on her pedestal, and the ceremony began. The murmurs of the crowd slowly dissipated, until the streets were overcome with an eerily perfect silence.


***

The priestess raised up her arms and threw back her head, as if possessed by some strange entity. She spoke in an accent that Livia couldn't place. "Tonight, two women shall become goddesses. The power granted to them by their birthright shall be made corporeal, and the spirits of the Goddesses will be born into them, through Wine and Blood. In the light of the fire, a tribute will be taken, a sacrifice accepted." The priestess then recited some prayers in another tongue, a language that Livia had never heard before.

So this is it, thought Livia. The ceremony she'd been waiting her whole life for. The ceremony she'd been dreading for nearly as long. In a short while, she would be declared a Goddess, with all the powers and privileges that came along with the title. She would get everything she'd ever wanted. The only cost, thought Livia, will be everything I believe in. 

The priestess stood at the front of the stage, head back and arms outstretched, speaking in a strange tongue. She was so small and slender, almost waif-like, and yet her voice had a terrible power to it.

Livia found herself drawn to the priestess's speech, even though she couldn't understand it. There was something about her intonation that gave the words a kind of power, even if their actual meaning was unknown. Indeed, the entire crowd seemed to be drawn in by her words, judging by the almost unnatural silence that enveloped the crowd. The only one who didn't seem transfixed was Julia, who had an inappropriately bemused expression on her face. 

While Livia stood still, respectful and attentive, Julia shifted around with an arrogant energy. Livia tried her best to ignore it, but after a while she couldn't take it anymore. "Julia," she whispered, "stop moving around."

Julia leaned down to Livia and whispered back, "Was I moving? I guess I must be just bursting with excitement. Aren't you? We'll finally get to have our first blood, our first sip of spicewine, our first fuck, our first night as goddesses. So many firsts. Surely you must be excited as well, young sister?"

"Ha. You really expect me to believe that this will be your first time drinking spicewine? And I don't even know how many men you've fucked or killed over the years."

"I've used my fair share of men, sure, but that's all just practice for being a goddess, isn't it? I bet you're wishing you had a little practice right about now. It would be a real shame, if you found yourself too shy and soft-hearted to accept your sacrifices during the ceremony. Would the priestesses even let you become a goddess? Perhaps they would, if mother leaned on them, but it would always be a shame hanging over your legacy... Livia, who never took or lost her first blood during the Coronation... Livia, Goddess in name only..."

"I'll do it. I can kill a few men if I have to. Just this once. For the ceremony." As she spoke, Livia found herself realizing that she believed what she was saying. She was surprised by her own confidence. 

"I hope so. I bet you'll enjoy it. I can see it now: Livia, the innocent, virginal princess, who would never hurt a fly, or even a slave. That is, until the night of her Coronation, when she found out she liked the taste of spicewine almost as much as I'm sure she'll like the taste of cum and blood. I bet that once you get your first taste of cock, you'll be an even bigger slut than mother. You'll probably want to suck off that cute little blonde slave of yours, the one I always see you staring at. That is, if you don't eat him first..."

"Will you shut up?"

"Hit a nerve, did I? So you are fond of him. I knew it, the way you always make eyes at him... So coyly, so meekly, so chastely... But you haven't even fucked yet, have you? No, you're much too pure for that. You'd better get on that, or maybe I'll decide to pop his little cherry first... In more ways than one..."

"What's wrong with you? Why do you hate me?"

"Hate you? Little sister, I love you! What I hate is how you deny yourself. An Emperor's daughter shouldn't be coy and submissive and polite, she should take whatever she wants, and whoever she wants. Like I do... Like Cybele does... If you like one of your slaves, fuck him right then and there, and don't stop until he breaks. Power is our birthright. Domination is our birthright. And I'm hoping that tonight, you'll finally realize that."

The Priestess lowered her arms and her gaze. Her eyes came down from the dark of the night sky and stared out towards the crowd in front of her. She paused for a moment, as if remembering where she was. Then she spoke again, this time in a familiar tongue. 

"Livia and Julia, daughters of the Living Goddess, the time has come to accept your divinity. With Fire you will be reforged, with Wine you will drink of life, with Blood you will be truly born." 

Cybele moved. She had been standing in the darkness behind her daughters, still as some ancient statue. Now she slowly kneeled down. Livia could feel the ancient stage shaking, as Cybele's slow movements made cracks spread like cobwebs through the stones of the stage. She was bending over, setting something down; Livia waited anxiously to see what it was. Then the object came into view; a huge goblet, made of gold and bejeweled with rubies. The spicewine, thought Livia. This was it.

As Cybele stood back up, the Priestess turned around, facing towards the sisters. She poured a pitcher of wine into the empty goblet, red wine that sparkled in the firelight. Then for the first time the Priestess looked at Livia, staring  into her eyes with an odd intensity. "Drink," said the Priestess, "and become."

There was a single goblet for the two sisters, and Livia had no desire to be the first to drink. She looked back to her sister, but Julia returned her look with a glance that seemed to say, "you first." And with a defeated shrug, Livia stepped towards the goblet. The spicewine had a faint glow, thought Livia, just like in the stories. Tiny lights danced and swirled through the wine like dying embers, and a weak crimson glow bathed Livia's face as she lowered down to pick up the goblet.  With unsteady hands, she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped the wine. 

The taste was strong, even overwhelming at first. Livia rarely drank wine, and even when she did it was heavily diluted most of the time. Yet as she sipped a bit more, she found herself surprised by how ordinary the wine was, and more than that, how ordinary she felt. She had been expecting to feel something; a tingling, or a rush of energy, or lightheadedness. Instead, she simply felt as if she had drank some wine. 

Livia hesitantly took another small sip, then another. If she drank too little, she might be accused of botching the ceremony. If she had too much... well, Livia didn't want to think what would happen if she had too much. But she drank, a little more and a little more, until something told her that she'd had enough. She carefully set down the goblet, which was still mostly full, and backed away.

Now it was her sister's turn. Julia stepped in with a confident swagger, grabbing the goblet and taking a long swill. To Livia's amazement, her sister gulped down the wine in a matter of seconds. With an exaggerated motion, Julia wiped red wine from her lips before tossing the heavy goblet off the side of the stage. The goblet tumbled down onto the crowd. Livia gasped as she heard a brief scream of terror cut short, yet no one else seemed to pay any mind. Instead, to her surprise, the crowd suddenly erupted into cheering.

***

Livia had little idea what to expect next.  She had heard stories here and there, sure, but they were generally second-hand and half-remembered. It had been decades, after all, since the last Coronation, when her mother was made a Goddess. She knew people who had been there, but whenever she tried asking them, they offered few details. Cybele herself, who knew the ceremony better than anyone, would tell her nothing at all. 

What she knew about the ceremony consisted mainly of vagaries and innuendo, and details that were as likely imagined as remembered. Julia had told her plenty, sure. Her big sister always had plenty of stories about the Coronation ceremony, stories with blood sacrifices and rape and murder. But Livia was uncertain how much of that was genuine, and how much was just her big sister's way of toying with her. But at least, thought Livia, 'Wine' was out of the way... All she had to worry about now were 'Fire and Blood.' Whatever that meant.

The Priestess stepped back onto her platform, and the crowd became silent once more. "Fire, light the path to ascension. Blood, give us power." For a moment, nothing happened, but Livia heard beastl-ike grunts in the distance. Was there some terrible creature waiting for her? Perhaps she had to conquer some terrible beast, to complete the ceremony? 

A beast, indeed. A creature walked into the firelight. It was a full-size bull, large but not fearsome. The creature, led on a leash by two slaves, followed obediently. Livia realized the creature's purpose. Taurobolium. He's not a fighter, thought Livia. He's a sacrifice.

The Priestess spoke once more in the strange tongue. "A ugoenoto bik, podgotveni da se namali." She stepped from her platform and circled the bull, producing a knife from her side pocket as she walked behind the beast. It was a long, curved dagger, foreign, sharp and dangerous.  Very much, thought Livia, like the Priestess. "Neka negovite testisi da se namali , kako sveštenicite na Božicata , koi se napraveni za da bidat evnusi."

 The priestess knelt down behind the bull, reaching the knife between the creature's legs and grabbing its testicles with her other hand. With a single assured swipe, she castrated the beast. The bull let out a pained, beast-like groan, but made no attempt to struggle.

