Michigan Avenue is a long, wide street, even by a giantess’s standards. When Lovely Mari approached it, she knew this was the best place to start her official parade.
Her abs, muscular and ample, tensed as she drew two deep lungfuls of air and thrust her impressive rack into the lower atmosphere. Arms straight at her sides, heels together in battered combat boots, the witchy goddess thrust her chin forward and belted out the first bars of “Stars and Stripes Forever” in an earnest, enthusiastic a cappella at the top of her lungs.
It wasn’t good, but it was earnest and enthusiastic. With every punishing stomp of her boots up Michigan Avenue, her tremendous thighs rippled impressively with incalculable power. Her huge, round bottom danced and shivered in time to her song, swaying and jumping with each impact. She saluted no one, or the entire city, in her fingerless gloves, swinging her head left and right to take in all of downtown Chicago’s achievements, even as her earthquakes crumbled the stronger buildings and shattered the lesser ones.
That was the moment the Second Division flooded from around the corners, pouring in from Wacker and Lake and Randolph. With precision and utmost skill, the mechanized infantry assumed their positions to the north of the giantess and promptly lit her up. Howitzers blazed, mortars pounded, and tens of thousands of troops flooded every square foot of the pavement and washed around her boots.
In a moment of surprise, Lovely Mari paused and stood stock-still, taking in the miniature scene. The soldiers, the seamen, the airmen and Marines were mere particles she could only perceive if she strained her superior vision. Here were the bugs she was waiting for, and they hauled out all their little toys, even if they were pathetically useless. Mari’s head tilted to one side and she grinned warmly at the miserable wretches; her heart spread with warmth at the realization she had not been forgotten or ignored. Chicago was only saving up a surprise for her!
She wished the city were a big, tall man she could hug in gratitude, in that moment. This was such a sweet surprise, just when she had been feeling like the ugly girl at the dance! Chicago loved her after all, and she loved it back.
And this was how she showed that love. One huge combat boot lifted into the air, hovered over the troops pouring out of their transport vehicles, and hammered them into a thin layer of liquid and dirt in a single instant. They didn’t even have time to register the pain: they were there one second, and then they weren’t.
Armaments fired upon her shins, only thinly protected by her red- or blue-striped tights. The tights weathered it much worse than her legs did: the artillery warmed, heated, then melted spots in her stockings. As the fabric melted, it cauterized in large circles, so at least her stockings didn’t run, but still! Mari searched for those things for at least five minutes, and the Army had the gall to ruin them?
That just meant they had to be taught a lesson. Even if, historically, they never learned from the many, many other lessons she’d endeavored to teach them. Very well!
* * *
Drummond stared at the images in disbelief. That news crew was committing suicide. Did they know that? He watched their vantage perspective, following the assault of joint military forces upon his beautiful goddess. Even though he knew, or largely surmised, that she was completely invulnerable to their best attacks, he still had a sick knot in his stomach at witnessing the tremendous firepower they were unleashing.
And what was the federal government thinking? This was larger than a SWAT/SpecOps co-op. This was a concerted effort… Drummond squinted his eyes and hissed. What did this mean? Were they actually−
“Can I come out yet?” cried the teen’s plaintive voice.
Without looking, Drummond whipped his .45 out of holster and fired behind himself once, in the general direction of the stolen Cleveland library.
* * *
Lovely Mari condescended to kneel, only long enough to pummel the military onslaught with her hands. Her laughter echoed against the buildings as her arms shot out in all directions, slamming the tanks and transports into scrap metal, her palms smearing the 0.07” soldiers into delicate red streaks across the pavement. They were impossible to see! Mari had to trust they were even there! And she did, lashing out and laughing, wasting hundreds of troops whose loss Secretary Drake would have to account for later.
“Take that!” she cackled, punching the ground with semi-naked fists (but for those fingerless gloves she found in the back of her armoire). “Take that, and that! Hi-i-i-i yah!” She shaped her fingers and fists into various configurations: punching the soldiers with fists, punching them with bent knuckles, stabbing at them with extended fingers, chopping at them stylistically with the edge of her extended hand. However she did it, the results were always the same: staggering losses of enlisted fathers, brothers, husbands, pulped into jelly and coating Michigan Avenue.
Then the Air Force and Navy joined in the chorus of their own destruction, as wave upon wave of fighter jets swooped down upon her. Many fired useless rounds of ammo into her, anti-tank and anti-personnel. These were acceptable expenditures by Secretary Saucier’s estimation: in her own way, the gorgeous young giantess was stimulating the economy by necessitating the revitalization of domestic armaments like the United States would have in a conventional war.
