Sarah set officer Miller down close to the highway. The woman had been near catatonic the entire time she was carried, no doubt traumatized by Clare's monstrous teasing and nearly being a late breakfast. Sarah thought about apologizing to the woman and trying to explain things, but it was no use.

Once down, the mother and son tried to catch up with the rogue aunt- she had bolted quite far into the sleepy suburban already, making it difficult to catch up in the first place- add the fact that Clare didn't seem to mind where she stepped in the slightest, and Sarah being overly cautious about where she stepped and how close to whom she stepped. 

Several cars had jolted to a halt when they saw either giantess. Honks and even occasional screams, but mostly the several thousand phones whipped out and starting to film. No doubt, they might've already been seen by millions online, and it's possible news crews were preparing segments as they walked- not that they knew any of that.

The disparity and distance grew between the two sisters, and soon enough Clare was a (relative) speck in the distance. Sarah, trying her hardest not to spook anyone, couldn't help but let her sister got way ahead.

"Mom, just walk through," Jason suggested from her hand. She furrowed her brow at the hint, pursing her lips.

"No, I might hurt someone."

"So? That doesn't matter."

"Jason, it..."

She huffed, ignoring the comment and deciding that it wasn't worth the argument. She was stuck, literally, between having to negotiate with thinking about what her son was saying, where her sister was going, and how goddamn huge she finally realized her sneakers were.

Why the hell did I buy these, she said, wiggling her huge toes in the huge sheet of red canvas attached to the huge rubber sole, with their huge logo plastered on her heel.

Still, over all, her desire to not step on  and subsequently kill anyone overrode her desire to get to her sister. She figured that she could figure out what to do about Clare once Jason got her back small again. She could call the cops, the army, someone... 

She gulped. 

What had Clare told her? That she still needed breakfast. 

She didn't really mean that. Did she? 

Sarah really didn't want to think about it. She knew on some level that she ought to care, like, a lot, about why her kid sister did what she did, but another part of her thought that was too dark a territory to peer down right at the second. Clare was a sweet girl, certainly, but that incident with the officer kind of threw her for a loop. Did we new size really affect her that much?

It troubled her, that thought. Sarah too was big now, startlingly so- was she too destined to become a monster and terrorizer of these tiny people (no, she thought to herself, they're just people) at her feet?

She looked around at the street, on the sidewalks. People had stopped and gotten out of their cars, seeing her, this buck fifty feet tall woman, but some probably still not quite believing. Most had their phones out, and the thousand little 'clicks' indicated how many pictures were being taken. And here she was in her dress and shirt. Out of habit, Sarah squeezed her thighs together, suddenly conscious of the young men (and a couple of women) who had edged closer to where she was and seeing up past the hem of her skirt.

"Mom, look ou-"

Sarah yelped when she felt something run into her foot. She brought it up, balancing on her toes and looking down at what had hit her. A sedan, green with the paint at the edge peeling off, stood there, smoke issuing out of the cracks in the engine block. The front and scrunched up, apparently warping after crashing into Sarah's sneaker. 

"Uh." She offered, not knowing what else to say. It then dawned on her- she had just been hit by a car. Resisting the urge to smile, Sarah peered down at the shattered windshield, and saw movement. A tiny Hispanic woman, her black hair all frayed and her head bleeding from a cut, stumbled out of the open door and feel on the ground. 

"Oh, Jesus," Sarah said, her voice quavering. She watched as the woman crawled slowly to her feet, shaking her and then holding her head after a sharp inhale. 

"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you okay?" She called to her, her voice booming. The woman, her eyes wide and looking suddenly up, put her hands to her mouth and quivered.

"Madre de dios. Padre santo, madre en los cielos! ¿Cómo...?"

Sarah grimaced. She tried to think of something, anything to say to her. She didnt remember a lick of Spanish, but that wouldn't help anyway. How did one say 'vehicular negligence' in spanish?

"Uh... Hola?"

The woman screamed, her hands up to her mouth in disbelieving terror. She quickly turned round, yanked a small child out of the passenger seat, and bolted down the road and past the parked cars whose drivers had gotten out.

Sarah sighed aloud, watching the woman tear off into the distance, her child belting 'mamá mamá por favor me das pena'. Her own child, sitting cross-legged in her hand, started to laugh. She shook him once, frowning at him. 

"Oh come on," he bemoaned, "that was kind of funny."

She let air out of her nose, looking all around her. There was a path way to her right, to the north, and a park in the distance. This whole new... Role she had, this size... It was just a little too much for her to handle right at the moment. 

"There's a park over there," she said. "Jason, before we go to the university and before you make me small again," she gave him a little squeeze, "and you will," she scolded in that motherly way of hers, "I want to go sit at that park. I need to think..." 