Cybele, thought Livia. Her mother had taken her God-name from an obscure goddess, worshiped in Anatolia. There had been cults worshiping Cybele in Greece, but none that had attained any kind of real prominence. Not, that is, until the Empress took her name. When she was younger, Livia had been curious about her mother's eponymous goddess. Servants had told her bits and pieces. Cows were often sacrificed to the Anatolian goddess, a practice known as Taurobolium. Her mother preferred other kinds of sacrifices, but the old tradition was still practiced here. Its testicles would be removed, then burnt in a fire, symbolizing the castration of the Eunuch slaves that served the ancient goddess. Then the animal's throat would be slit; Blood for the Blood Goddess. Livia shuddered to think about it; she hated the idea of animals being hurt. 

"Sega im dade negovata maškost na Božica." The Priestess dropped the bull's testicles into a brazier. The low flame suddenly came alive, rising high before quickly subsiding. "Sega e točno žrtva." The priestess circled back in front of the bull. Meanwhile, a slave hurried over with a silver goblet, which he held under the creature's neck. "Let his throat be cut, to spill blood for the goddesses." Livia looked away, but the sounds were unmistakable, and the picture in her mind was all too vivid: a knife slitting a throat, gallons of blood spilling onto the ground and dripping into a metal cup. When she looked back, the animal was lying dead on the ground, and the cup was full with something Livia knew wasn't wine. 

The Priestess took the silver goblet from the slave. "Now drink, and taste life." So she would taste her first blood, and hopefully her last. Once more she glanced at her sister, but now Livia had a look of determination on her face. This time, Livia wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. She walked up to the priestess, kneeled down and took the goblet. I can do this... Just one small sip, she thought, puckering her mouth in anticipation. Let's get this over with... 

Livia took her first tentative sip from the goblet. It was a familiar bitter taste, something she'd tasted a thousand times before when she bit her lip or licked a wound... And yet the thought of having some creature's foul blood in her mouth, and so much of it, was repulsive. But she wanted to complete the ceremony. At least it's just a bull being sacrificed, and not a slave... She choked the blood down as best as she could. To her surprise, it went down easier than she expected. As Livia lowered the goblet, she realized that it was mostly empty. 

Suddenly, Julia grabbed the goblet from her sister. Again, Julia took a long swig, downing the rest of the cup in a single gulp. She playfully overturned the cup, showing that there was nothing left. But a moment later, Julia started violently coughing. She hacked away, coughing up phlegm and grabbing violently at her chest. 

 To her own surprise, Livia found herself rushing to her sister's aid. Yet by the time Livia reached her sister, Julia had recovered, at least physically. Julia forced herself to smile to the crowd, trying to make a jest of the incident. She tried to affect the same confident swagger she'd had just moments earlier, but Livia could see through the show. She didn't expect that, and neither did I. Who would have thought that out of the two of us, she'd be the one to choke on sacrificial blood. That's not a good omen, thought Livia. For her. 

The priestess spoke once more. "Now, people of Rome, you have seen two Princesses become Goddesses. The ceremony has ended. Let us go in peace, and let the new Goddesses return to their home." The crowd cheered, and people started to shuffle away. They were making their way home. The ceremony seemed to be over. 

"What?" Livia found herself bursting out. "That's it?" Livia couldn't believe it. All that worry, all that anxiety, had been for nothing. This was it, this was the ceremony. A little wine and a slaughtered bull. Not so bad at all. Who would have thought that Julia would be the weak-bellied one? 

Against her better judgement, Livia decided to rub it in.Quieting her voice, she turned to Julia and whispered,  "What's wrong, can't handle a little cow's blood? I didn't mind it all that much, personally. All in all, not a bad little ceremony. What happened to all the horror stories you used to tell me? I never took you for the imaginative type, sister."

"Fuck off. I choked. And you'll do worse, I'm sure, before the night is over. You really think the ceremony is over? Are you really that naive? This is all just a show for the common people, a little song and dance act to keep them entertained. That wasn't even real Spicewine, or can you not tell the difference? You really think they'd let the public watch the ceremony? No, the real Coronation is much more exclusive affair. And it's about to begin."

The sisters wordlessly followed the priestess through the dark streets. They followed closely, staying close to the light of her torch, weaving in and out of ­the forums alleyways, squeezing through passageways that weren't made for someone their size. Now and again they would see a patrolling Roman Guard, but otherwise the streets were completely empty. Livia knew the forum well enough in the daytime, but finding her way around in a moonless night was another matter entirely. As for the ceremony that awaited Livia, she was every bit as much in the dark. Livia had no idea what to expect, and she doubted her sister knew much more than she did. 

Then as they turned one last corner, Livia suddenly realized where they were taking her. In front of her, an imposing sight with its tall Doric columns, was the High Temple of Cybele. It was one of the city's great works of architecture, third only to the Royal Palace and the Great Coliseum. Bright fires were burning inside, and warm light streamed out through the windows of the Inner Sanctum. Livia had never known the temple's fires to be lit at night, and certainly not this late. But what she realized next surprised her far more.

Cybele's temple had always stood on its own, in the middle of a large public square. But to Livia's amazement, both sides of the temple were now flanked with two equally imposing buildings, each lit from inside by their own fires. It hadn't been more than a year since Livia last stepped foot in the square, and there was no sign of construction. Livia wondered how Cybele been able to construct such enormous structures so quickly, and in secret. And for what purpose? Then Livia realized what these buildings were. It seemed so obvious to her that she felt foolish for not realizing it earlier. They were temples. Twin temples for the twin sisters.

The priestess stopped in the middle of the square, parting with but two words: "Go on." Somehow, Livia knew which temple was hers. She made her way towards the temple on the right, as her sister started towards the one on the left. Julia looked at her with a knowing glance, and the two parted ways. 

***

A calvacade of ideas flew through Livia's head as she made her way to the temple, unable to stop from imagining what waited for her inside. A thousand horrors and a thousand glories, fleeting images of terror and beauty and awe and power. She didn't know what to expect as she walked through the open door of the inner santum, into firelight that blinded her. But as she heard the tall doors shut behind her, she knew she would find out soon enough. 

As her eyes adjusted, Livia gazed upon a stunning sight. The temple was even more impressive on the inside than the outside. If the temple looked huge from the outside, the interior seemed to stretch on forever. At the end of the enormous hall was a giant brazier, which seemed big enough to light up the Great Coliseum. And behind that was something even more impressive: a colossal golden statue of Livia, which stood as tall as Cybele. The likeness of the face was uncanny, and the statue was undenaibly beautiful. Livia was flattered, and more than a little embarrassed by the statue. If anything, it was a bit too flattering; her waist was a bit thinner than the real her, and her breasts and butt were far more generously proportioned. Perhaps, thought Livia, the artist thought she would take after her mother. Or perhaps, more likely, the artist was a man.

It suddenly dawned on Livia that she wasn't alone. She had been so taken by the grandeur of the temple that she failed to realize she was surrounded by people. All around her were little people, all of them staring at her, standing nearly as still as the statues. There were hundreds of men, perhaps more, dressed in the white garb of priests and the worn linens of common slaves. 

Then, from behind a nearby column stepped a beautiful woman, dressed in fine robes. She stood not quite ten feet tall, a giant next to the men, and as small as a child next to Livia. She was in her early thirties, and had a youthful face that contrasted with her vuloptuous body. She passed through the crowd of men as if they weren't there, and the men scrambled to step out of her way. Yet as she approached the Princess, she averted her gaze, keeping her eyes on the floor. From the woman's clothes and demeanor, Livia inferred that she was a High Priestess. Livia's High Priestess. 

The woman trembled as she kneeled down in front of Livia. Without looking up, she spoke three words: "I am yours."

***

The priestess spoke with a greek accent that had a smooth, lyrical tone to it. "Livia, my... soon-to-be goddess, I welcome you to the inner sanctum of this temple, as well as to myself.  I offer myself to you, body and spirit. I am unworthy to serve you, but if you will accept me, I will dedicate my life to your servitude. If you would not have me, say the word and I will strike myself down, for a life spent outside of your glory is worse than death. Sooner would I tred through ten thousand fires for you than--"

"You may serve me as High Priestess, thank you. I've heard the Oath of Servitude too many times before. " 

The Priestess spoke with a mix of elation and relief. "Yes! I mean, yes, your grace, thank you for allowing me this great honor. As your high priestess, I will dedicate every moment of my life to your glory and your pleasure, though I am not fit to lick the bottom of your sandal. Now if it pleases you, I can begin the ceremony when you are ready."

"It would please me to know the details of the ceremony before we begin."