Others launched missiles against her, all sorts of missiles, just everything they had lying around. Branches of government viewed Lovely Mari as an opportunity to blow through their old inventory, frankly, firing things they knew could have no effect, just to get them out of storage. Branches of government were lazy and cynical, it should be known.
Mari giggled her way through the smaller jets, the scramblers, the dinky little birds that shot things at her, and she swatted her way through them. Even kneeling, her upper body extended well above the tallest skyscrapers in Chicago, so the aircraft could approach her from every direction they wished. She took her time, she weighted her shots, and every second or third time she hurled a massive, slender arm through the lower atmosphere, her palm or an errant finger collided with an aircraft and flattened it in mid-air. Sometimes the pilot ejected before impact; most times he didn’t. It was pathetically anticlimactic every time. She might as well have been swinging at random, instead of her calculated, timed strikes, for all the glory these fighters met with. One caught her palm broadside and flattened against the number seven shaped by the wrinkles in her palm. Another was torn in half by the fingernail of her ring finger, when she drew back after swiping at nothing. Accidents, intentional hits, they were all the same: the young goddess swatted the annoying little bugs out of the air, even as they unloaded everything they had at her.
And she only laughed. They dumped hundreds of thousands of rounds at her belly, they targeted her tremendous boobs with missiles, and Mari never stopped laughing during the entire assault. They never stopped firing at her, their ricochets and misfires devastating the Atlantic Bank, the Michigan Galleries, the downtown branch of the Illinois State University. It’s just that their devastation took much longer, was a much more tedious process than Mari’s efficient and elegant mauling of the metro area. How many hundreds of thousands of dollars was the United States government dumping into leveling their own major city, with no effect upon the giantess threat, when the capricious witch could have done a better, quicker, more thorough job for free?
But they never asked her. The gorgeous and all-powerful giantess tried not to feel hurt about that. If the government wanted to lay waste to their major metropolitan centers—as they were clearly doing right this second—she likely would have volunteered, but they never asked her. Well, this is what they got instead: second-rate devastation for the top dollar.
Lovely Mari had just sniffed in disgust at the last of the fighter jets, one of which got stuck under her fingernail, when the bombers came in. Now things got a little serious: missiles and high-caliber rounds were one thing (a very useless thing), but bombers could haul much larger packages of disruption, and a fleet of bombers could level an entire nation. Not the United States, of course, but many of the smaller nations throughout Africa or even Eastern Europe. All these bombs were being deployed upon Lovely Mari, as she knelt deep into Michigan Avenue.
* * *
“Are you catching this?” Terrell hissed desperately at his cameraman, who was very obviously catching all of it. They had kicked out a window of their appropriated executive apartment, and the young man was leaning nearly halfway out of the building to point his camera at Mari’s shoulder blades as she raked the sky clean of swarming fighter jets. He would have leaned out farther, but in no way did he trust the anchor’s judgment or grip.
“When are we back on?”
The mixer checked his phone. “Ninety seconds. I’ll signal you.”
Terrell shot him a disgusted look. He clearly believed himself to be the only competent person on the forward team of WGN, sneaking an incredibly illegal and foolhardy photo op of the disaster unfolding—nay, blossoming—in downtown Chicago. “I can’t believe the size of that booty,” Terrell uttered irreverently. “I’m telling you, all I need is a weekend alone with that bitch, and I’d show her who’s the boss.”
The cameraman closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully. The mixer shook his head and sucked all his words back in. They secretly hoped the Sexy-Patriot Giantess would kill them sooner rather than later, if for no other reason than to shut Terrell up.
* * *
The bombs came, as the secret WGN crew watched and, with them, the rest of the nation.
There were those in the United States who detested the marauding giantess and hoped this sortie of bombers would be the end of her.
There were others, mostly men of all ages, who wanted to see more (much more) of the young goddess and hoped she would survive this round. They forgot she’d survived much worse than this because they were used to serial programming and had a hard time differentiating the real world from reality television. Even though Mari was under no threat now, they assumed that because she was appearing in a later “episode”, the threat was somehow escalated. It was certainly an impressive pyrotechnic display, yes, as the federal government authorized the disposal of unwanted munitions upon the giantess, but it had as much destructive effect upon her as a light back massage. They should have known this, the sizable population of horny and undereducated males, but they forgot, and they were on the edge of their seats, following the action as reported by the soon-to-be-doomed WGN forward crew.