Before Jason could protest, Sarah set her feet in the direction down that road, carefully stepping over a gasping crowd who had then blocked her. Jason watched enraptured as his mother so gracefully did, feeling much like being held by a goddess, a goddess that only cared briefly about the lives of her subjects. Jason wished, with all his heart, that people would have been caught under his mother's footfall, crushed like the bugs, he truly believed, that they were. 

-----------------------------

Clare followed Wigwam parkway down past Cornerstone park, watching with childlike glee as her sandals tapped loudly on the paved roads, cracking under the strain. She was grateful, then, for her choice of footwear- just enough covering to protect her from the hot pavement, but not too much to not feel like a goddess walking among mortals. It was a unique feeling, seeing her toes among the people and cars she walked about- each red painted toe nail bigger than someone's chest, cars small enough to cover an entire sedan in a single step. People scrambled out of the way to get away from her footfalls, some even diving out of the way comically. She laughed evilly as she crushed a car completely, hoping there was more than just one occupant in there. 

As she walked on, she pulled a palm tree from its roots, and tossed it away. It flung sideways into the storefront glass of a juice bar, bowling over, at least from what she could see, a couple of occupants- perhaps a couple on a date? 

One woman, a fit little blonde in workout clothes, had bolted, rather stupidly right in front of Clare to cross the road. Clare watched the woman for a second before pushing her foot and colliding with the woman in her lower section, and sent the woman sprawling to the ground. 

A tiny yelp, and the woman rolled on the ground clutching an ankle that was already swelling and black from blood. Clare stopped her walk and hovered over the tiny woman, planting her feet before her and hands in her hips. 

The tiny blonde looked up and fear shined in her eyes, she inhaling a lungful of panicked at the sight of the giant woman smiling wickedly down at her. 

"Whoops," Clare said, cocking her head to the side and glaring down at her. "Looks like you've got a fucked up ankle, probably can't walk anymore. Where's the fun in that?"

Clare shifted her weight and lifted a sandaled foot over the tiny woman, who's screams became more intense. Desperately, the woman tried to crawl away.

"I don't have any need for broken toys," she declared, and brought her foot down hard. The woman creeched harshly before being suddenly silenced, the squelch and crunch of bones replacing any protest. Gore seeped out from under Clare's sandal, the welling blood jumping up and lapping at her toes. She ground her foot, spreading the remains of the blonde all over her sole.

The feeling was beyond any adequate description- the feeling and rush of power mixed with pleasure welled inside her and travelled up her spine, as if it rode the wave with her foot stomp. Her womanhood quivered, the involuntarily pull and stretching of muscles opening herself to air she could feel even beneath her shorts, the glands pushing out lubrication in response. Her nipples hardened, her breath caught in her throat. She had just, literally, crushed a woman like a bug! 

Power flooded her senses and she grew maybe even lightheaded. Out of habit or disbelief, she laughed to herself, her lips curling up into a half-sneer, half-smile. Christ, that felt great. Like some release that had been waiting to get out of her since god knew when. 

She found herself pressing her body up and down with her hands the way a stripper might, the way she did when she felt beautiful or sexy- when she felt like she was in control... Or maybe even out of control. Conquest and her sexuality bloomed together, it seemed, and this foray into the darker but oh so lovely territory or goddesshood was no less pleasurable.

Not even bothering to look down at the mashed remains of her victim, Clare stalked on, searching for more fun to have. She felt, quite literally, like a girl in a sweet shop, the kind they had out back east- at her feet were now admittedly terrified people, then either in their cars or running like absolute mad. 

She didn't go out of her way to step on them, no, but thins certainly had a way of finding themselves being crushed underfoot- her sandal bottoms grew red and dirty with viscera, and her foot soles sticky with blood. 

She kicked someone, a tiny man, and they flew apart, their body bending in half on a street light. 

"Two points!" She belted out.

Growing bored of the monotony of footfalls and crushing cars and fleeing denizens, Clare veered to the left and into a small strip mall: lined with everything from a clock shop to a Chinese restaurant to a fitness joint, the place screamed 'recent development.' Most of new Henderson (as opposed to the east side) was brand new, only under two decades old, and disgustingly reminiscent of California, but with that red rock flair. 

She ducked her head and squatted low to peek into one of the store fronts. It was a clock shop where the inside owner had ducked under the counter to escape her gaze. Smiling to herself and at the absolute power she felt in that action, Clare let that little guy slide. Walking only a step forward (and onto a parked coup), she peered into another front, her icy blues clapping onto an elegant array of jewelry and fine precious gems. They glittered in the artificial lighting, even with Clare blocking the natural sunlight. She smiled at the plump man behind of the counters, who shook quaveringly in a three piece. 

