12
Pan’s feet plummeted haphazardly upon cars and people as she staggered onward in a giddy daze. She giggled drunkenly as they crunched and exploded beneath her. Their popping reminded her of bubble wrap.
Her thundering, inebriated steps were random, zig-zagging and sometimes backward. Tiny people hoping to avoid them scrambled in her shadow, but couldn’t consistently predict where her dirty, gore-stained soles would land. They scurried in confused circles and collided with one another and fell tangled and dazed to the ground. Her foot smashed them and mercilessly ground them against the road, breaking their bodies and smearing their entrails against her. When she lifted her feet after such a murderous step stringy gore would stretch from the cracked road to the bottom of her foot, like gum from a sidewalk, before snapping wetly as she moved on.
Pan grew bored of simply trodding on the fleeing masses and began to idly kick at them as she walked. The lean muscles of her lithe legs twitched and rippled below her velvety skin as they swung forward in clumsy, but powerful arcs. Her feet crunched through the tarmac, dug beneath and swung into the little vehicles and people, hitting them like freight trains. She felt them tickle her toes briefly before becoming airborne. The monumental force of her playful kicks snapped bones, collapsed lungs and buckled axles. Her targets tumbled broken through the air before crashing down on screaming, honking clusters of their peers.
Pan’s ears perked as a low, steady bumble bee-like buzzing became apparent to her over and between the sounds of destruction, despair and her bubbling sniggers. Her face crinkled with curiosity and her eyes found a small fleet of helicopters suspended in a loose cloud around her. Their metal shells and colorful decals gleamed in the afternoon sun. There must have been at least a dozen of them.
They were, predictably, mainly news choppers emblazoned with bold colorful numbers of various TV stations, though a couple bore the call letters of local radio stations; their tiny crews probably unused to covering anything more exciting than road work and traffic jams. They were her little personal airborne paparazzi. She was touched.
They hovered at a sheepish distance like cowardly mosquitoes. They reveled and thrived in her presence, but shied away from getting too close, no doubt fearing she would swat them out of existence. Even now they seemed to wither and retreated further when she met them with her beautiful and inquisitive blue eyes. She didn’t blame them, her attention usually proved lethal.
Pan smiled winningly at them, and flirtatiously batted her big doe eyes. “It’s ok. Go on and film me, muh little newsies…. I llllike it.” She beckoned them, bidding them to follow her as she trod forward. She sashayed sexily for the little news crews and folks at home as she walked in front of the glimmering swarm.
The cameramen and pilots licked their lips, whispered sexual promises to her and swallowed hard as she slowly gyrated her flared hips like a salsa dancer in her stride. Their cameras whirred in mechanical arousal and zoomed in on her bouncing round buttocks. Her magnificent ass filled their lenses and TV and computer screens across the world. However, her steps were slightly irregular and wobbly from her beer buzz and curbed her hotness, if only minutely. But still the news choppers followed in her wake and the cameras inside kept rolling, feasting on the allure and terror the sultry giantess bred.
A handsome man with ocean blue eyes and short, precisely sculpted salt and pepper hair spoke solemnly into an microphone, struggling to be heard over the whirr of the helicopter’s engine and booming thunder of the giant woman’s drunken, destructive footfalls. He had a strong jaw, and had been shown to evoke subconscious images of a patriotic astronaut war hero in focus groups the network had tested. High percentages of women from the ages of 14-19, and 28-56 found him sexually attractive.
“Hello again, viewers. Chip Williams here live on scene flying above Riverside Avenue bringing you the Channel 12 SUPERDELUXE! Action Power Explosion News minutely update on the Giant Woman Disaster,….brought to you by hearty, tender Barky Bits. If you really love your dog, and don’t want them to die, feed them barky bits. Now with 90% more cat.”