Lovely Mari was unaware of all of these, and if anyone had the faculty to point these out to her, she couldn’t have cared any less. The beautiful young goddess was in her element: planes were swarming around her, tanks were poofing their little sparks of flame at her, soldiers were presumably rushing up at her and stabbing or shooting or whatever they felt they could do, and it was all useless. She laughed, the lovely witch did, she canted her head back and her throat rippled with hard, exuberant laughter as the idiotic bugs did their best and it was nowhere near good enough.
Until she felt some light taps against her scalp. That was entirely unfamiliar, while she was in this realm. Tapping? No one had the ability to do that. She reached one fingerless-gloved hand behind her head and felt a spot of warmth; a triangular-shaped plane zipped past her head and pulled a hard right away from her.
What was this? The Tinies… they couldn’t have actually designed something she would even notice, could they? Mari’s brow furrowed and she bit her upper lip, pausing her own action to think about this.
And while she thought, the next sortie swooped in and dropped heavy, nonnuclear bombs upon her shoulders. Two strayed around her neck and deposited themselves between her breasts, and the sensation was mildly pleasant, but one bomb went far off course and struck just in front of her ear.
Lovely Mari blinked twice, hard. Her fingertips flew to the side of her head, where the bomb struck. She took a deep breath, and moisture began to form in her panties, the thong fashioned from American flags.
The bomb had detonated in one of her… private spots. And now she was in a mood.
* * *
The secret WGN forward team asked a question. Drummond, watching their feed, asked himself the same question. The Secretary of State, the Vice President, and the President himself also asked this question, merely wondering aloud rather than expecting a definitive answer. They all shared the same state of disbelief, on the wave of realization.
“Is the giantess blushing?”
* * *
On the ground, the remaining soldiers had broken into two camps. No news crew picked up on this, and it was not called in to DC just yet, and it was happening entirely outside of the witchy goddess’s perception.
Among the joint military forces between the Army, Navy, Air Force, and what few troops the Marines could spare, there was nearly an even split in allegiance. On the one side were the hardcore, dedicated troops with unquestioning loyalty to their nation. They unloaded everything they had at the Sexy-Patriot Giantess, emptying their magazines, reloading their tanks. They targeted and fired; they adjusted and fired. They were going to defend their homeland to the last man, the last round.
Amid them an insurgence welled up. These were the hot-blooded men and women who had seen the glory of this magnificent giantess and sided with her. Some of them believed she was the superior force and would command the day, and they wanted to be on the winning side. By and large, however, they had seen how her boobs overshadowed two Chicago blocks, and they had peeked up between her overwhelmingly powerful thighs, into the depths of her crotch, and that was what they dedicated themselves to. That salacious, prurient beauty commanded their hearts and minds, and within one hot second they turned against their fellow man. They took over Humvees, they commandeered tanks, they took on the Infantry with their bare fists in defense of the triumphant monument of roiling sexuality that Lovely Mari represented to them.
And while the nationalists may have had equipment on their side, they were overpowered by the heart of the sybarites.
Far below Lovely Mari’s jutting breasts, well below her skimpy little skirt and bulging thighs, there was another war waging on Michigan Avenue. It baffled the viewers of WGN, it nearly defeated the viewer in the Pentagon and the White House, and it entirely escaped the notice of the capricious and voluptuous young giantess.
It was just another funny thing that happened on this peculiar day.
* * *
But the relentless throbbing of bombs bursting on her scalp and shoulders did have a cumulative effect. They wouldn’t stop, as wave after wave of bombers brought increasingly powerful explosions. The government had nearly cleaned out their cache of WWII munitions and was breaking into the newer stuff, even some experimental bombs. That meant they didn’t always work, but usually they did.
And when they worked, they felt comfortable. Mari liked the bombs that did their job… maybe not to their fullest intended capacity, but as the bombs got stronger, her shoulders and upper body flowed with a pleasant warmth. More and more, it felt like friendly fists kneading at the tension between her shoulder blades, or firm fingertips soothing the stress out of her scalp. Yes, it was soothing and even sensual, and Mari grinned to herself at the delightful effect of the United States’ escalating assault.
If this kept up, she might not…
Mari laughed. No, nothing would stop her from methodically destroying the entire United States. Not even this lovely massage.
To give the bombers better access to the knotted muscles lining her spine, she once again fell to all fours, arching northward along Michigan Avenue. This motivated the warring forces beneath her to polarize their encampments even further: the Mari-worshipers scrambled to assault all the nationalists, who had mockingly trained all their weapons upon the giantess’s pendulous breasts, which now swung not that far overhead. “Mockingly”, because at this point the military forces realized their assault had no effect on the giantess, and they were merely firing to deplete their inventory of ammunition, which used a lot of fuel to transport from site to site. They would have hell to pay when they got back to the rear, of course, having to justify the tremendous expenditure of munitions, but odds were they wouldn’t survive long enough to face their superiors anyway.