"Hey there, little guy," she cooed at him, wiggling her fingers at him. "You think you got anything my size in there?" 

She then took a finger and tapped on the glass of the building, causing a spider crack across the front. Shit, she thought, I wasn't even trying to be hard. 

She marveled at her own casual and destructive strength when she realized the man was walking, rather hurriedly, to the door of store. With calm, collected nerves that betrayed his earlier quaking, the man reached over behind the wall and pulled an accordion metal protective grate across the glass barrier. It creaked and groaned, as well as one might've expected.

Clare simply watched him do this, a rouge eyebrow cocked and her mouth, all their pearly whites shining, slightly agape. 

The man finally finished, locked the bolt with a triumphant finality, and backed away from the glass, a look that was at once both hopeful and challenging. 

A chuckle, followed by a smirk.

As expected, Clare's hand burst through both the glass and the steel grate, her fingers wrapping around and pulling, no, ripping out the entirety of it and tossing it aside, where it crashed into the grocery store front and cut a curious bystander into pieces. 

"This is a stick up!" Clare cried out, her hand once again stretching out and inside the store. Her fingers simply burst any of the glass displays it encountered, sending emeralds and rubies and onyx and diamonds flying into the air and on the ground, catching and refracting any light that passed through them in a shower of vibrant color. 

She felt around, and finally reached hold of something tiny and squishy. With a cackle, she pulled out the tiny man and brought him to her face, opening her palm and looking down at him from her nose. He rolled around pathetically, trying desperately to crawl to his ass and sit up. 

Clare watched the spectacle with something a little like disgust, her other hand reaching back into the store.

"Now, that wasn't very nice of you to do that, mister..." Her voice thundered, purring and lovely and horrifying. "I just wanted to see what you had, is all... Now, let's see what you have here..."

Her other hand retracted and pulled out a handful of glass, wood, and a cascade of diamonds and gold and silver. She looked at them with a smile.

"Such pretty things... How ever will

I choose just one?" She mock gasped and laughed at her own joke. She wrapped her hand around the toy man (who squeaked) and brought him to her face. 

"I'm gonna need your help here, mister... Would you take a look at these?"

She opened her palm back up and set her other hand over the man. Like sprinkling seasoning over a meal, Clare rained glass, wood, and jewels all over the tiny man, who yelled out and held his hands up to protect himself. 

"Well?" She said once she was done, "choose one. What should I get?"

The man, sensing some hope, reached out and pulled a large diamond necklace from the pile accumulated at his hands. He held it out to her desperately. 

"This one!" He yelled, an accent hinting at Eastern Europe. "Take this one, please!"

"Hmm," Clare pondered, squinting her eyes and placing a finger on her lip. "That looks pretty nice... Might go with the dress I bought recently... What exactly is it?"

The man was flabbergasted. He looked up her face for any sign of hint or displeasure, but as far as he could tell, she truly wanted an appraisal. For a second he blinked, and then went, to his own surprise, into salesman mode.

"This, uh, uh, this a..."

He held out his fingernail to the diamond in the center, "a two carat stone, princess cut, s... No, vs grade, colorless... Surrounded by several... Um, uh, half carat stones... With several smaller ones interlaced-"

"I love it!" The giantess blurted out, her eyes flashing and her dazzling smile shining at him. He realized, in a sudden horrific moment of clarity, just how easily the woman could swallow him.

The man nodded nervously, sweat beading his brow. It hit suddenly that acquiescence, or at least rather agreement here could prove vital to his survival. He began to nod enthusiastically, at her, the held it out to her.

"Take it! It's yours!"

Clare cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him, knowingly. 

"Oh come on, don't be silly- you have to make a profit on this. I couldn't just take it from you- I'm not some monster after all," she laughed, her free hand reaching down and pulling off her blood-stained sandals. She wiggled her toes freely.

"Oh but do not worry. This one," the jeweler said, "is on the house. A gift!"

Clare's mirthful smirk turned into a scowl. She breathed in deeply and stuck up her lip, almost as a monstrous sneer. The man in her hand, knowing something had just gone terribly wrong, began to tremble once again. 

"What," she began, vitriol spilling from her mouth, "you think I'm not gonna pay for it? That, shit, you think I don't have the money? What the fuck do you think i am?"

The man curled into a ball and squeaked when he felt the fingers wrap around him, the shattered glass and wood and jewels piercing and digging into his skin. Some blood seeped out from between Clare's loose fingers, making her smile.

"I'm a working girl, I earn my keep! Sure," she laughed, "I may not be a fat jeweler like yourself, but I know how to spot the good from bad."

She raised her fist, the cage of fingers barely allowing her to peek through the cracks. 

"And I know a greedy little piggy when I see one."

Clare felt the bones begin to crack in her hand when she squeezed hard, followed by a disgusting pop and red stream out of the bottom where her pinky curled. 