“Now, As you can probably tell the giant woman, which experts have placed in her mid to late twenties, seems to be under the effects of alcohol. Moments ago, we saw as she lapped up a veritable lake of spilled Papa Bubbly beer, the seasonal summer “Afternoon Delight” brew, if I’m not mistaken; with heady hops and subtle but zesty undertones of citrus and lemon…,” He paused and subconsciously licked his lips, the nagging thirst of his purportedly defeated alcoholism tickling his throat “and distressingly swallowing several unfortunate people struggling in the cool, bubbly…refreshing deathtrap. Here is a clip of the terrifying massacre, for you, the viewers…”
A shaky clip depicting the scene from “moments ago” broadcast for the 10th time in as many minutes across the flickering TV screens of Americans across the country. They watch rapt from couches and recliners slurping on sodas and as she brushed her long, thick mane over her delicate ears and shoulders and slowly laid down on her belly. Cameras washed over the overgrown college student. Their view trickled up the strange landscape that was her young, destruction-framed body.
First, the viewers saw her wrinkled, grubby anxiously flexing soles. They rocketed up and down in the sky as she idly kicked dainty, murdering feet up and down through the air, like a smaller young woman might do when she is laying on her bed, bored; only hers was a mattress made of crackled asphalt, flattened cars, and crushed people in various stages of despair, struggle and death.
They took in the splendor of her long, glistening legs as she bent and unfurled them. The scene flew along and over the dual hillocks of her firm butt, barely covered by her shorts, which rippled in the slight breeze blowing over her. Close observers could see several almost-human shapes, and fine dust and rubble peppered and smeared over her delectable hindquarters, marring the otherwise bright material of her tiny shorts.
They soared over the graceful arches and curves of her hips, back and shoulders and floated over her curly, flowing brown hair-topped head. They zoomed over the spilled beer, regarding the poor souls splashing and gasping in it before turning back suddenly toward the giantess once more.
They saw as she smiled mischievously at the lake below her cute button nose. A darkly whimsical glint came over her eyes and her pink tongue poked out from between her soft, inviting lips and dipped into the amber puddle. The impromptu beer-lake rippled ominously as her tongue pierced the surface, and waves rocked the little people struggling in the zesty brew. The giantess sensuously lapped at the amber puddle and licked up beer and screaming citizens alike. The viewers ate it up. They had tuned in to the “Giant Woman Disaster” news stories in record-breaking numbers. It was, after all, a perfect blend of mind-numbing terror, panic-inducing hysteria, and understated, but ever present eroticism. The networks couldn’t have been happier.
Then, the television screens flickered briefly and they were returned to the helicopter cockpit, and Chip Williams again spoke to them, in his even, booming voice, “The giant is still just pounding down the street, still mercilessly crushing and grinding vehicles and people under her feminine, manicured feet…but is now swaying in some sort of amorous, “come hither” dance,” The view changed again, and viewers were treated to a closer view of the sashaying giantess, from behind and slightly below her enormous, sumptuous ass. “…which this reporter must admit is more than a little hypnotic,”…he dramatically motioned behind him, “ just look at her round, but toned rump. It hops with every step, treating us to a mesmerizing salsa…”
Chip, whose eyes had glazed over, was snapped suddenly, violently from his reverent trance by his wife’s piercing telepathic scolding. He shook his head and was speechless for a moment, but regained his composure and continued, “Urrm…But she, uh… she seems barely able to hold herself u…” “ Whoa! Shit!,” Chip cried as he pitched backwards, nearly falling prone, but catching a grip on the co-pilot’s seat (which the pilot had repeatedly urged him to sit and buckle himself into) at the last second. The helicopter had lurched to a surprising halt. Chip glared wordlessly at the pilot, who shrugged apologetically and pointed to the front of the cabin.
Chip looked, and was shocked to see the giantess’ immense ass filling the glass. They were hovering mere meters behind it, he was peering directly into the dim, twilight valley of her shorts-covered buttcrack. The proud mounds of her cheeks swelled around it. They cast ominous shadows into the little helicopter but they weren’t bouncing or jiggling as they had been. He realized then why the pilot had braked so severely. She had stopped, but why?