They were slightly mistaken in their assessment, however: the barrage could, when properly trained, administer a slightly stimulating effect upon the giantess’s 100’-wide areolae, which they could hardly miss. And as it amused them to do so, they focused a cross-fire upon her nipples, and the steady pounding of explosions did slowly suffuse into her tender tissues and coax her nipples into an aroused state. So they weren’t entirely useless.
In fact, this set the stage for the next wave of assault, dispatched by Washington DC, so many hundreds of miles away. It seemed that vehicles and launchers were being airlifted to Interstate 90. Safely deployed, they roared up West Congress Parkway and banked north on Michigan Avenue, engaging the giantess from behind.
These large, long, dark green flatbeds bore munitions of the nuclear variety. As Mari knelt over the divided factions of joint military forces, swinging her boobs over their best vehicles and troops, large trailers positioned themselves to take the burden of navigation off the missile controllers. And all of these were pointed directly at Lovely Mari’s pronounced rear end.
* * *
Terrell stared in amazement. “That’s some serious ammo they’re going to shoot up their ass.”
The mixer glanced at the cameraman. “Uh, how serious are we talking about?”
The cameraman lifted his camera from the treacherous, treasonous infighting troops and angled it past the giantess’s gorgeous hips. He stared into his view screen in disbelief, then looked up at his team. Speaking very slowly and clearly, he said, “If the giantess doesn’t kill us, our own government is about to.”
* * *
Drummond followed the cameraman’s trajectory from Mari’s bedroom. He was stunned to see the enlisted personnel turning against each other for no apparent reason (he had a guess but didn’t want to discredit the nation’s fighting forces so easily), but when the scene lifted to catch the missile carriers, his blood turned cold.
He knew his goddess was remarkable. He knew she was capable of many amazing things, in defiance of all known laws of physics. Some of that was magic, and some of it was the nature of her awesome presence. But the missiles being wheeled in now, large and black and nested in honeycombs that raised, adjusted, and aimed right up where the beautiful woman’s thighs met...
He used the crystal to flip through channels but they all showed the same thing, just from worse angles than WGN had illegally managed to secure.
“Come back to me,” Drummond whispered to the images on her wall.
* * *
Mari grinned at the ridiculous little soldiers. It required a lot of focus to train her vision upon the eensy-weensie little specks, but she could see little guys hopping out of tanks and staging fist-fights in the street. Some of them stood still, waving their arms and trying to reason with their peers; others went straight to violence, picking up objects or even using their own rifles against each other, causing groups of them to scatter for cover behind their own military vehicles, their tanks and HMMWVs and Blazers, and return fire.
There was absolutely no way to tell who was firing upon whom, whether the nationalists had started it or the Mari-worshippers had taken the initiative. But all of this was happening in the nighttime formed by the witchy goddess’s body blocking out the sun for blocks around. So huge was her torso, rising so many yards and spreading so wide, sunlight couldn’t even reflect off the buildings and reach the troops. So the benighted soldiers labored on, fighting against each other, launching heavier artillery up at Mari’s tremendously spherical breasts.
This felt wonderful to her. More than the thrill of puny little explosives setting off tingling sensations up and down her cleavage and all around her diamond-tipped nipples, there was now the thrill of her mere presence setting the population at odds with itself. She could sense their conflicting motivations: waves of would-be heroes trying in vain to defend their country, and stronger, hotter waves of horny young men who wanted nothing as badly as the pleasure of Mari’s intimate company and were willing to kill anyone who stood in their way, even their own brothers.
The conflict warmed her like the embers of a small fire waiting for the least provocation to explode into an inferno. And the dull, red glow of this conflict only glistened against Lovely Mari’s pearly teeth, as she smiled upon them. It reflected in her crimson eyes, and it sparkled in the tip of her tongue as she slowly licked her lips. All those bombs, they were really warming her up: she felt a delicious shiver of pleasure run down her spine, from her tingling scalp to the velvety comfort spreading throughout her hips.
She was not aware of the entire city, things going on around her elsewhere. Any other time, she might have been: her wisdom was great and her senses were heightened, but when she focused on something, the witchy goddess tended to block everything else out. And right now she was being entertained by the tiny, hateful specks warring among themselves, just below her enormous swinging breasts. She laughed at them, sometimes she urged them on—not wishing for either side to prevail, but just for more fighting, more conflict, greater struggle. It made her laugh, to see these pathetic, weak, insignificant things caring so much about concepts so far beyond their grasp: they couldn’t defend the nation, and they couldn’t earn the love of this goddess.
