10
Pan slowed to a trot a minute or two later. She didn’t feel much like running anymore. She wasn’t winded or terribly out of shape, she had just never been that enthusiastic about running, for sport or pleasure. The way she saw it, unless she was being chased by a killer, or on fire, there wasn’t much of a point to it. Come to think of it she should probably be much heavier than she was, but she had been blessed with a super-humanly high metabolism and effortlessly kept her lithe shape even though her diet often consisted of gorging on booze, frozen pizza and fast-food. And mint chocolate chip ice cream when she was feeling particularly indulgent; she licked her lips at the thought. God, she would’ve killed for some ice cream right then.
This inhuman metabolism, a target of constant jealousy, had spoiled her, and she very rarely exerted herself when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. It had been delightful tearing through the city at what must’ve seemed ludicrous speeds to any little people, and feeling the tarmac and buildings quake and splinter even more completely beneath her hastened step; but the initial thrill had faded and she found herself succumbing to her inherent laziness. She wiped an ungodly amount of sweat from her forehead, combed her slick hair over her shoulders and her trot devolved further to her natural, languorous gait as she strode through the remaining portion of the industrial district.
She stopped, suddenly before a building, slightly taller and nicer looking than those around it. An antiquey red sign atop it read, in yellow writing that reminded her of the circus, “Papa Bubbly’s World Famous Brewery”. She unconsciously licked her lips. “Beer..” She spoke murkily as if hypnotized. Her eyes scanned lustily down, and a bright banner, hung below the sign proclaimed “PROUD HOME OF THE WORLD’S LARGEST BOTTLES OF BEER!” Could that mean what she thought?
Pan hunkered down, sitting on her haunches and filling the street, and peered in through the ground-to-roof glass of the renowned brewery. Her mouth fell into a laughing smile at what she saw: 6 giant multi-colored bottles of hoppy goodness! They were arranged neatly in 2 rows of 3, divided by polished walkways and cordoned off by halos of red velvet ropes and glittering gold poles.
Puffs of white mist sprayed up around them periodically, presumably cooling them, and dewey droplets peppered the frosty bottles. Bright display lights shone beneath them, illuminating the glass and fizzy contents, and gave them a heavenly glow. Papa Bubbly’s smiling, mustachioed image beamed at her from the 6 lavishly decorated, gold-lettered labels. He winked and pointed at her. “This brew’s fer you!,” He seemed to merrily laugh at her.
She licked her lips once more, clasped her delicate but huge hands before her and let her hair fall down her back and cast a wide-eyed and humbly thankful gaze to the sky; where she knew her maker lay in bed, typing out, and often fapping to, the details of her existence. She had no doubt he had been responsible for this unlikely, but fateful boon and blew him a couple appreciative kisses. He, in turn, blushed lightly and kept typing.
She pondered briefly how best to go about retrieving her mouth-watering prizes, and settled on simply poking through the glass facade. Her fingers burst through it effortlessly and anxiously wrapped around one of the towering bottles, knocking over a plaque proclaiming the very specific dimensions of the bottle and the volume it held, as well as the brewing process of the beer it contained. Pan’s creator didn’t think these details were particularly important to the story, and openly glossed them over.
Pan thrilled at how perfectly cold the bottle was in her hand, and pulled it out, further widening the hole in the building. Her blue eyes gawked marvelingly at it as she rotated it in front of her face. She rolled it over her chest, which sprouted goosebumps at its chill touch, and licked its slender neck provocatively, and then began twisting its gleaming cap. Her excitement was replaced by sudden aggravation. It wasn’t a twist off!
She huffed brattily and was about to flip the sky off, when she saw something gleaming in the back corner of the showcase. It was a giant bottle opener. It too bore Papa Bubbly’s likeness along with bold letters stating “No Worries!”. Smiling once more she retrieved it and expertly used it to pop the cap off. It flew off and shattered the windshield of an adjacent truck. Its hearty scent danced up to her nose and tickled her nostrils. Then she brought the fluted tip of the bottle to her parched lips and took an appraising sip.
“Mmmm,” she mouthed, or rather ‘throated’ as the cool, fizzy drink met her tongue. It was dark and hoppy, but also smooth and creamy. Simply put, it was fucking delicious. She wanted to relax and enjoy it. She decided with a backward glance that the squat building behind her would make a fine chair and casually sat her immense, meaty ass upon it.