"Forgive me, your grace, for although I will dedicate my life to following your every whim, I am bound by duty to maintain the mysteries of the Coronation ceremony, even to you. If it is any consolation, you will know soon enough."

"Priestess... Can you just tell me what is expected of me during the ceremony?"

"I am sorry, soon-to-be goddess, but the laws of my order, and my very vows to you, prohibit me from doing so." 

"And there's no way to make an exception? To the one you promised to serve?"

"I'm sorry, your grace, but no."

Livia sighed. "...Very well, I suppose. But can you at least tell me your name, Priestess?"

"I gave up my name when I became your humble servant. I have no name, save for my title: High Priestess."

"I'm sure that I'll get tired of calling you High Priestess all the time. What was your name before?"

"I am unworthy to have any name of mine spoken of by a goddess, but since you ask, I was known as... Anastasia."

"Very well then, Anastasia. Now I suppose we may as well begin the ceremony. Oh, and Anastasia... you may look upon me." 

Anastasia looked upon Livia for the first time. She looked awestruck, as if she had just laid eyes on a goddess. Or at least, thought Livia, a soon-to-be one.  It took the priestess a moment to compose herself and continue speaking. "You do me a great honor, soon-to-be goddess. When you are ready, I may begin the ceremony."

"Very well... I'm ready." Ready as I'm going to be, that is, thought Livia.

***

Anastasia led Livia down the long hallway, to a small pedestal near the gigantic statue of the princess. What an odd feeling, thought Livia, to feel dwarfed by yourself. Sitting on the pedestal was a goblet, not half as large as the one from the sham coronation earlier. It would have been huge to a man, but for Livia it seemed tiny. Is this it, wondered Livia, all I have to drink? 

The priestess stood at one side of the pedestal. Livia took the cue to stand on the opposite side of the pedestal, facing towards her. As she gazed down onto the priestess, Livia realized that a part of her feared the woman. A woman who was barely more than half her height, a woman who had dedicated her life to serving Livia, a woman who had averted her gaze until commanded otherwise... and a woman, thought Livia, who was guiding me down a path I long ago promised not to walk. Perhaps fearing her isn't so insane after all. 

Livia looked Anastasia over. She seemed strong-willed, and yet didn't seem to be the self-denying type; if anything, quite the opposite. She had the soft features and full figure of a woman who loves to indulge in good food, among other pleasures. Yet she wasn't obese, and certainly wasn't ugly; again, quite the opposite. She had a beautiful face, and the softness of her face made her look more youthful than Livia suspected she actually was. And through her thick robes, Livia could make out curves that hinted at an hourglass figure. And she had a certain air about her, one of experience and posterity. With her refined Greek accent, she was  clearly born into the upper-classes. Livia wondered if she would know any of the Athenian elite, someone who could help her meet people who were involved with the Abolition movement. But that would be a matter for another time. 

"Let the Coronation ceremony begin." The priestess looked up at Livia; she had to bend her head far back to do so. "So," the Priestess asked, "are you ready to become a Goddess?" 

Livia hesitated a moment, before saying "Yes."

"Then the Wine will be prepared." Anastasia picked up a small jar from the ground. She lifted it up above the goblet and tilted it on its side. Red wine poured out, wine that had an unnatural sparkle to it. Spicewine, thought Livia, before she remembered that the mock-spicewine had looked exactly the same. 

"Now drink, and become a goddess." Livia took the goblet, and stared into the oddly glowing wine. Again, it bathed her face and arms in a red glow, but even in the bright light of the temple's fires, it seemed to glow stronger than the mock-spicewine. Little dots sparkled in the wine, circling about like fireflies. Again, they glowed brighter than the other wine. Livia hoped it wasn't real Spicewine, but she knew better. And she knew she had to drink. Well, she thought, Here goes. Closing her eyes, Livia raised the cup to her lips, and took her first sip.

The Red Spice. Livia had seen what it could do to women.  Casual get-togethers could turn into mad orgies. And if men were around, those orgies often gave way to orgies of violence. Livia knew what was coming. Lust, and Bloodlust, as the saying went. 

At first she felt nothing, but it only took a moment before the Spicewine started to kicked in. It began  with a feeling of vague disorientation and subtle effervescence. Then the feeling built up, coming and growing, with a rhythm like the beat of a drum. Livia did everything she could to focus, to remain calm and centered, but Livia's grip on reality slowly faded.

"Do you? Your grace? Your grace?"

Livia just realized she'd zoned out the last ten minutes of the Priestess's speech. My own Coronation, though Livia, and I'm not even present. "Pardon?"

"Your grace? Do you accept your place as a goddess? Do you wish to take your rightful place as a ruler, in this world and the next?"

"Oh. Err, yes, of course, I do."

"And so it is. You shall reign as a goddess, along with your mother and sister, taking whatever you desire from the fruits of man and earth. Every kingdom and creature shall bow down before you, cater to your every whim, or they will perish below your feet. Let them offer everything they have, and more to your glory, though they are unworthy to lick the dirt from your sandal. 

'You may now accept your first offerings: the men you see before you."

"Is that it? Am I a goddess now?"

"No. There's still one more step left. Your dress, like your soul, is still pure white. For the ritual to be completed, it must be stained with red."

"Stained with red?" An idea popped into her head. Without giving it a second thought, Livia grabbed the goblet from the pedestal. She overturned the cup, pouring the last few drops of wine onto her white dress. "And now my dress is stained red, and my ascention into godhood is completed. Right?"

"Your grace... I'm afraid that's not exactly what the Order had in mind. To complete the ceremony, you must take first blood."

"I must kill."

"Yes."

"What if I've already taken a man's life?"

"I am sorry, but you must still take blood during your Coronation."

"And there's no other way?"

"The Goddess Cybele has made her wishes clear. There are to be no exceptions."

"And these men... Are they willing sacrifices?"

The priestess gave a strange look, as if she was being asked to consider something not worth considering. "Some of these men have offered their lives to you freely. Others... less freely."

"Well... Very well. Order the men who gave their lives freely to step forward."

"All of you who have freely offered your lives to Her Grace, please step forward." The Priestess repeated the command in several languages, and each time, dozens more stepped forward. Perhaps a third of the men, more than a hundred in total, had given themselves freely.

"And which of you would still offer your lives to her, without a sliver of fear or regret?"

Two dozen of the men stepped forward a second time.

***

Livia looked over the men. Most of them were young, normal-looking, even handsome. Why would they choose to end their lives so young? Out of desire, duty, or devotion? Livia chose a man from the front; a strong-looking, black-haired man with a twinkle in his eye. She kneeled down closer to his height. Livia ran her hand along his side, gently caressing the man's little shoulders and head.

"So you offer your life to me?"

"I am not worthy to touch you, but If you wish it, there would be no greater honor. I would gladly die for you a thousand times, my goddess." 

Livia knew from the look in his eyes that he was genuine, not that the man had any reason to lie. What surprised her was the way some of the other men were looking at her. They seemed almost jealous. "It's impossibly generous of you to offer yourself to me. Are you sure you want to give me your life? Have you no family? No woman?"

"I was born a slave, and seperated from my family as a young boy. I worked the fields near Pompeii, and since them I've been passed around like cattle, from one fieldmaster to another. I was freed by a kindly master, but since then I've failed to find work . There's no paying work for laborers, not anywhere I've traveled. Why pay someone a wage to work your fields when you can buy field slaves for next to nothing? And as for women... they're all too few outside the city, and none of them would have a man like me."

"I could give you a job in the palace. A good, paying job as a laborer." 

"No."

"Or I could make you my slave. I could--"

"No. I want this."

"Well, if you're sure. But at least let me know your name first."

"Cassius. Like the senator."

"The one who led the plot to kill Caesar."

"He killed himself, because he thought his army was losing a battle they ultimately won."

"Perhaps there's a parallel there. But if you're sure you want to die, Cassius... how would you like me to do it?"

"Step on me. Crush me under your foot."

"Would you like me to take off my sandal?"

"I am unworthy to touch your flesh, even the bottom of your foot. But if you would be so kind as to remove your sandals..."

Livia granted him the kindness, though doing so would mean bloodying her feet. If the spice made women go mad with  lust and bloodlust, perhaps it didn't work on her: she felt none of either right now. Livia wasted no time in untying her sandals, not because she was looking forward to the act, but because she wanted to get it over with. She picked up Cassius, gently cradling him and planting a chaste kiss on his forehead. Then she set him so that he was lying flat on the ground. 