Lovely Mari only watched her breasts swaying above the tiny fighting dots as they migrated to one area, then shifted to another part of the street, like particles of dust being moved by slight gusts of wind. But her breasts were much more interesting, both to her and to the combatants, the loyalists and traitors. Mari shifted her right shoulder toward the dark and glassy building hosting Argosy University, and her massive breasts broke through the air to shatter levels five through twelve. With its modern construction, it bore the brunt of Mari’s massive mammary and stood, deeply caved in, professional offices exposed, lights flickering and failing, the air foggy with teensy paperwork and processing orders.
She threw her weight to her left arm, and her huge left tit took out the historic Carbide and Carbon Building. As this was structured only to hold the floors above it, it went down like a stack of cards, crumpling in the middle in slow motion both to her and the awestruck troops beneath her left boob. Some of them turned and fled, very few of them; the rest gaped in shock, watching the voluptuous breast roll like a planet into the vintage architecture, hearing the solid stone blocks cry out with abuse, then watching all the upper floors tilt, slide, and float horribly down to the earth upon them.
They didn’t even move, Mari noted. Maybe a dozen quick-thinking soldiers started to retreat to the east side of the street, but they were far too small and far too slow, and the chunky masonry caught them quickly. But most of them just stood there, as though they were tiny splotches of ink on the canvas of the street. Mari wondered why they didn’t even try to flee. It was pointless, of course, but weren’t they scared? What could they have been thinking, as the upper floors of business offices and the huge stone blocks that framed them came raining from the sky, crushing their vehicles like flimsy tin cans and wiping out the minuscule soldiers like nothing?
Mari only tilted her fine head with curiosity, watching the platoons disappear beneath the building. Her golden hair spilled over one shoulder, and her enormous boobs slowed down in their pendulous swinging while she observed the disaster with a little confusion. But just a little.
To test a theory, Mari inched forward, northward up Michigan Avenue, where fresh and untouched buildings awaited. She did the same thing: lowering her chest to let her powerful nipples brush just above the military vehicles, then swinging her boobs into a large, mirrored building under construction on her right. Glass shattered into powder, raining upon the tiny specks below her tit, and some of them fled and others didn’t. Maybe they were dead already… or maybe they held their ground like the other stupid specks before them. This was so strange! What were they thinking?
Mari looked to her left, judging where next to introduce her indomitable boob, when a flood of warmth and excitement spread all over the backs of her thighs, her huge and firm butt cheeks, and… deep into her private and sacred womanhood. Outrage counterbalanced intense pleasure at this unexpected sensation, fighting like the insignificant dust beneath her glorious bosom, and all of this was heightened by her surprise. What just happened? There wasn’t enough room for her to crane her head back and look: it was all she could do to sink to her elbows and pant, gasping for air with the intense sensation of pleasure that overtook her.
* * *
The rest of the country knew. Anyone tuning in to WGN’s trespassing news team saw the olive drab flatbeds suddenly engulfed in smoke and bright fire, as series of missiles launched and tore away with real anger through the air. They leaped out of their cages like hornets, and they raced straight and true into the witchy goddess’s tender womanhood. The rogue news team tracked it from their position, just over Mari’s right shoulder and past her supple hip: they caught all the military fury that shot the missiles up into her.
What was the logic behind this, wondered Drummond, staring at his image feed in horror. This was at the very least profoundly unprofessional… The terms flooded through his head: conduct unbecoming. The most powerful euphemism the military had to offer, a mild phrase that barely hinted at the most egregious offenses, from a drunk soldier beating up an old woman to the rape and pillaging of Asian villages. “Conduct unbecoming” covered a multitude of illnesses.
Another was “lacking military bearing”. The military had so much pride in itself, so much pride in its legacy and achievements. But in practice, in close examination, the larger victories were a distraction from the tiny offenses like this. Focusing their firepower at a gigantic woman, specifically aiming for her vulva, puffy labia beneath an innocent pair of panties, no matter the size… this was an insult. This was some sick bastard’s idea of a joke. It was conduct unbecoming a disciplined soldier, and it lacked military bearing. Drummond’s fists clenched his goddess’s bedsheets until his white knuckles threatened to burst through his skin.
* * *
The WGN cameraman caught the mile-long giantess’s expression, as well as the explosions that went off. It’s to his credit, that he had the clarity of mind to document the violence and then swivel and refocus to record Mari’s reaction. This created a combined image, a juxtaposition that would capture the American imagination for weeks afterward.
The image was this, from the mostly steady cameraman’s vantage point.