Pan suddenly ceased her wobbly, sauntering walk. Her belly gurgled forebodingly and she felt overfull; gassy? She clutched and rubbed her flat tummy. Maybe she had to fart…
Pan thought briefly, of what such an action might bring… She felt the ball of gas filling her belly, and clenched her gut, pressing it down through her long, tenderly coiled intestines. They squeezed and thrummed in symphonic harmony as the pocket of gas flitted whimsically through them on its amazing journey to her virginal rectum (ed note: Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop. As a giantess fan, it’s just obligatory for me to be overly reverent of all the nuances and organs of a female form, no matter how odd or grotesque ;) j/k guys. j/k. ) It steamed through her, before rocketing explosively out of her beautiful ass.
The gas tore through her hot pants; they billowed in its exit. A deep, reverberating bellow sounded as she let it rip. The news crews and viewers at home cried out and reflexively cupped their hands over their ears against the blaring, fog horn-like noise. Whales vacationing in the nearby harbor perked, convinced a member of the opposite sex was issuing a randy mating call. The noise echoed over the earth, though it quieted as it went and to Chinese citizens it sounded like little more than an awkward, warbling blurt from a tuba in the hands of an unskilled middle-schooler . Paying it no mind they went about riding bicycles and such. In funny cone hats.
Pan put her hand over her mouth in mock embarrassment and astonishment and giggled as she looked over her shoulder at the chaos her little, chirruping fart had wrought.
The gas slammed into the cluster of helicopters. They had been happily lingering around and filming Pan’s divine ass, sending enticing footage to the folks back home when she had unleashed the booming fart upon them. Being in such close proximity to her offending rump, they had no time to retreat from the blast.
The helicopters shook with its force. The little people inside gagged as they were choked on the sulfuric stench of Pan’s gas. The helicopters’ windshields rapidly cracked and shattered against the pressure, thorns of shattered glass shot into the screaming pilots and news people. Some of the reporters and camera crews were torn out into the air, and fell, tumbling head over heels to messy deaths at her feet. Alarms blared, screens blinked and needles wavered rapidly over various meters on the tiny control panels. The miniscule pilots jerked on their joysticks (heh-heh-heh!-Beavis) twisted knobs (huh-huh-huh!-Butthead) and flicked switches and pushed buttons in a desperate attempt to right their “birds”. But the fragile toy helicopters spun helplessly, riddled with turbulence.
They careened in the air like drunken ballroom dancers, in clumsy wavering circles. They spun and crashed into each other, exploding in searing fireballs that would be the envy of any self-respecting dragon. These were made more massive as they In turn ignited the high levels of methane present in her fart. They culminated in a thundering glorious, blinding white-hot flash. The world’s biggest ever “Blue Angel” further brightened the afternoon sky and flaming spears of blackened jagged metal and glass blasted into cars, people and nearby buildings.
Back in the real world, Pan decided this would be a perfectly acceptable series of events and attempted to go ahead and push out the fart she was surely harboring in her gut. Her face contorted comically as she clenched her stomach muscles, but was surprised to find it wasn’t a fart after all.
Instead, she felt the feeling of fullness dissipate, and a queer tingling sensation crawled through her body. The tingling made several, rippling circuits through her, becoming stronger with each pass. It peaked in a mind-numbing crescendo. All her nerves seemed to be wriggling? Pan couldn’t quite put the sensation accurately to words…
She squeezed her eyes shut and lightly bit her lower lip. However indescribable the sensation may have been, she found it was not a completely unpleasant one. Her body was, unbeknownst to her, strobing brightly with a familiar white light. The crews in the helicopters, and struggling mites at her feet threw their hands up reflexively against her sudden, blinding luminescence.
The tingling coursed through her veins and was amplified many times over in her most sensitive areas: her fingers, toes and vagina. “oOoOOH…” Her husky moan reverberated in the choppers and sounded out of tvs and radios worldwide.
Her body quivered, surrendering against the ticklish lightning buzzing through her nerves. The strobing stopped as suddenly as it began and the miniature reporters and pilots ceased their squinting and beheld her anew.
They heard a bassy noise, like tall trees creaking in a windstorm. They didn’t realize until a moment or two later that it was the sound of the giant co-eds’ further growth….