He looked so small below her, and yet not so small that she could effortlessly crush him. Her mother, immense as she was, could flatten half a dozen men with a misplaced step. But that was Cybele; Livia barely came up half-way to her mother's knee. Livia gently placed her foot onto Cassius, lightly pressing against his head and chest. Livia knew there was no other way. She stomped her foot down against the ground with violent force.

***

The man barely managed to get out a yelp. Before Livia knew it, her foot had slammed against the floor, cracking the tile. The man's upper body had all but disintigrated. Blood and brain was splattered on the floor, and sticky crimson fluid stuck to Livia's foot. She tried to wipe it off on the  floor, rubbing her feet against the cold tile, but the red goo seemed impossible to remove. "Oh god," Livia found herself saying, "what have I done..."

The priestess slowly made her way towards Livia. "Yes. Excellent. Now let the consumption begin. Feel his life energy seeping into you, becoming yours. Feel the power of the Red Spice acting as a vessel for his energy. Feel yourself devouring his very soul, as his essence becomes food for your ascention."

"Devouring his soul? Is that what the Red Spice does? I don't want to do this. Stop the ceremony."

"My goddess, I can't do that. Once the consumption has begun, there's no way--"

"Stop it! Now!"

"I'm sorry. It's too late."

"No! Stop it now..." But as Livia spoke, she realized how futile her pleas were. It was at that moment that the true power of the Red Spice began to take hold.

Involves sex. Viewer discretion is advised.

***

This is it, thought Livia. This is the Red Spice. The mild drunkenness she had felt earlier was giving way to something else. A tingling sensation shot through her body, carrying with it an overwhelming warmth that seemed as if it might melt her bones. Livia felt incredible. It felt like she had all the power in the world within her, and that power seemed to be growing by the minute. And she wanted more. She needed more. 

Livia could feel her clothes getting tighter, the fabric growing as she started to grow. Her blouse grew tighter around her chest, and the rings on her fingers were wrapped so tightly that it almost seemed to hurt. But as quickly as it began, the growth stopped, and Livia threw out her arms with a mad agony. The crowd of men stared at Livia, filled with awe and fear and lust all at once.

The warmth turned into a burning heat, building up until it seemed like it she was about to boil, but Livia only wanted more. She felt a strange hunger growing up inside of her; and a terrible lust. Or perhaps they were one? It was hard to say where one drive began and the next ended. All Livia knew, as she gazed over the stunned crowd, was that she wanted--no, needed--to have the men inside of her. All of them. 

The priestess came up behind Livia, startling the princess. For the first time, Livia noticed how beautiful the woman was. Her her  dark eyes,  her heavy breasts... Livia watched the priestesses' thick lips move as she spoke. 

"Now you feel the full power of the Spice. My goddess, your lust must be unbearable. All these men are at your disposal, but if there's anything I can do to serve you..."

Livia stared longingly at the priestess. She had never looked at a woman like that before, but now, she found herself wanting to do things with her... Livia was no prude; she had appreciated the beauty of the female form, but in the same way she appreciated the beauty of a landscape. Now, if the priestess's body was a landscape... well, Livia had never wanted to do that sort of thing to a landscape. 

"Priestess... Anastasia... I... I want you."

"Your grace, I am yours, soul and body. My teachers at the sanctum taught me countless ways how to pleasure a woman... or goddess. I can give you release, and in doing so I can release the energy within you. Let me--ooh!"

Livia grabbed the priestess, forcefully shoving the woman's face near her thighs. It surprised Livia almost as much as it surprised the priestess, but she wasn't about to stop. Livia tossed up her skirt and ripped off her satin underwear. "Well?" 

***

The priestess knew better than to respond with words. She hesitated for a moment as she got her bearings, but only for a moment. Anastasia leaned in, wedging her little head between Livia's soft thighs, and started to please her goddess. She started slowly, almost cautiously, planting tentative kisses around the edges of her mistress's labia. She kissed again and again, each time slower, more intensely, until she was found herself lifting open the veils of her goddess's labia. Anastasia licked softly, circling the tip of her tongue around Livia's clitoris. With each gentle lick, she felt Livia's thighs quaking, heard the moans that never quite made it off Livia's lips. 

"Oh god," Livia cried out in unbearable ecstasy. Anastasia could feel the energy building up within Livia; she knew what was about to happen. The dam was about to burst. Livia was about to grow. Anastasia braced herself, but she didn't stop pleasuring Livia, not even for a moment. It was her duty to please her goddess above all else, after all, even if it might end her.

Livia moaned in pleasure, "Oh, yes... yes..." She called out, over and over again, her moans slowly becoming more intense, more bestial. And then, one last moan, long and pained and hungry like a wolf's howl.

With that moan, power shot through Livia, and once more she started to grow. Her body expanded, more quickly now than before. Her breasts grew fuller and heavier, stretching out the bands of her bra until it finally snapped, unleashing her enormous breasts. Her legs stretched out, becoming longer and thicker, and quaking with newfound power. Cracks started to spread like spider webs through the tile of the floor. Anastasia looked more and more like a plaything next to her goddess. The men, who stared dumbfounded at Livia, looked like mice as they cowered before her.

Anastasia could feel Livia's weight bearing down on her more and more. Livia's thick thighs squeezed her, until Anna could feel her ribs about to break. She pulled away for a moment. "My goddess," she called, "you're hurting me--" But Livia grabbed her head, forcing the priestess's head back between her thighs.

"I'm sorry," Livia said, almost moaning her words, "but I need you... to... please... me... now..."

Livia forced the priestess  up against herself. The priestess's face disappeared into Livia's now enormous womanhood. The walls of her goddess's labia soaked the priestess in thick, warm fluid. Anastasia struggled to breathe, yet even as she gasped for breath she never stopped pleasuring her goddess. The pain came and went, with Livia's thighs bearing upon her with her goddess's incredible weight. But Anastasia pushed these feelings to the back of her mind. She guided her tongue in tight circles around the edge of her goddess's clitoris, never stopping, even as she gasped for air. Slowly, Livia grew, and Anastasia continued, while her vision blurred and her consciousness dimmed, never for a moment stopping.

A licentious slave crept up behind Livia. He saw Livia bent over, her hips near the ground. The slave, removing his loincloth, climbed up onto the goddess, trying to mount her. He tried to climb up onto her, but his arms couldn't reach all the way around her hips. The slave fell back onto the floor, and Livia, guided by instinct, let herself fall back onto the man.

Just as Anastasia was about to suffocate, Livia's fall released her. Anastasia tumbled away from Livia, gasping for breath and stumbling to safety. Livia's ass came crashing down upon the slave. The weight of her body hit him hard, bruising his bones and all but breaking his pelvis. He screamed out in pain, but Livia paid him no mind. Guided by desire, she grinded herself against the man's crotch, rubbing her vulva along the hardness of his genitals. Livia moaned with a howling, animalistic energy as she rubbed against her newfound toy. The slave moaned as well, with a mix of pain and pleasure.

Instinct guided Livia as she glided the slave's cock inside her. Crouching above him, she thrusted her hips up and down, letting it rub against the walls of her vagina. He was well-endowed; not as big as she would have liked, at her size, but just big enough to please her. She started slow, but soon found herself wanting more. Livia thrusted harder, slamming her hips down upon the man, her ass cheeks slapping hard against his legs. Even this wasn't enough. Soon she was slamming down on him as hard as she could. The man had grown too tired to scream out, but each thrust brought his pelvis ever-closer to breaking.

Livia found herself becoming conscious of her surroundings. For once, she could see beyond the haze of lust and pleasure, and she realized in full what she was doing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Livia realized that she was killing the man. She realized that it was wrong for her to do that. But these realizations were removed, distant. Only two things were in the fore of her mind. Lust, and pleasure. She wanted more, and she needed more. She grabbed the little man by his hips, yanking his hips up as she thrusted down. She thrusted as hard as she could, pulling the man up against her with each thrust. Each time he penetrated into her, each time just nearly deep enough to please her. But even as his pelvis started to break, Livia needed more. She slammed her body on top of him like a hammer, over and over again. And each time, his pelvis cracked just a little more. But she kept going, even harder now, her thrusts cracking the tile of the temple floor. His pelvis shattered, and his ribs and spine soon after.

Livia didn't stop until she felt him fall out of her. She looked down and saw what was left of the little man. His hips and chest were all but disintegrated; there was little left but the red goo that was splattered on the floor. Livia knew that she should feel disgusted. But there was only one thought in the front of her mind: 'more.' She realized that her legs were covered in the man's blood, and knew that she should feel shameful. But the warm blood invigorated her. She felt herself leeching the man's energy, her body absorbing the power of his life force.