The long and overly beautiful body of the giantess was arched over Michigan Avenue, with her scanty clothing showing off her succulent, large breasts and her ample, rounded hips. Her powerful thigh drove into the pavement, and a perfectly sculpted calf stretched behind her, as her leg tucked into gargantuan combat boots on the sidewalk.
At least two flatbed trucks, from the camera’s perspective, positioned themselves behind her enormous feet, and the launchers they hauled woke up from their sleep and focused, almost magnetically, on the young giantess’s ass. The viewership across the nation was shocked by this: sure, Mari was an unstoppable force of nature, ruining the greatest works of mankind without a second thought (or even a first, sometimes), but to train devastating military ordinance upon the private parts of a woman was… disgraceful.
Some were into it. Some wanted to see where this was going.
Others were shocked at the overtly sexual display, imagining some corpulent general somewhere gripping his cock and jacking off to his own orders.
The rest were horrified and disappointed that the defenders of the nation would lower themselves, cheapen themselves to this point. A few expected it, the military was mostly oversexed boys straight out of high school, and the career soldiers saw no reason to grow beyond that stage of development as it represented youth and excitement to them. But to show it off like this…
The American people wished they had the strength to turn off their TVs, but they had to see how this was going to pan out.
The launchers raised, fire blossomed from their rears, and dozens of angry needles flew out and disappeared behind Mari’s hips, her skimpy little skirts.
There were explosions. There were furious and devastating explosions, and they erupted from beneath the giantess’s skirt. It seemed that the missiles detonated and attempted to rip through reality as they usually did, but were reflected back by Mari’s pert bottom. The explosions, instead of shredding her skin, turned back and melted the flatbed trucks and the people running them. Her combat boots were unharmed, but the sidewalk fused into glass and the street evaporated with an energy that resembled vengeance. Flames shot up in a frightening column that reached toward the sky, but ultimately fizzled out somewhere just south of Mari’s butt.
This was when the cameraman panned just slightly to the right, the center of his image refocusing on her curvaceous hip, her trim waist, her gently rounded shoulder, and then the cute expression of surprise that lit up on her face. It wasn’t horror, it wasn’t even pain: her sculpted eyebrows lifted with adorable gentleness, her eyes widened cartoonishly, and her sweet, pink lips pursed into a nearly perfect O.
She was only startled. The mile-long giantess who had attacked Green Bay, Detroit, Cleveland, and the Four Corners Monument, was only mildly startled by the torrent of nuclear warheads.
But the camera kept rolling, focused on Lovely Mari’s tremendous face. Her head was much larger than a house, larger even than small buildings in the area. It was only because the illegal news crew was far enough away that they could pull back and capture the entirety of the beautiful young giantess’s visage.
After she was done being surprised, her eyelids sagged heavily, a rosy blush emerged in her cheeks, and her mouth opened. From her mouth, a huge, glistening pink tongue poured out and weighed upon her swollen bottom lip, and the giantess began to pant heavily. Her shoulders heaved, and her alert posture sagged between her upper arms, as her gargantuan body started to rock back and forth with her breath. Deep gusts of wind raced back and forth as Mari’s breath roared up and down Michigan Avenue, the buildings echoing with her heavy breathing.
* * *
“The fuck is that?” wondered Terrell. “Is that some kind of… self-defense mechanism? Is she recharging?”
The cameraman rolled his eyes at the news anchor.
The mixer laughed and looked up for one second, only to explain: “I think she’s aroused.”
* * *
Drummond couldn’t believe his eyes. That barrage would have taken out a tank, a squadron of tanks, any block in the city, and all it did was arouse her.
Just look at her, blushing and panting like that… the camera zeroing in on her sensual and sleepy eyes, her sweet mouth, her moist, pink tongue, so cutely shaped in a perfect half-circle… her tongue throbbing, her throat flexing to gulp down the air…
And now Drummond was aroused. He knew that mouth, he knew the scent of her breath. His eyes grew wider as he leaned toward the images on Mari’s bedroom wall, and his manhood stiffened in his black BDU pants. His goddess was an entire world away from him, but… he could watch this. He reclined upon Mari’s mattress, kicked Mari’s sheets away with his tiny legs, and slowly undid his belt buckle, unbuttoning his pants, while staring intently at the face of his goddess.
* * *
“Oh, my gosh… what did you do,” Mari muttered quietly.
Whatever the specks did, it changed all the thoughts in her head. She was testing the structural integrity of the buildings lining the avenue, when suddenly it felt like some very skilled and gentle fingers reached down between her thighs and… played with her… very sensitively.
All other thoughts drained out of her head. Her vision narrowed until it was hard even to see the joint military forces beneath her huge breasts… Warmth flooded her entire body; it was like lava coursing through her veins, but a good lava, one that carried a very different kind of energy… an energy that generated between her thighs...
