Brook couldn’t decide exactly what she was feeling. Anger, sadness, remorse, regret… The 35 year old leaned back on her kitchen counter with a subtle stream of tears coming from her right eye. She had been a mother for sixteen years, and not once did she imagine this was even remotely possible. Her daughter, Claire, was beautiful, smart, caring, funny, and in possession of whatever characteristics one might find in a sweetheart like her. And yet she had fallen for a jerk. Jerk wasn't the right word. A monster. Her little girl had fallen for a monster.
A year prior, Claire had started dating Chuck Ballard. At first, Brook identified him as having a warm, empathetic personality. Sure, Chuck was one of the best wrestlers his weight-class in the nation, and, on the surface, his personality was that of a stereotypically egotistical athlete. But Brook really saw something in Chuck that made her happy for her daughter. Chuck smiled around Claire, as she smiled around him. The two would work on homework with one another, go on long walks, and even have picnics. Brook actually considered Chuck as being part of her family, already considering him as something of a son. She’d only known him for a year, and he had already made that impression.
It wasn’t until a week ago, when Claire came home with the cuts and bruises. In tears, she told her mother what had happened. It wasn’t a one time thing. Chuck was not exactly what Brook thought. Chuck was an abusive scumbag. At only seventeen years of age, Chuck had already become a drunken, violent bastard. Brook remembered the way she put her arms around her daughter, looked out the window, and decided she’d never forgive herself for letting this happen.
The images of her daughter being beaten by her abuser repeated in her head as she leaned her head back, wiping her nose, and let the tears slide down the sides of her face. After pausing for a second, she leaned forward and exited the kitchen. In times like these, Brook knew exactly how to cleanse her spirit.
“I’m going to run this off”, she said as she walked into her bedroom, wiping the remaining tears from her red cheeks. She sniffled as she ceased crying, getting her exercise attire out of her bedside drawer. After slipping on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she passed the mirror as she exited her room. Stopping for a sec, she looked in the mirror. “Chuck”, she said to herself in the mirror, “if you come near my daughter again, I’m going to rip your damn head off”. She gave herself a surprisingly intimidating stare. Stepping back, she flexed, exposing her well toned arms. “Well,” she said “at least I still look damn good”. She turned around, looking back at the mirror and examining her rear, which was truly damn good. She smiled as she slid her hand across her right cheek. She then simply moved her hands up her waist, then up to her lovely breasts, then into the mix of her brown, wavy hair. She smiled, accepting the positive things in life, and made her way to the front door.
The jog itself lasted a good half hour. As she began making her way down her block, she slowed to a walking pace as she noticed the unimaginable. Chuck’s car was parked in front of her house. “Why aren’t the cops following the asshole” she thought, recalling the police had assured her and her daughter that they'd be providing surveillance 24/7 as to the whereabouts of Chuck. She ignored her instinct to phone the police, and simply approached the house on her own.
The door was wide open. At this realization, Brook couldn’t help but gasp, putting her right hand on her chest. Her pace decreased as she stealthily made her way inside, crouching. She took her hair tie from her head, letting her long, brown hear flow down. On the high alert, she peaked down one corner. Nothing. Her eyes narrowed, as confusion filled her mind. “Where the hell is this kid?” she wondered.
“Chuck?” She audibly asked the empty house. No answer. Not a single sound. She raised her voice slightly. “I saw your car out front. I know you’re in here.” But did she really? The house itself wasn’t very large, and had only so many rooms. After having engaged stealth mode for about ten minutes, Brook realized she had checked every doorway and every corner. What was the likelihood he was hiding in a closet? She rose from her crouched position, and began walking through each room, beginning a more in-depth search. After five minutes of this, Brook decided that Chuck was, in fact, not in the house. “What is going on, Chuck?” She asked under her breath.
Pouring herself a glass of water, she examined the kitchen area. “So weird” she thought. She lifted the glass to her mouth, took a sip, and slowly made her way to the kitchen table. She grabbed her phone from the table, figuring out how to proceed. The plan was simple, call the cops, wait for a bit, figure out the situation. She placed the glass on the wooden table, put her left hand on her shapely hip, and typed 9-1-1 with her right hand. Bringing it to her ear, the operator was quick to respond.