It landed squarely on the comparatively tiny rooftop access doorway, which pressed fleetingly into her buttcrack. She let out a startled gasp at the minute and unexpected poke, but continued to lower her ass. Her full, rounded buttcheeks spilled over the little exit. It put up a feeble, shuddering struggle but ultimately buckled and crumbled to pieces under her. Wounded metallic screeches split the air as her firm rump flattened some a/c units. Now unchallenged, the warm, quivering flesh of her asscheeks spread out and filled the rooftop.
The building creakingly complained beneath her. She felt the concrete roof bow and crack as it endeavored to hold her unfathomable weight before it too surrendered. The upper walls exploded outward and the roof caved in and her butt fell through to the next floor in a shower of broken concrete, plaster, and falling light fixtures and vents. It landed with a boom and immediately collapsed that floor. Finally the third floor down bowed severely under her ass but managed to bleatingly support her.
She shimmied gently to get comfortable, steamrolling file cabinets full of invoices and other boring jargon, state of the art (as of the prior week, so obsolete really) computers and fax machines, desks and one unlucky vending machine against her soft, but unmerciful hindquarters. Then she resumed drinking, finally seated and content.
Pan craned her neck upward, and knocked back the bottle, chugging like a pro. Galloons of heady, hop-infused beer filled her mouth and puffed her freckled cheeks before being pushed into her slender neck, which bulged briefly, then sped the cold liquid into the gurgling reservoir that was her stomach. She slurped and swallowed noisily with perfect, automated regularity. GULP!-m-GULP!-m-GULP! She was a living, breathing beer guzzling machine; a sexy one.
The icy cold, amber-colored beer flooded her mouth and washed over her inquisitive tongue. Its rich flavor teased and enlivened her taste buds and its fizzing bubbles tickled the roof of her mouth and throat. It was delightful in taste and temperature and she was a little caught up in her grateful chugging. Perhaps that is why she hadn’t yet noticed little man on her toes.
Oscar was yanked screaming from his drunken slumber by imminent and thundering crashing and booms. Oscar wasn’t his real name, but he had thick bushy orange-red eyebrows, and, as a homeless man, spent a great deal of time scowling and being in and around rubbish; so people had taken to calling him Oscar, as in Oscar the Grouch. He hadn’t done much to oppose this; he could no longer remember his real name and Oscar the Grouch seemed as good a name as any. (What’s in a name? That which we call a bum by any other name would smell as rank. J) He rolled, grumbling, out of his cardboard shanty and stumbled out of the reeking, garbage filled alley towards the road, which seemed to be the origin of the cacophonous noise, on wobbling legs.
He saw the towering source of the horrendous booming and nearly fainted. He stared, sparingly-toothed mouth open in awe and disbelief. His vision was still a little watery from this morning’s Old Dead Turkey quality bourbon whiskey, but had no doubt that it was a colossal woman walking down the street towards him. He scratched his whispy-haired head. A giant woman! And…Oh my. She was a real looker!
Oscar’s leering gape crawled up her long, lean legs and stuck briefly on the crotch of her shorts, still visibly dark with her earlier subconscious arousal. He thought of the gaping, slobbering pussy she must be hiding in her little shorts and felt his penis stiffen. He could live in it. It would be a much warmer box than the ones he was used to sleeping in. He felt the ground quaking as she drew closer.
He licked over his yellow teeth, cracked lips and over his wild red mustache. His drooling gaze wormed up her undulating belly and lingered on her heaving, bouncing tits; growing ever larger as she advanced. It oozed over the proud, jiggling mounds and pert nipples, and slithered into her inviting cleavage. It made several lewd circuits of this before finally scanning her angelic face. He eyeballed her plump, pouting lips, gorgeous cheekbones, thick, billowing hair and big, heavy lidded “fuck me” blue eyes. She was so fuckin sexy.
He hadn’t felt a woman in so long, and she was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. His slug-like tongue moistened his craggy lips again and he took a swig of the burningly bitter whiskey-swill left in his flask. God he wanted her. He wanted her so badly. His cock throbbed in his crusty pants as she teasingly sashayed towards him.