“I can’t… I have to do this, right now,” she gasped. While the camera rolled, the mile-long witchy goddess twisted herself in space and threw her back to the avenue.
It was an impressive sight, so much agility in something so massive. Mari merely tucked her left arm sharply under her right, and when her shoulders twisted she straightened out her left leg and dumped all her weight into her right. The momentum carried throughout her entire body: she spun counter-clockwise in the low atmosphere, and there was maybe a second of weightlessness as she rotated and adjusted with expert coordination.
Then her shoulders slammed into Michigan Avenue, and these completely wiped out all the joint military forces that had massed up from East Lake Street and streamed down to come get her. All of them, every last man and vehicle, every last nationalist and Mari-worshipper: they were all much less than a little humidity in the shirt that strained so valiantly to contain her rebellious and voluptuous boobs.
She twisted at the waist, and her lower back slammed into the street, taking care of any wandering vehicles or troops that strayed too far south. The impact ground through the buildings on both sides, finishing off the ruined constructions and inviting terrible new disasters to the surrounding real estate. Gas lines ruptured and exploded; electrical fires sparked and spread rapidly; huge, heavy things fell upon and into other huge, heavy things. Everywhere on either side of Mari’s washboard abs was wanton destruction and mayhem, getting worse by the minute.
And even as her tremendous breasts swung upward toward the sky, punishing the tied shirt that restrained them, even as they heaved their weight up and rocked sensually upon her chest, it was Lovely Mari’s glorious ass that may have done the most damage. Once her shoulders had settled, and right after her back aligned and flattened the avenue, her hips and proud buttocks and powerful thighs descended upon the soldiers and the formerly lethal flatbed trucks they ran. Each swelling cheek throbbed with the impact, pounding two tremendous craters into the street and ruining all the sewers and fiber optic cable that ran beneath it. Her thighs settled upon the flatbed trucks and flattened them into thin layers of pressed metal, completely unrecognizable from what they were mere seconds before. All the people were of course gone, there was no question of this. The only people in the area, the only survivors were, of course…
* * *
Terrell ordered the cameraman to tighten up on the giantess’s hips. He could see something was going to happen there, the way her two hands drifted over her belly and plucked at the hem of her teeny-tiny skirt. But he could also see from the mixer’s monitor that the cameraman was having trouble raising his shot past her tremendous left boob. It dominated the screen, and the high resolution faithfully captured every single rolling motion, every shudder, every heave as it rose and fell with the giantess’s breath.
Terrell was furious, as he’d been working on a small script to announce the scene to his audience, but as he stared at Mari’s absolutely perfect breast, all coherent thought fled his mind.
* * *
Drummond jerked off. That is all.
* * *
Members of the cabinet were doing the same. The President ordered guards to keep everyone, especially the Secretaries of the Interior and of Homeland Security, out of the Oval Office no matter what. The Secretary of State had thrown up WGN’s news feed from his tablet to a widescreen TV and he, the President, and the Vice President were wordlessly taking care of business.
* * *
Mari gasped and licked her lips, panting heavily. Her right hand tugged savagely at her tiny little skirt, then disappeared between her massive thighs; her left hand undertook the insurmountable task of heaving her left boob out of her shirt and attempting to hold it and please it at the same time. It took most of her arm to hoist the large, round beast up, and most of her hand and fingers to knead at her nipple, stroke her areola, and clutch at the monstrously huge boob the rest of the time.
“Oh boy…” Mari murmured. “This is gonna be a big one. What did you… stupid little Tinies do to me…”
Her thighs tensed and bulged, lifting her knees toward the skies and above any of the remaining buildings in her area. The heels of her combat boots raised, then dug violently into the ground, plowing through yards of pavement. Mari bit her lip with large, perfect teeth, her shoulders nestling into the accommodating pavement of what used to be Michigan Avenue, and the fingertips of her right hand plucked her red, white, and blue panties to one side.
* * *
The camera crew picked all this up. Nobody cut their feed, as the entire nation was glued to their screens now.
“Are you getting this,” asked Terrell repeatedly, breathlessly. It was a reflex and nobody answered him, because of-fucking-course they were getting this. What else was there to see?
All three WGN staff were rock hard, as well. They couldn’t tend to their erections, as badly as they wanted to, because they were equally hypnotized into documenting this once-in-a-lifetime sensation. When would they ever get the chance to watch an incredibly gorgeous giantess masturbate herself right in the open like this? Who’d ever heard of anything like this?
