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

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


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


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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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