As the newfound power flooded through her, Livia started to grow once more. Her already tight clothes grew tighter, as the bands of fabric became tense with pressure. One by one, her clothes started to tear. Her bra strap snapped apart, freeing her growing breasts. Her panties ripped apart, the torn fabric falling to the ground. And the front of her white dress tore open, as the men around her stared up in awe. Livia grew, bigger and bigger, until she was nearly as tall as her sister had been earlier that evening. She felt herself growing taller, foot by foot, and felt her strength multiplying as she grew. With every small movement, she could feel her own immense strength, and the sheer mass she now possessed. Livia stood well over thirty feet tall now, and that was after killing just two of them. But thirty feet wasn't tall enough. She needed more. So much more.

As Livia grew, the men around her seemed to be growing smaller. And not just smaller. Weaker. More fragile. And ever more insignificant. The men's faces became harder to make out, their distinguishing features becoming easier to ignore.

Livia flew into a frenzy. She grabbed the nearest man by the throat, plunging his entire head into her pussy. With her legs pinning the man down, Livia thrusted her hips up and down against the ground, the man's head going deep inside of her. With each thrust, she slammed down on the man's chest, breaking ribs and knocking the air out of his chest. The slave gasped frantically for air. Between breaths he screamed out desperately for help, though the wetness of Livia's tight, soaking pussy muffled his screams. Livia paid his screams no attention. They were hard to hear over Livia's ecstatic moans.

Livia hungered. While she thrusted against the ground, holding the man down with her left hand, she grabbed another man from the frightened crowd in front of her, forcefully grabbing him by the waist. The man begged for his life in a strange tongue as Livia raised him above her head. She wanted to swallow the man whole, but Livia wasn't big enough for that. Not yet, anyway. So she stuck the man's head and chest inside her mouth and bit down, pulling the man's legs away and ripping his body in half with her incisors. She chewed his body hungrily. Soon, she realized that she was savoring him, enjoying the subtle tastes of his flesh as his body became a part of her. Then as soon as she had swallowed his upper body, she tossed in his legs and thighs, tearing them apart just as mercilessly. There were so many wonderful, delicate flavors, like the finest steak... She felt no shame, or if she did, such emotions were hidden back in the far recesses of her consciousness. All she felt was lust and hunger and joy. There were so many little men around, toys and snacks that they were, and she could feel another growth spurt coming on...

Once more, Livia felt herself expanding. Her thick, soft hips grew wider, spreading apart and burying several men beneath their growing mass. Her already generous breasts swelled, full and soft and massive yet still youthfully firm. And her whole body expanded, stretching upward and outward, and she felt the incredible heaviness of her body. Cracks ran through the tile below her like spiderwebs, expanding outward as Livia’s voluptuous body became more and more massive.

The power rushed through Livia, shooting through her like a bolt of electricity. The men around her suddenly seemed impossibly tiny, as insignificant as bugs. They were less like men, and more like mice, or insects… or playthings. And without giving it a single thought, Livia found herself grabbing handfuls of them and hungrily stuffing her mouth, chewing and biting and swallowing madly until blood ran down the corner of her lips, though it was never enough to fill her. And as that hunger diminished another became more powerful, a burning warmth from between her thighs that demanded more.

There was nowhere for the men to run, not unless they could make it past her. Livia’s spread her immense legs so that they spread across the width of the Temple, blocking the only way out. Most men cowered away from her, shrinking back against the walls and hoping not to be noticed. Now and then, a few would try and get past her, doing their best to crawl under her calves or climb over her feet. But whenever Livia felt a tickle on her leg she would snatch them up, one by one, sacrificing their little bodies to her insatiable appetite.

Even as the bulk of the crowd cowered back, some of the men would come to her willingly, guided by a lust that was stronger than their fear. They made their way to her, their eyes hungry, but not half as hungry as hers. They found their hands groping her, massaging the walls of a vulva that was nearly as tall as they were. One man tried to pleasure her, using both hands to pull back the veil above her clitoris. He tried to wrap his mouth around it, though it was too big for him, as round and full as a ripe peach. Livia grabbed these men, stuffing them inside of her, filling the gaping maw that hungered so much more than her mouth.

She delighted in the way they wriggled inside of her, fighting for air, squirming wildly against the walls of her vagina. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. So she would grab more and more men and stuff their little terrified bodies inside of her, and when the crawled out gasping for air she’d stuff them in again. And now and again she’d take one of their wet little bodies out, even as they choked on her thick, warm fluids, sticking them in her mouth and sucking her own moistness off of them before she swallowed them whole. They squirmed as they slid down her tongue, trying in vain to grab ahold of something, anything, before they glided inevitably down her throat.

The hunger became more powerful, and Livia’s eyes became wide like a playful cat. She did everything she could to fill herself, grabbing men by the handful as they fled and cramming them into herself, stuffing and chewing and gasping and moaning as the men screamed and begged and fled. But still, she wanted more, needed more, and still there were still so many more men for her to devour. 

The Coronation: Final Chapter

A disgraced legionary huddled in the corner, shrinking back fearfully behind a great marble column. This princess was proving to be every bit as rancorous as he’d heard the royal twins to be. He kept his eyes closed, though a part of him longed to see her; his fear overpowered his curiosity. But he could hear her, and he heard the sounds of slaughter echoing through the long temple hall: tearing flesh and cracking tile, cries for mercy and howls of pain cut short by the gnashing of teeth. Now and again he heard predatory cries so bestial, he had to remind himself that they were coming from a woman and not a beast.

He told himself he’d been through worse, not quite believing it. The legion he served in had been ambushed in not two weeks earlier. Hundreds of Roman legionaries had fallen around him. He didn’t know see what had ambushed them; as soon as the fighting started, fear overtook him, and he found himself running until his legs failed him. It wasn’t until hours later, when he was out of danger, that he regained some meager sense of duty. And so he made his way back to Rome, and told the Empress what had happened. And for his reward, he was brought to Livia’s coronation, where he would be a part of her coronation feast. The Empress sometimes had an odd way of thanking people.

A severed leg landed hard against the ground not more than a few feet in front of him. He realized the men around him were growing fewer as Livia grew larger, and Livia’s hunger showed no signs of diminishing. His only chance of survival was to escape, but as far as he could tell there was no way out. The only entrance was through the front doors, which were latched shut from the outside, and were too heavy for a single man to open anyway. There were tall vertical windows, but they looked to be at least fifty feet from the floor, and the marble walls were too smooth for even a monkey to climb.

The legionary jostled back as two men darted past, trying to hide behind his pillar. The fools, he thought, they were going to lead Livia right to him… He heard a hungry moan as an enormous hand grabbed one of the men. The man screamed and fought, but Livia’s powerful hand was unyielding, and in a moment they disappeared from the legionary’s view. But it was no mystery what happened to the man; a moment later, a short scream gave way to the gnashing and chomping of large teeth, and the legionary shuddered.

Another desperate man ran up to him, trying to hide behind the narrow pillar. It was scarcely wide enough to hide one man, let alone two. The legionary tried to signal the man away, but he soon realized it was no use. Trying to force the man away would be worse than useless, as any struggle would only help to catch Livia’s attention. Instead, he stood there uncomfortably, as a man with crazed eyes breathed rapidly, his body pressed against the legionary.

“She saw me,” the man said to himself. “She saw me--” and with that, a giant hand came reaching around the pillar. “Stay still,” the legionary whispered to the other man. “Stay—“ but it was too late. The hand fumbled around, grabbing at the crazy-eyed man. The madman’s eyes went wide as the fingers slowly closed around him.

The legionary did his best to quiet his breathing, staying quiet and still, even as the enormous fingers grabbed the man in front of him. But just as the hand was about to close around the crazy-eyed man, the man struggled violently, and narrowly managed to squirm away. The hand felt its way around pillar, fingers brushing against the both of them. The legionary felt an enormous pinky finger brush against his leg, and for a moment he was sure she’d found him. But as the hand closed around the other man, pulling away, he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

His relief was short lived, though. He could hear the screams of the other man as Livia took him, begging for her to take someone, anyone else. “Gah! Please, don’t kill me! There’s another man behind that pillar! Take him instead!”

Without thinking, the legionary peeked around the corner. He saw Livia swallowing the man whole, head first. Then, he something far more terrifying two plate-like eyes staring back at him. He scurried back behind the pillar, but he now knew: She had seen him. It was too late.

