The sun shone upon Lovely Mari just as it shone upon all of Green Bay and the rest of Wisconsin, but it was a unique experience for all.
For the hungover residents of Green Bay, the sun was unwelcome. It struck their eyes like a discordant orchestra, blaring and stabbing at their skulls.
For the other citizens, the sun embedded a cozy warmth in their faces and arms. The flowers and trees drank deeply of the sunlight, building themselves up and spreading in the warm soil. This same sunlight, in fact, glinted on the wings of the Wisconsin Air National Guards’ F-16s.
For Lovely Mari, however, the sun posed an interesting contradiction. It was quite warm around her boots, but her head and shoulders were still icy cold, and the sun beating down on her didn’t seem to absorb and build up in her skin. This was because the ground was retaining the sun’s warmth, her boots were on the ground, but her head was two miles above the earth’s surface.
And this was because Lovely Mari is a playfully witchy goddess, and today she chose to be two miles tall.
Additionally, she chose to see how many football stadiums she could fit in her mouth, just on her tongue. In her career as a playful, fun-loving giantess, she had destroyed entire cities beneath her boots and sat on small islands, burying them into the ocean floor. Some days she was only a few hundred feet tall; others, she stretched up to ten miles or even higher—it really depended upon her mood, and no one had the ability to predict where those winds would blow.
Today she was a mere two miles tall, standing high above metropolitan Green Bay. Before her was the crater where Lambeau Field used to be firmly planted. The home of that famous coach, Vince Lombardi, and the scene of the legendary Ice Bowl of ‘67, Lambeau Field was an edifice both in the city and in the imaginations of generations of Packer fans. It was, in its way, a kind of holy ground, a religious destination for football fanatics around the world.
At the moment, it rested upon the back of Mari’s cute tongue, quivering with each unconscious twitch of her nerves. The cries of 80,000 minuscule people, plunged into perfect darkness and oppressive humidity, squealed in the echo chamber of Mari’s mouth, never knowing how closely they and their much-vaunted stadium and teetering over the chasm of her soft, wet throat. But even if they had sufficient light, even if Mari had chosen to slightly part her pillowy lips and rows of gleaming teeth, could they have made any sense of their new environment? If they could have looked up at their new sky—the roof of her mouth—would they have recognized it at all?
Mari stood not far from the stadium grounds, her left boot planted deep into S Oneida St, her right boot several yards below where S Ridge Rd once ran. The 16 acres of each footprint covered all five blocks from Liberty St to Lombardi Ave, which only meant anything to the former citizens of Green Bay.
Former, because when she suddenly appeared, teleporting in from her secret and mystic hideaway, two things happened. She filled the atmosphere with two miles of slender, well-proportioned witchy-goddess, and displaced all that air, pushing it aside rapidly—faster than light! As well, two miles of adorable anime goddess is an awful lot of meat and bones (not to mention a stylish witch’s hat, black 18-hole kneeboots, and the rest of her fetching ensemble), so nearly 400 million tons of Lovely Mari abruptly drove into the lithosphere below Green Bay.
Between the sonic boom and the crash landing into the city, an astonishingly violent earthquake rippled violently throughout the entire area. Beaumont Elementary was flattened promptly, like everything else in the immediate area; all the teachers and children immediately turned to jelly in the shock wave, just like everyone from Highway 41 to Fox River. They never even knew what hit them: there was no flash, there was only a second of noise in their ears before their cells ruptured and their bones shattered.
And that was just in the immediate area: all around the greater metro area, Lovely Mari watched with merry, laughing eyes as the ground rolled up in perfect circles, all around her boots, spreading out and fading in the distance. Neighborhoods were demolished within seconds, buildings tumbled easily to the disrupted ground. A few hundred people died immediately, thrown up by the land or crushed beneath their own houses and offices.
In another filter of perspective, Mari’s crimson eyes watched the hundreds of souls slipping away from their weak meat-vessels, wafting up like the vapors of alcohol. She raised one eyebrow slightly, grinning to herself, waiting… Ah, there it was! The souls drifted toward her feet, as though attracted to her tremendous mass, passing through the leather and entering into the cells of her skin and blood. They integrated, these hundreds of souls, and dissolved into her blood and the fibers of her being. No longer aware of themselves as people, they merged into Lovely Mari’s being and flowed through her veins, losing the property of themselves and entirely, completely joining the goddess.