Before long Oscar was staring at her from under the blanket of her shadow. He fell to his butt as her humongous foot crashed down not 10 feet in front of where he stood slavering over the titanic vixen. She stopped, and for a moment he thought she had noticed him noticing her.
But, her feet turned away from him with riotous, bassy steps. He marveled as her footfalls rocked and split the pavement and her hulking toes, dainty on her scale, flayed out and landed on a parallel parked taxi cab. They crinkled the metal as if it was paper, and utterly flattened the car which squealed shrilly, and settled. She mindlessly formed the cab into a thin metal blanket between them and the crackling road. He realized at last that her concern was with the brewery, and not with him.
He watched in a torpor as she stooped and punched her grasping hand through the glass front of Papa Bubbly’s and extricated one of the gargantuan bottles of beer; a tourist attraction. She trundled it between and over her enormous tits and lapped amorously at its top as if preparing a cock for fellatio. She unknowingly nursed his agonized arousal.
She attempted to twist off the giant top, and sneered upon failing, but smiled and pulled the giant bottleopener from the brewery, busting out more tinkling glass in the process. She snapped off the metal lid, the size of a manhole cover, and it rocketed into an abandoned orange work-truck behind him. The giant bottlecap shattered the windshield and came to rest on the seat. The usual Papa Bubbly logo was stamped on it and it looked as though the beer-brewing mascot had it in his mind to drive the victimized truck.
The giantess’ failure to notice him (he was a voyeur by nature, by design and necessity) and her raw displays of power further inflamed Oscar’s already aching libido. His cock, long unused and lethargic, stabbed into his trousers uncomfortably. He had to have her, and he had to have her now. He dropped his emptied flask to the asphalt with a hollow clang and He charged her heedless foot in a sexual kamikaze. He threw himself madly at her immense toes and scrabbled rabidly up them like a spider monkey, with a nimbleness his aged, malnourished body shouldn’t have been able to muster.
Above him the giantess was beginning to sit, her long sequoia legs bent and her hearty ass slammed mercilessly into the building behind them. He heard pained cracking and thundering explosions and brick and mortar rubble and dust rained down from above and between her out stretched legs. He pantingly pulled himself up onto her pinky and adjoining toes, and “army crawled” over them.
The pungent odor of her feminine sweat and feel of her soft warm flesh rubbing beneath him was too much. He hastily unbuttoned his pants and tore them down to his knees, positioned his throbbing dick in the sweat-moistened cleft between the huge toes, and humped it frantically. He kissed and licked the sticky flesh with each of his hurried thrusts. He heard the deep, bellowing gulps and appreciative moans of the giant woman above, and fancied this pleased her. “oh yeah, you like that, doncha, sexy thing?”
A thrust and a half later found him shooting a couple hot loads of cum into the fleshy crevice. Oscar then lay straddling it, shuddering in the aftermath of sweet release. He huffed and gasped, “Oh god. Oh god, thank you. Jes-us I needed that…” His weathered face, always a knot of worried, angry wrinkles, loosened, then smoothed to a look of utter contentment. Oscar’s small heart grew three sizes that day, then her gargantuan toes buccked underneath him and separated. He fell wordlessly into the hole they left and rolled under her creased sole.
Pan slurpingly finished the remains of her beer and had the mind to retrieve another, when she felt a miniscule tickling sensation in her toes. She looked to her foot, and saw a little human sprawled over the crack between her little toe and the next. He wore a filthy, hole-ridden trench coat and it was obvious from the upwards-downwards motion of his little butt that he was humping her. This dirty little hobo was humping her toes.
She stared, paralyzed with disbelief for a second, and saw the previously vigorously thrusting little man stop and twitch spastically. Oh! OH GROSS! She had barely felt it, but she had, an infinitesimal spurt between her (not completely) innocent toes. The little pervert had orgasmed! On her foot! Her mouth melted downward in an exaggerated, almost comical frown of disgust.
She reared her toes up violently, nearly dislodging the newly gratified homeless man. Upon failing this, she spread them out, and the tiny man fell through the resulting crack as an earthquake victim into a tremor-wrought fissure. He tumbled underneath her great foot, which she slammed down on top of him. She felt his fragile body pop, but she continued to roll and grind it roughly into the ground. She stopped after a moment, but winced, feeling soiled by the horny hobo. Now she really needed another drink.