Not more than a few seconds later the legionary felt another hand wrapped around his body. She saw me, he realized as the powerful fingers closed around him, but it was too late to do anything now. The soldier looked up with awe at Livia’s incredible body, and at her marvelous face, a face consumed with hunger.

He knew from watching the others how useless it was to fight against her, not that he’d ever been much of a fighter anyway. He closed his eyes, knowing that he’d die as a sacrifice to the new Goddess, as had so many others. And he felt two enormous lips engulf his body, a wet tongue rubbing against his skin, before he slid down her throat and his his vision went black.

********************************************************************

Livia woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. Sunlight filtered down through slits in the high ceiling of the enormous temple. Her temple, she realized. She sat up, looking around. The temple was empty, eerily so. The night before was a haze, but Livia remembered that there had been hundreds of people crowding the temple. Now there was no one… Did I really… All of them? She rubbed her stomach… it didn’t feel particularly full. But then she felt her hips, and realized what had happened: she’d already digested them. Her body had grown bigger, her curves thicker… More power… but at what cost? She forced herself to say, out of obligation more than anything. She knew she should feel some kind of remorse, a pang of guilt for having caused so much violence. Yet in the bright morning light, she felt nothing, save the pure, refreshed feeling of waking after a good sleep.

Here and there were tattered bits of clothing, a sandal here, a torn robe there. There was scarcely any blood, besides the blood that stained the tattered clothes. And what blood there was one the smooth tiles had been badly smeared. I must have licked it off, she realized. And she realized something else: she had grown even more than she remembered. The once enormous temple seemed cramped now. The floor beneath her had sunken into the ground, and many of the tiles had splintered. Sitting down, she gazed up at the golden statue of herself, which had towered over her the night before, and realized that she must be taller than it now. Livia wasn’t even sure if she could stand up in the temple any more, and the entryway door that had seemed so enormous earlier now seemed so small that she wasn’t sure if she could fit through it.  

She crawled towards the entrance of the temple, stone tiles cracking under her knees and knuckles. Making her way to the door, she shoved the heavy wooden doors open as if they were nothing, letting in the blinding light of the morning sun. Indeed, the doorway was too small for her now… but there was no other way out, and she couldn’t very well spend the rest of her life inside of the temple.

Squinting her eyes, she pressed forward. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that there were guards standing in front of the doorway. A dozen or so guards; aside from them, the square looked to be empty. They stared up at her, eyes wide open, their jaws dropping clear out of their helmets. “My goddess,” one of them said, as he stared up at her body. Livia glanced down at herself, suddenly remembering that she was naked.

“I--oh... I,“She stammered for a moment, before remembering her position and assuming a more regal bearing. “Guards, you stare upon the body of a goddess. Need I remind you what the punishment is for such actions?”

The guards suddenly turned their heads down, gazing at their own feet. “N-no, my Goddess.” one of them said. “Please, forgive us!” cried another.

“I will consider sparing you this time, but to stare upon my body without permission is a capital crime. I will not tolerate such disrespect in the future.” Livia looked across the shamed soldiers. It was hard to make out their faces behind their helmets, but they looked young and fit, and attractive enough. “Now if I grant you permission, that’s another matter entirely… But I digress. Clear out of the way, I’m coming through!”

The guards scrambled away, ducking to the sides of the doorway. Livia was started to feel claustrophobic in the now-cramped temple, and she wasted no time making her way through the narrow temple doorway. But her hips had grown too wide for the door frame, and she found herself stuck. She pushed forward, thrusting her hips through forcefully, stones bursting from the wall and shattering the thin marble facade, yet she still had not yet broken through. Livia swung her hips into the air, knocking down much of the temple’s front wall in the process.

One of the guards, hearing the commotion, decided to ignore orders and see what was going on. He had been hiding behind the tall temple doors with some of the other guards, but he ran in front of the doorway to survey the scene and make sure Livia was unharmed. He ran out just in time to see Livia tumbling forward, her chest swinging through the air. Her enormous, naked breasts flew up in the air, swinging like pendulums as her body flew towards him. Finally, her huge breasts landed hard against the ground, slamming into the tile just in front of him. The impact sent dust into the air. The guard stared up in awe, mouth agape. Had her breasts gone a few feet farther, he would have been crushed as flat as the tiles he stood on.

Livia opened her eyes. To her annoyance, she saw the guard staring up at her breasts. “What did I say about viewing my body without permission? You’re lucky I’m a merciful goddess.”

Livia didn’t notice the other, less fortunate guard, whose lower body had been crushed under her enormous breast. “Yes, of course, you are truly merciful,” the lucky guard said, as stood back up. The guard backed slowly away, saying nothing, and trying not to look as the crushed guard bled out. He knew better than to contradict a woman who had just killed someone with their breast, accident or no.

Livia knelt up, unaware of the blood that now covered her left tit. She rose, placing her left hand on the tall temple door to steady herself. But the huge doors were now swinging on their hinges, having been all but thrown aside moments earlier by Livia’s hips. As she leaned on it, the heavy door detached from the wall completely, slamming hard onto the ground. Several guards, who had been standing behind the door, jumped out of the way just in time. One of them, however, was not so lucky. The door slammed onto the ground, crushing him flat under its weight.

Livia turned in shock, horrified by how easy it was to crush a man by accident. If anything, she was lucky it had been just the one. If the other men didn’t have such quick reflexes, they could have been flattened as well. Blood ran down the crevices, flowing between the tiles, and Livia simply stared, before she snapped back to her sense. Looking at the other guards, who were still trembling, she realized that she should say something. “I’m sorry...”

“Sorry about what?” A pleasant female voice interrupted her. It was Anastasia, rounding the corner. She walked across the fallen door, ignoring the little guards who stood in her way. They lept out of the way, avoiding her steps. She gazed up at Livia, a smile creeping across her face.

“The door… I crushed one of the guards…”

“Oh, my goddess, don’t worry about that! You killed far more last night, but that’s not worth troubling yourself over either. You are what matters… Look at yourself! You’ve grown huge, and you look like a true goddess now! Not even Cybele herself grew so large on her Coronation! We’ll have to widen that doorway… Not that you’ll be expected to show up there anyway, except for the major feasts. Of course, you’re welcome to stop by anytime, if you want to accept tribute from your worshipers. Or not at all, if it pleases you. All is for your pleasure.

‘You woke up earlier than I anticipated. Usually so much Red Wine will give you something of a hangover if you’re not used to it. Speaking of which, I wonder how your sister is doing...”

“My sister?” Livia said to herself. Of course, how could she forget about her sister? As huge as Livia had grown, Julia must have grown even bigger. Dread once more overcame Livia, as she pictured her sister smashing through the roof of her temple, laughing madly as she revealed her enormous size.

As if caused by Livia’s thoughts, a clamour rang out from Julia’s temple. Livia craned her neck, but she couldn’t tell what was going on inside of the other building. A moment later, a small woman walked timidly through the crack between the huge doors. The woman stared at Livia, gazing at her with wide eyes. Then, loud footsteps. Julia’s. The guards standing outside of Julia’s temple backed away in fear. The footsteps stopped, and the doors opened wider. Livia grimaced in anticipation, wondering how huge her sister must be now. She pictured Julia as a hulking monstrosity, smashing down the temple as she made her way through those doors.

Julia’s voice carried far, when she wanted it to, and Livia could make out her words without too much trouble. “So much blood everywhere… Must have been one hell of a night. Shame I can’t remember any of it. How many jars of wine did I drink, slave? Well?”

“Oh? Yes, the wine.” the tiny woman looked flustered by Julia’s question. In fact, she looked flustered in general. “At least ten gallons, I’m sure.”

“Ten? Do you doubt me, slave? It must have been twenty, easy.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, your grace. Please forgive me.”

“And how many men did I devour?”

“Perhaps ten, or fifteen… I mean, more than I could count, your grace. And you crushed far more.”

“You know, slave, you look rather tasty yourself…”

“I beg your mercy… But, if… if that is your will, so be it--”

“I’ll save you for later, but first, let’s see how little sister is doing. The little bitch probably didn’t even finish her wine, I doubt she’s grown at all. I can’t wait to see how pathetic she looks now! But… fuck, there’s nothing worse than the morning sun after a bad hangover. Alright, here goes…”

Finally, the doors swung wide open, and Livia couldn’t believe her eyes. Julia, nude, walked out the the double doors, barely bending over to make her way through the tall doorframes. Her body was all but caked in dried blood, but her face and hair were conspicuously clean. She was scarcely any bigger than she had been before; still huge by a normal man’s standards, but no more than forty feet tall. She made her way outside, stretching out her arms as she walked slowly, her feet coming close to landing on several of her guards as she walked. “Aah, good morning… sister?”