“You’ve reached 9-1-1 emergency, what seems to be the problem?”
“Ah yes, I just want to report a potential….”
Brook’s voice came to a halt.
Before her, on the kitchen table, was some sort of gift bag. It was about ten inches tall, and had a picture of a colorful beetle on its side, as well as a tag with a big, red letter “C”. But what really got Brook’s attention was the fact that the bag was moving ever so slightly.
Without thinking about it, she had paused long enough for the operator to disconnect. Once she brought her ear back to the line, no one was there. “Shit,” Brook subtly exclaimed, bringing the phone back to the table. This gave her a moment to look down at the odd little gift bag, which was definitely not present when she had left. As there was the possibility that the bag contained something living, Brook cautiously pulled the tag more into view. On one side, as she had noted before, there was a cursive “C”. She flipped it, only to find her daughter’s name.
At this point, Brook had no idea how to proceed. The bag, which was undoubtably placed by Chuck, could contain anything from a puppy and an apology letter, to a rattlesnake and a hate letter. Impulsively, Brook grabbed the bag at the middle, flipped it over, and let its contents fall to the surface of the table. What Brook saw made her scream and jump backward.
For a half second, it simply looked like four or five large insects. But it quickly became more apparent as to what these creatures really were. Each were about three inches tall, each had two arms and two legs, and each were human beings. Brook knew these shapes, but still couldn't quite comprehend a human at this size. They were terrified, shivering violently.
There were a total of five. Two were able to rise to their feet relatively quickly, while the other three lay shivering on their sides or backs. Brook was utterly in shock. She felt things that she never imagined feeling. Lowering herself towards the small beings, a sudden feeling of dominance swept through her mind. It was this that made her more calm, the completely foreign feeling of titanic size. Even as all this information entered her mind, she began to feel more and more control of the situation.
As Brook lowered herself, she decided it was necessary to try to figure out who these people were, as she felt as though they might have some relationship with Claire. They were clearly saying things, but their voices were far to faint for her ears to register. She brought her face right in front of one of the standing people, which fell to its knees as she brought her eyes only a couple of inches away. It was a young man, completely naked, with a face that looked awfully familiar.
“Who are you, little guy?” Brook softly cooed. She didn’t get an answer that she could hear, but it wasn’t long before she figured it out for herself. It was Richard Larson, a boy that Claire had dated for a short few months. Brook remembered him as quiet and mostly uninteresting. “Mr. Richard Larson?” She asked him. “How did you guys get so puny?”
Brook brought her hand from her hip, and wrapped it around Rich, who began to squirm and thrash in protest. Bringing him before her face, she asked again, “What happened to you guys?” She brought him to her ear, and could now more clearly tell he was yelling something. The content of what he was yelling remained a mystery.
After about fifteen seconds of trying to decode what he was saying, Brook simply brought him back down towards the table. As she did, she felt his struggles grow more violent. A new feeling flowed through her mind, one that granted her the temptation of squeezing her fist, crushing the boy’s body like an eggshell. The temptation was nothing more than being subconscious, but there it was. “This is happening so fast,” Brook thought.
As she set Rich back on the table, she gazed around the room. Still no sign of Chuck. She looked back down at the set of little boys. “Have you guys seen a kid named Chuck?” She asked, not exactly what to expect. The boys all took a step back, and Rich lifted a hand. “Yes?” Asked Brook. The little boy pointed to another one of the five. She looked down at the boy Rich had pointed at, bringing her face closer to his shaking form. Squinting, Brook knew that, without doubt, this was Chuck Ballard.
It was clear that Chuck was the most terrified of the small teenagers. It was especially clear to Brook, who had no problem with it whatsoever. This might as well have been a dream. Chuck Ballard, the size of a small doll, now in the captivity of her girlfriend’s mother. Brook had completely discounted the other four teenagers, she didn’t even care to know how they had become so small or how they had gotten into her house in the first place. All she cared about was that she had Chuck exactly where she wanted him.