The three men watched silently: the cameraman with his camera, the mixer with his monitor, and Terrell Palmer with his bare eyes. “Are you getting this,” he asked for the hundredth time.
They watched her huge breasts rock back and forth, both from her left hand kneading one desperately, and from her tremendous body writhing in mounting pleasure.
They watched her right hand glistening in the sun, the few times it came up, and they were even able to capture the sound of her wet slurping when her hand plunged between her thighs, over and over.
They caught the sound of the giantess gasping, “This isn’t enough… I need something more, something inside me,” and they recorded her huge left hand detaching from her planetary boob and flying toward the only intact building in the area, the Millennium Park Plaza.
Mari’s palm grew wider, spreading over their entire view, flying straight at the camera crew with splayed and hungry fingers.
And then the WGN feed went dark.
* * *
An hour later, Lovely Mari’s combat boots clomped up the staircase of her little house in the woods. “I’m ho-o-o-ome!” she hollered, loving the fact there was someone to shout this to. She bounded through the door of her bedroom and flung her arms wide.
“It was awesome! I held a parade, and there were trucks and soldiers and fireworks and everything!” She laughed and kicked off her combat boots, then threw herself onto the foot of her bed to flex her cute toes and air her feet out. “Did you see me, Drummond?”
The little SWAT officer sat in the middle of her bed, his clothes rumpled and his face flushed. He pulled up the sheets over his legs when she sat on the bed.
Mari’s heart-shaped pupils expanded in concern. “Are you okay, lil’ buddy? Somethin’ happen to you while I was gone?” She reached out to press the back of her index finger to his forehead. But all he saw was her enormous breast swinging toward him, with the blue shirt tied under her boobs, stretched to capacity.
“I, uh,” Drummond said. He cleared his throat.
“Hey, lil’ SWAT guy, what’s up?” The giantess grabbed a fistful of bedsheets and snatched them away. She discovered the tiny little man was only wearing his shirt and jacket, and had removed his pants, socks and boots for some reason. He quickly covered himself with tiny little hands. “What the heck is this, Drummond? Where are the rest o’ yer clothes?”
He blushed deeply, but the officer explained to her—with great reluctance—that he had been watching her on the news. There was one news team that snuck in to cover her, and it had a very good view of her, and she was being sexy, and it pained him to admit this but “I had to take care of a certain need, my goddess.” He couldn’t even look up at her, so embarrassed was he.
But Mari only laughed like chiming bells. “Aw, Drummond! You think I’m pretty, doncha?”
The naivete of her question made him laugh a little.
“That’s okay, lil’ guy. If you think I’m sexy, you can go ahead and enjoy yourself.” She hefted each of her boobs in her hands, admiring them as though she’d never seen them before. “I know I’m a hot lil’ piece of fluff! There’s no shame in losin’ control to someone who looks as good as me.” She grinned at him, licking her teeth saucily.
He sighed. “I just wasn’t able to… finish it, my goddess. I’m a little wound up right now.”
“Well, why not?”
“The news feed I was watching, you destroyed it.” He looked up into her bright and merry face. “You had just thrown yourself to the ground, and you were beginning to… you know.”
She nodded slowly, her golden locks shimmering around her face. “Yeah, I was feelin’ kinda warmed up. Did you see the whole thing?”
“No, my goddess.” Drummond’s brow furrowed. “I just said, you took out the news crew I was watching. They were the only channel filming you.”
The giantess stared at him for a moment, then threw back her head and laughed. “Drummond! Where’s that crystal I gave you?” She rummaged through the bed sheets and hoisted the SWAT operative by one leg, looking around until she located the small piece. “This thing lets you look around everywhere! You don’t just have to look at television, remember? You can swoop around and fly into anything and look at anything, if you control it right.” She laid him flat on the bed and leaned over him, smiling toothily at his half-naked body. “I showed you, remember?”
Drummond could only stare up at her in shock. Of course this was true, she demonstrated it this morning while they rested in bed. He had been envious of its capability. How on earth had he forgotten? “But that means… I could have…” All the blood drained from his face. “While you were… I could have…” His mind raced with the possibilities.
Lovely Mari only tsk-tsk’ed at him. “Yeah, you coulda, you naughty lil’ guy. But now that I’m back, you don’t need this anymore.” With that, she pinched the crystal between her thumb and forefinger, and it exploded into fine dust. She hopped off the bed and started peeling off the skin-tight outfit she’d worn all day, experiencing the welcome relief of climbing out of those restricting clothes and slipping into her comfy cornflower robe.
Drummond only cast a mournful glance at the crystal dust all around him, still covering his frustrated arousal with both hands, trying very hard not to cry.