Julia’s gaze turned towards Livia. She stared in disbelief, her mouth wide open. “How did you… you freak! You… This is all wrong! This is all… WRONG!”

Julia turned towards a cluster of her guards, who were cowering together. She grabbed two of them, picking them up. She squeezed both of them as hard as she could, crushing them as blood ran between her fingers. Then, enraged, she threw their bodies at the floor. One of her other guards was backing away. With a single step, she came down upon him, crushing him under her bare foot.

Julia breathed deeply, suppressing her rage. She turned towards Livia, doing her best to calm herself. Julia’s guards trembled, and her tiny “slave” woman was shaking more than any of them.

“Livia.” she said, malice dripping from her words. “I didn’t think you’d have the stomach for killing. It looks like you had some fun with the men, yes? Well don’t think this means you’re not still weak.” Julia made her way towards Livia, all but shaking with anger.

Livia didn’t know what to say, what to do. She tried to compose herself. “Perhaps I’m not as weak as you think I am, sister.” Words that Livia didn’t believe. For the first time, her sister didn’t tower over her. She was the strong one now. And yet, as large as she had become, she still feared her sister. Julia was still walking towards her, clearly overtaken with terrifying anger. Livia wanted to cower away, to beg her sister for forgiveness. But she told herself that the dynamic had shifted. She would stand up to Julia, now.

Livia lifted herself up. She felt uncertain at first; her body was so much more massive now. Every small motion seemed huge, and carried far larger momentum than she was used to. But slowly, as the tile cracked beneath her, Livia made her way to her feet, and she gazed with amazement down at the world around her.

Julia seemed almost tiny now. Half of Livia’s height, perhaps less. Julia was like a child to her. A forty-foot child, but a child nonetheless. And yet that “child” was deeply cruel, and knew precisely how to manipulate Livia’s emotions.

“You freak,” said Julia, staring up at her sister angrily. “You useless, worthless bitch. How dare you try to do this to me. How dare you try to take away my birthright! As if mother would be foolish enough to make you her heir, just because you had some growth spurt.”

Julia eyed several of Livia’s guards, then looked back up at Livia with malice. She stepped forward with heavy footsteps. Livia was frozen, stammering. She couldn’t hurt her sister, not unless she wanted to provoke far worse. Julia wasn’t bigger than her anymore, but she was still stronger in other ways. Stronger, and crueler. Even if Julia couldn’t hurt Livia directly anymore, there were still other people Julia could hurt. People Livia cared about.

Livia backed up, until she found herself butting into the front of her temple. She turned back to her sister. “Julia, I don’t want to fight you. But...”

“But what, you bitch?” Julia stepped up towards Livia. One of Livia’s guards ran up to defend his goddess, stepping in front of Julia. Without a second thought, Julia swiftly kicked him in the stomach, breaking his spine and throwing him into the temple wall.

Julia grabbed a piece of the door that had broken off, a long, sharp section that was the size of a dagger to her. She waved it around wildly, jabbing the air with it. “You stay away from my birthright, you cunt.”

“No, you stay away!” The warning came not from Livia, but from Anastasia, who stood her ground between Livia’s legs. Livia stared down, her mind racing, unable to respond. Anastasia stood defiantly, refusing to back down even as Julia pointed the splinter towards her neck. “Do not speak that way to my Goddess!”

Julia knelt down to meet Anastasia closer to her own level. “So, you’re Livia’s new High Priestess, are you? Well, I guess you’re going the one fighting Livia’s battles from now on. Well, let me tell you how things work. You do not speak to me as an equal. You do not order me around. And if you do, you’ll die like every other worthless piece of shit who insulted me!”

“You will not speak that way to MY servants!” Livia was suddenly animated by rage of her own, which had finally overtaken her fear. “How dare you kill one of my guards! I’d return the favor on your guards, If you weren’t so indifferent to the lives of everyone except yourself. So instead, I’ll give you a choice. You can leave, now, or I’ll be forced to defend myself.”

Julia stood up defiantly, with an expression that betrayed just a bit of fear.

“I said NOW!” Livia stomped on the ground next to Julia. The ground shook, sending a shockwave through the city square. Julia stumbled back, her balance thrown off. She fell onto her feet.

Julia dusted herself off, and stood up, doing her best to look tough. “You get too upset. Calm down, sister. It’s all in good sport, remember?” And with a menacing grin, she turned and walked off.

*********************************************************************************************************

Pax Romana: The Next Day

Livia made her way back home. Her mother’s Royal guards had escorted her back, using a road that was made for the giants. The bricks that paved the road were reinforced with a powerful ore that could be found only in the Spice caves, which was also used to create much of the Empress’s palace, and the walls that surrounded it. The bricks were nearly indestructible, and could survive giantesses walking on them repeatedly with little cracking. Normal civilians were technically not supposed to cross the road, which cut straight through the middle of the city. Instead, they were supposed to go underground, through tunnels that crept under the road. But with the constant quaking, the tunnels were prone to caving in. Dozens of people crossed the giant’s road, rules and safety be damned.

Her presence in the city was supposed to be a secret, but it’s hard to keep people from realizing when a gigantic, stark-naked woman is walking down a city street in bright daylight. Crowds soon gathered, and Livia did her best to look dignified, even though she was visibly embarrassed. Her cheeks were red, and she was all too aware of her nakedness. She tried at first to cover her breasts with her hand, but her breasts had grown huge the night before, and now a single hand was now scarcely sufficient.

The head of her guards, a female soldier who stood thirty feet tall, now barely came up to Livia’s knee. Noting Livia’s unease, the guard captain gave Livia an inquisitive look and drew her spear. “Shall I?” It took Livia a moment before she realized what the guard captain meant. The guard captain was asking if they should enforce the punishment for gazing upon a naked goddess, a crime that could be punished by death. “No,” Livia replied. “That’s not the kind of goddess I want to be.”

Livia smiled back at the ecstatic crowds, putting on a wide grin that she hoped would cover up her nervousness, and set her eyes high on the horizon. These tiles didn’t crack under her feet; the redstone truly was all but unbreakable. The men, however, would give way under her far more easily.

Tiny being stared up at her, little men that now seemed like so much less than they had just a day before. Livia did her best not to look down, but she could just barely make out some people below her. They were drunkenly running about, zigging and zagging and crossing just in front of her. These men were tempting fate, and doing it of their own avail. To stop and wait for them would make her look weak. She made the decision to continue at her current pace.

Livia could just barely feel the first one, popping under her foot like a ripe cherry. The sensation was overwhelming. Power coursed through her veins as she felt the tiny man squished like jelly beneath her. Thick crimson blood coated her heel. Livia tried to ignore the sensation, and the pleasure that came with it. She continued along at the same pace, and more men found their way under her bare feet, mashed between her soles and the stones below.

Livia maintained her regal pace, her eyes staying focused on her palace in the distance. As more men were crushed under her, however, it became difficult for her to focus. With every few steps, another man was crushed beneath her, and her attention was brought once more to the sensations of her heel. As she made her way closer to the palace, and the crowds thinned, Livia felt almost disappointed.

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It didn’t take long before Livia had arrived at the palace gates, gates she could now scarcely fit underneath. With her new height, she could cover ground much faster than she was used to, walking miles in a minute with little effort. Once the palace gates had closed behind her, she dismissed her guards and staff.

How many men Livia had stepped on, she didn’t know. Not too many, she told herself, perhaps a few dozen. Or was it more? By the end of it, at any rate, her soles were stained a deep red.

Back in the palace, she had little time to think about her new predicament. She had to be fitted for new clothes. Livia was far too big now to fit into her old clothes, so the slaves made other preparations. Her mother had a dinner planned for that very night, and so one of her mother’s servants came to greet her, and usher her to complete the preparations.

Her mother's’ servant was an older woman, or seemed to be; Livia didn’t inquire. She stood perhaps ten feet tall, high enough that she towered over the slaves that followed her around. Yet even at this height, she was like a child’s toy compared to Livia. A single errant step, and Livia could have crushed her.