Lovely Mari sighed with pleasure. While it was true she much preferred the happy, bright souls of the tiny little people (or “bugs”, as she would have it) who loved her and willingly sacrificed themselves for her, she still appreciated the minty-cool terror of people who died badly. This felt quite pleasant in her warm boots, truth be told. It was a warm day, especially on the ground in which her feet were embedded.
The goddess’ eyes flew open wide, as her panties tightened with a sudden constriction. This was a strange side effect that occurred sometimes, and it was difficult to understand why, but the hundreds of souls she absorbed flowed up her thighs and amassed in her buttocks, making her bottom grow slightly larger. It was a cosmic mystery, and a cute blush came to Mari’s lovely cheeks.
But her business here was done, and with Lambeau Field resting more or less steadily upon the base of her tongue, she turned to the southeast and ran toward her next destination: Ford Field in Detroit, Michigan. For no reason than whimsy, she decided these were the two stadiums in neighboring states that she must hold in her mouth, for her little experiment. (Also, though she was too polite to say so, she’d heard awful things about the new Vikings stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota, an oddly shaped black lump on the edge of the city. What was it supposed to be? A boat, a helmet? Art? No one knew, and she certainly didn’t want it in her mouth.)
Around this time, several F-16 Fighting Falcons came screaming through the air: the 115th Fighter Wing had scrambled and cleared the distance from Camp Douglas in under nine minutes. When the initial calls of a gigantic and beautiful young woman suddenly appearing in Green Bay came through, Governor Walker had laughed them off. “I’ve heard everything now,” he said to his intern, who laughed nervously and shared none of his confidence.
But when USGS Earthquake Hazards Program called repeatedly, urgently insisting upon measurements of a magnitude 7 earthquake in the center of 104,000 registered voters, Governor Walker only blinked once before ordering 115th Fighter Wing and 128th Air Control Squadron into action with all the imperativeness of his office.
The F-16s arrived first, engaging with the target with everything they had, none of which could attract Lovely Mari’s sacred attention. In fact, when the two-mile-high goddess turned to reorient herself, her left arm (just over a half-mile in length) idly swung back and collided with two fighter jets, ending them promptly. Two more pitched and dove between her knees—who knew what they were hoping to achieve?—and when her left foot swiveled on its balls and her right boot heaved from S Ridge Rd to Morris Ave, south of the stadium grounds, her knees gently brushed against each other, compressing one jet flat, the other steering badly into her inner thigh and exploding.
The fate of the last jet was only slightly more exciting than that. The pilot pulled up and raced along Mari’s chest as she turned, gaining momentum up her flat belly, then pulling into a panicked barrel roll to slip between her tremendous boobs as they drifted like planets through the Wisconsin atmosphere. One wingtip just slightly grazed the broad hem of black silk fringing Mari’s breathtaking décolletage, yet the pilot kept his head and pulled his Fighting Falcon up, intact. Her collarbones dropped away below him, her throat turned with its thin black choker, he adjusted to chase her chin, and his tiny jet shot up her puffy, pink lips, and he glanced at his dials for just a fraction of a second.
That was when Lovely Mari sniffed the air, entirely unconsciously. Her gently sculpted right nostril flared prettily: hundreds of gallons of air rushed into her sinus and seized the courageous F-16 with it. Even her mere nostril was over twice the length of his jet, so he was sucked into the cavernous nose entirely in one piece. His aircraft yawed out of control, caromed off her nasal vestibule and collided with the cavity above it. Yet to Mari, this was nothing more than a brief sting against her tender tissues, and she pinched her nose cutely to end the irritation.