As the excitement circulated through her, she snatched Chuck’s body from the table. His limbs flailed like that of a rag doll. The other four boys screamed as they were brushed back into their bag. Brook rose to her full height, stretching her arms. In one hand, Brook had her daughter’s abuser, screaming for his life. In the other, was a bag of four teenage boys, whose fates were as of yet unknown. She turned, smiling, and walked down the hall towards her bedroom, letting her hips sway back and forth.
The bag was dropped on her bedside table. Chuck was dropped on the bed. Brook felt like a goddess as she looked down at Chuck, bringing her hands to her hips in an authoritative way. Chuck fell to his back, staring up at the massive form of his girlfriend’s mother. “There are some things you just can’t do, Chuck,” Brook growled. “And one of those things is hurt my baby girl.” With that, Brook rotated her body, showed the tiny boy her massive, shapely butt, and began to sit. Chuck scampered to his feet and attempted to escape, only to be trapped by the giantess’ body. Brook had no intention of killing the boy. She simply wanted to torture this little bastard.
Her running pants were tight enough on her skin that she could perfectly feel Chuck’s form. His body was pressed firmly against the sheets, but he was still capable of squirming. Brook bit her lip as a new feeling entered her mind. This feeling of dominance, of complete control, was almost sexual. Her cheeks and eyes were still somewhat damp and red from when she had been crying, and she still felt the anger and hatred she had prior to her run. She never thought she would have the chance to physically put her daughter’s abuser in his place, the little fuck that he was. As she continued to feel the little teenager pounding at her right cheek, she reached down and felt between her legs. “Mmmmm,” Brook thought. She was wet, and ready for something new.
Brook lifted her body from the little boy, turning to inspect her prey. Chuck was almost motionless at this point, his body twitching here and there. He actually tried to make another, very unsuccessful, escape. He crawled from the imprint of Brook’s ass on the sheets at an incredibly low speed. Brook noticed that his right leg was bent in a strange angle. She must have broken it. “Oh Chuck, you really shouldn’t have let your leg give in to my weight.” With this, Chuck looked around. What did the woman mean by this?
“I can’t have you exposing my fun with you. In truth,” Brook noted, “I can’t let you OR any of your little friends expose me.” She reached down with her left hand toward the bed, lifting the crippled little teen by his broken leg. This time, she could just barely make out his shrill screams. Bringing him towards her face, she licked her lips. “Ever wonder what it feels like to get socked in the face?” Brook asked her prey. “By someone stronger than you? Bigger than you? Scarier than you?” Without warning, Brook lifter her right pointer finger to his face and flicked him, just enough to send a painful blow to his face. “That was for my baby girl.” Brook cooed at the little boy. “And this,” bringing her fist around Chuck’s form, exposing his head, “Is for me.”
With a sudden movement, Brook tightened her fingers around Chuck, feeling his ribcage crunch. His screams became far louder than before, almost inhuman. “Goodbye, cutie.”
Without even thinking, allowing her inner animal to take over, Brook raised the little, screaming boy to her pearly white teeth, placed the screaming head between her molars, and bit down savagely. The boy was silenced in an instant, as his head had been crushed like a grape. The taste of blood was far more exciting than anything that the predatory mother had ever experienced. “Mmmmmm, little boy, you taste damn good,” she said with a warm tone, feeling a droplet of blood fall from her mouth. She pushed the rest of her prey between her lips, and began chewing on the remains. Falling to the bed, she let a small leg hang from her mouth as she munched on Chuck.
Brook felt up and down her form as she swallowed her prey. She felt her legs, her shapely hips, her slim waist, her swollen breasts. She felt more of a woman than she ever felt. She felt like a mother bear, killing off those who threaten her young. And she wasn’t done.
Brook turned her head to face the gift bag on the bedside table, which continued to move. Inhaling, the woman rose to her feet, stretched her torso, and walked over to the bag. Peeping inside at her little toys, she licked the last drop of blood from her upper lip. “Hello there, boys,” Brook uttered to the little teenagers. “Mamma bear’s still hungry”.