The servant was impressed at Livia’s size. She had grown more than any of them anticipated/ The servant did her best to fit into one of her mother’s old dresses, which they tailored for Livia. Yet even with skilled tailoring, the dress was still sizes too small. The dress rode high on Livia’s hips, and scarcely managed to cover her now considerable bust. Yet it was better than nothing, and dressed in ill-fitting clothes, Livia made her way to the throne room.

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The Royal Guards seemed smaller than Livia remembered, though Cybele was still imposing. Cybele sat in her throne, looking displeased. She bided her time, absent-mindedly ripping the limbs off of an ambassador who must have displeased her. As Livia entered, though, she dropped the torso onto the floor and stood up in disbelief.

“They guards told me you had grown big…” The ground shook as Cybele made her way over to Livia. To Livia’s amazement, her mother now stood barely a head taller than her now.

Cybele made her way around Livia, marveling at her daughter’s growth. “After your first time using the Spice… incredible. The dress you’re wearing used to be mine… It fit me not ten years ago. And that body… You’re growing almost as fast as your grandmother did. And the Spice was purer back then…

‘The guards told me about the state of your temple. It sounds like you enjoyed your offerings. Not a single one alive... I was worried all this time that you would be too squeamish...

Cybele eyed her daughter. “Perhaps you misjudged me. Clearly Juno’s spirit favors me. More, I dare say, than it seems to have favored my sister.” Livia could barely hold back a smirk. “Julia, that little runt? She barely grew at all. You should have seen the look over her face, when she saw how much I’ve grown… She ran off like a child.”

Cybele shook her head. She burned with buried anger. “You presume to know my design? You think that just because you didn’t act like a coward for once in your life, you somehow deserve to be the heir to my throne?” Cybele stared coldly into the distance. “I will select no heir, not yet. I’m postponing the decision until a suitable heir can be determined.”

“Look at me!” said Livia. “Julia isn’t half my height! If she didn’t grow on her Coronation, she’s doomed to be a runt! Do you want Scarlett and Camilla to tower over the next Empress?

‘Mother, you must see it! Julia has been using the Spice for years. That’s why she grew at such a young age, and it’s the only reason she was ever bigger than me. You always said the one who grows largest on the Coronation was blessed by Juno. Well here I am. Do as you promised, and make me the heir to Juno’s throne!”

Cybele stood up from her throne and stared down at Livia. As much as Livia had grown, her mother was still a head taller, perhaps more. Her face had the look of someone who had just tasted acid. “Do not suppose that you can order me around, child. Whatever I decide will be law, when I decide it. One night proves little. If you want me to consider you as Empress, prove that you are worthy. My heir will not have the weak stomach and soft heart of a lamb. Now, leave me. We have an important dinner coming up, and I must see that the proper preparations are being made...”

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Livia lied down in the courtyard outside her room, considering her options as slaves attended to her. How could she show her strength? Her mother was still unconvinced, even after everything that had happened at her Coronation. She had to convince her mother that she could be ruthless. But could she, without becoming a monster like her sister? Perhaps there was another way. If she could simply grow, so large that she could tower over the both of them… But she was hesitant to use the Spice again, after everything that happened the night before.

The same courtyard seemed so different now. So much smaller. The eunuch slaves that fanned and massaged her seemed like mere toys now. And her bedroom… Livia couldn’t even fit through the doorway anymore. Not that she tried; it was made out of Redstone, and she didn’t want to end up stuck halfway through the entrance. Her mother’s dress even felt to tight, as if she was growing by the minute.

Livia had asked around for her mentor, an old learned slave, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, she summoned her new High Priestess, Anastasia. Within moments, she appeared, towering over the slaves even as she was dwarfed by Livia. Anastasia bowed before Livia, still dressed in the same revealing ceremonial gown as before. “Your beauty, how may I serve you?”

Livia greeted Anastasia, and began to explain the situation. She tried not to worry about the slaves overhearing her; most of the Eunuchs were foreigners who spoke little Latin, and the rest had their tongues removed long ago. “Anastasia, I wanted to ask your counsel. My mother… She refuses to… to... ”

“...to choose an heir? Do you worry she may choose your sister?”

“Yes! She sees mercy as weakness. She wants me to be as uncaring as my sister is…”

“And you ask me for advice?” Livia nodded in response.

Anastasia made her way over to Livia. She walked along Livia’s body, caressing Livia’s leg as she went. To her surprise, Livia shivered in pleasure.

“My goddess, the Empress respects strength above all, and mercy is anathema to strength. In her philosophy, I mean... You must show her you understand your place the the world, and take pleasure in it. A goddess should take whatever she wants, if it… pleases her.” With that, Anastasia knelt down next to a slave, who was fanning Livia.

“Your mother is having a dinner with the Duchess of Athens. I imagine she plans to discuss policy, but she’s also interested in how you’ll react to the dinner itself. And do you know what dinner will be?”

“Dinner… Them?” Livia said, looking down at the slaves.

“After a fashion.They won’t be common slaves, these ones should be specially prepared to eat. They’ve been prepared by the finest chefs in the Empire…

‘Livia, your feasting at the Coronation was truly impressive… but soon you must show you can do the same, without the aid of The Spice. To impress your mother, you must show her you can eat men as she does. With enjoyment, and without hesitation.”

“Is there any other way?”

“What you do is your choice, your grace. But if you want to win her favor, you must show her you have overcome your squeamishness. Now, most of the time, it’s considered proper to swallow them, although there are exceptions...”

“But… I’ve never done such a thing… Except for last night, I mean, and I hardly remember…”

“Then perhaps, if it pleases you, you should start now,” said Anastasia. “This one is handsome enough, and he looks clean.”

“What? I… no…” Livia said to herself. Could she even do such a thing, without the Spice?

“Go ahead,” Anastasia said, “take him.”

Livia looked at the man. A Eunuch. he looked normal enough. A good slave, from what she could tell. He was still relatively young and handsome, though he was starting to get a bit of a gut, as Eunuchs often did. After hesitating for a moment, Livia carefully picked up the little man. Although he briefly flinched, he made no attempt to resist. He kept his gaze downcast, an uneasy look on his face.

“Go ahead,” Anastasia said. “If it is your will, of course.”

Livia could hardly believe this was happening, it all seemed so unreal. The man was before her. And she was to eat him… It seemed like such a bizarre thing for her to do. Livia had scarcely noticed the men beneath her feet earlier that day, but this was different. To devour someone was so much more… intimate. And even at her height, an entire person seemed impossibly large. And yet, she had managed the night before… Could she do it? Could she force herself now?

Raising the man to her mouth, Livia closed her eyes. She slid him into her mouth. He fit, just barely. She could feel his body against her tongue. The skin was surprisingly salty with sweat; she nearly recoiled. But then she overcame her hesitation. His flesh was smooth, and soft. And there was something so enticing about the way his legs wriggled about in fear…

Slowly, she closed her lips around him. Her wet lips wrapped around his upper body. The little man struggled to fight his way out, trying to squeeze through the soft walls of her lips, but the thick wet membranes pressed too tightly together. With a single, intuitive motion, Livia slid the tip of her tongue along the front of the man’s body, sliding him down the length of her tongue.

Unable to wait any longer, Livia swallowed. He slid down her throat, gliding down the slick wetness of her tongue. She realized in that instant how big he was; far bigger than any piece of food she would normally eat. And yet somehow he slid right down into her throat without any discomfort. In fact, swallowing him produced a powerful sensation of pleasure in Livia. As his body slid tightly through her throat, she felt a brief moment of ecstasy. Livia shuddered as he writher and squirmed down the chute of her esophagus, orgasmic pleasure overtaking her.

So that was it. In a moment, Livia understood why her mother and the others had such voracious appetites. It felt incredible, like nothing else Livia could remember feeling before. The Coronation Night was a blur, but this? This was crisp. This was real. This was amazing. And she wanted more, as wrong as she knew it was.Livia hadn’t even been hungry before she devoured that man, but now she felt something else; a different kind of hunger, a strange urge. The frightened slaves that cowered below her suddenly looked delicious. Even Anastasia, large as she was, looked incredible. Maybe Livia couldn’t swallow Anna in one gulp, but still, Anna’s soft curves were so delectable. Her beautiful body looked utterly delicious. And she belonged to Livia. All Livia had to do was grab her, and--

“LIvia, you’ve done wonderfully.” Livia snapped back to reality. Anastasia was staring up at her, dressed in her blue fineries. “For most it’s an acquired taste to swallow men sober, without the aid of the red spice. But you took quite naturally to it. You’re ready for the dinner.”

Next time: Primae Mensae