"Jesus," she huffed, feeling the sudden solid become a liquid in her fist. This was incredible! She rubbed the fist together, the jagged quills of bone and rubbery slick organs poking out from the cracks of her fingers and spilling out onto the ground. 

"Fuuuuck," she concluded, wiping the remains of the now very departed jeweler from her hand into the side of the building. 

She sat there for a moment, pondering what to do. The rush of excitement and true feeling of freedom, from both the laws of man and seemingly nature itself, boggled her mind to no end. She bit her pink lip, wiggling her toes as they protruded out from under her tight, personal trainer's ass. 

What to do, what to do.

A movement caught her eye; from the next store over, someone had peaked a head out and then suddenly shot back into the door- it was the Chinese restaurant next door.

Curious, Clare got on all fours and crawled over to the glass front, plowing down cars and trucks in her way. She swung her head low and peeked into the place. A couple of people, young women dressed in culinary whites and hats, huddled behind a counter, one of their heads suddenly going out of view when she peeked in. 

Chuckling to herself, Clare tapped on the glass which again spidered, causing the gaggle of women to shriek and run to the other side of the restaurant. Instinctively, Clare shot we hand in, grabbed one of them, and pulled her out. 

She screamed and wailed, waving her arms and free leg and crying her eyes out, babbling in some language that certainly wasn't English. Clare dangled the woman precipitously upside down and in front of her face, getting a look at her and pouting her lips.

"Hey, hey," Clare said to her, and patted the tiny woman's head, "be quiet. You're gonna ruin my lunch here."

The woman intensified her screaming, and flailed all the harder. Clare laughed in kind and bit her lip.

"Now then," a lip lick. "What kind of sauce should I use? Duck sauce? Soy sauce?"

Clare stuck her tongue out and licked the screaming woman, who froze. Her tongue navigated up from her face to her legs, the tongue brushing between her legs. Clare laughed at the hands that shot up and covered herself. 

"Or maybe clam sauce? Or maybe," she finalized, giving her a little peck, "I'll just have you raw. I'll probably be hungry again in an hour anyhow."

The woman closed her eyes and covered her face as she was lowered down, down, down, into the pink and red maw that was Clare's mouth, her pearly white teeth ready to be watered with blood, her tongue swishing back and forth in anticipation for a delightful little meal.

Clare had almost wrapped her lips around the woman when shots rang out from her side. Pulling the girl out, Clare glared from where the shots came from. Some tiny man, his hands shaking as they clutched a black pistol, stood there with a few brass casings at his feet. He looked like he had just come out of the gym. He still held the pistol, arms length, and pointed it at her still.

Clare reached and touched where she had felt the rounds enter her skin- only a couple had, whereas the rest had simply veered off.

"You little fuck!" The redhead screamed, squeezing her fists in rage. She noticed, firstly, that there was no cry in pain, no hurt whimper from her hand, although she felt a bone crack. Lifting the woman to her face again, she saw that she hung limply, blood trickling from her forehead. One of the bullets, fired haphazardly, has ricocheted and took the woman in the head. 

"You ass," she complained, throwing down the corpse onto the ground and causing her to veritably explode, "you ruined my breakfast!"

In a flash of anger, Clare rose up and stalked towards the gunman. The man fired another shot, yet another, and then dropped his gun and began to bolt away. It was too late- he turned around just in time to see, feel, smell Clare's creamy sole fall on him, her pointed toes curled up. Instantly the man was eviscerated by the stomp, and he spread his gore in dozens of feet all around him. Clare ground her foot, feeling the warm blood seep between her toes and stick to her foot. She stuck her tongue out, and exhaled softly- there was something deeply erotic about snuffing a life out under her foot. It was strange, it had never occurred to her that... Well, murder, could be so much fun. 

Was it murder when she killed a human? She wasn't quite human anymore, she thought, a fact her dumb big sister had failed to wrap her head around. 

She was, literally, a goddess now. She ought to embrace that- know that each person she popped underfoot was just that- something less than. 

She swung her head down low again, eager to peak into the restaurant- perhaps there was still a meal waiting for her.

"Hello?" She called in, hopefully- then again, she thought, anyone dumb enough to stick their head out now deserved to be eaten.

She had began to stick her arm into the store when she heard a tire screech behind her. Glancing over we shoulder, a news van had zipped into the parking lot and had lurched to a stop about a hundred yards from her.

The sudden appearance of the van had...  Surprised her. Why would anyone get so close? Did they not see the trail of destruction and squished bodies all the way here? 

Still- it gave her an idea. Maybe this could be a useful opportunity. 

With a soft ayumph, Clare rose to her feet and began to saunter over to the now setting up camera crew, going out of her way to step on one final car.