Thus ended her Wisconsin vacation. Mari’s gorgeous, tall black boots carried her swiftly to the Two Rivers area, on the shore of Lake Michigan. It took her nearly 60 strides to get there, with her powerful legs, each nearly a mile long in their own right. Briskly she jogged to the shore, each boot falling from the sky to deliver nearly three petajoules of devastating force, blasting into the earth and blowing Highway 43 into smithereens. Behind her, the air that she’d carelessly shoved aside returned to collapse and fill the wake she left behind, again booming throughout Brown County and pummeling the landscape. In only a few seconds, the capricious giantess had obliterated Pine Grove, Glenmore, Denmark, Cooperstown, Fisherville, Kingsbridge, and dozens of other towns and villages entirely, thoroughly off the map. All the businesses, all the geniuses of industry, all the rich history of the land was pounded into plain, unrecognizable dust beneath those black 18-hole kneeboots.
At Two Rivers, Lovely Mari smiled cutely and flipped up the back of her short skirt, flashing her excitingly rounded and slightly larger buttocks at the devastation. Was this an apology or a final insult? It was impossible to know, and the ways of a two-mile-tall goddess are inscrutable to mortals, surely.
She paused, briefly, on the shores of Lake Michigan. She’d heard the water was cold, but then she had cast that magical shell on her person to control her temperature. Still, she decided it would be annoying to get her beautiful boots all wet, so she cast another little spell to unlace them, and she tossed them across the lake, crashing into Ludington, Michigan, where they immediately destroyed the ferry system upon which so many hundreds of thousands of tourists and workers relied.
Her heels dug deeply into the soil of Two Rivers, and she giggled cutely to herself as the frigid waters splashed about her darling toes. She had forgotten for a moment about the stadium full of football fans resting precariously upon her tongue: her merest giggle boomed through the structure and immediately liquefied 80,000 Sconnies. When their cool, horrified souls soaked soothingly into her throat, she noted their departure with only a trace of disappointment, as she had hoped to keep them intact to meet the other population of sports enthusiasts. Well, whatever! Her smooth, rounded shoulders shrugged pleasantly in her blouse, and she stretched out one slender, mile-long leg to dip her precious toes into Lake Michigan.
There was no shock to speak of. Lovely Mari’s magic was very powerful, when she could control it, so instead of being frozen to the bone like all the weak, pathetic bugs who lived here, she only experienced a calming, refreshing coolness that spread pleasantly throughout her dainty, pink foot. Smiling broadly, she stepped forward and the waters of Lake Michigan covered the bridge of her right foot. Another stride, and the cool waters lapped around her left ankle.
Mari tilted her head curiously. This was the third-largest Great Lake? What was so great about this?
Onward she strode, the gloriously beautiful giantess who was much larger than Reykjavik, the capitol of Iceland (just a point of trivia), into the frigid waters of the lake. Even at its deepest point, the fifth-largest lake in the world (by surface area) only came up to the middle of her shin, not even to her well-formed calf.
If she weren’t trying to preserve Lambeau Field inside her mouth, she would have screamed at how lame this was turning out to be.
It took her a mere fifty strides to cross the entire lake. Disappointed and a little irritated, she took up her boots and turned around to pull them on. Her light black shirt flared as she bent and lowered her bottom to the ground. The citizens of Amber, Scottville, and Custer felt the impact, but it was Ludington and Pere Marquette that got the worst of it, exemplified in the experience of one small boy.
He (his name is supremely unimportant) was playing outside of his house at Madison and 3rd street, kitty-corner from Bethany Lutheran Church. It was a beautiful summer day, and his parents had just given him a kite as a present—not for his birthday or anything, simply because it was a gorgeous afternoon, after a long and miserable winter, and the sun filled their hearts with generosity. They wanted to see their little boy happy, after all, and he was positively gleeful as he assembled the kite, spooled out the string a good distance, and began to run toward his elementary school to catch some wind.
When he, like everyone else in Ludington, heard the roar of the collapsing atmosphere and saw the tsunami rising up to devour the ferry, he didn’t know what to make of it. He was only a few years old, after all, and had very few remarkable experiences in his life. The wall of water was one of them. The other was the broad field of black-and-white striped panties that covered the sky, cast the town into shadow, and ultimately buried him, his kite, and everything around them for one-quarter of a mile deep into the earth.
Mari’s darling dress poofed out over the landscape and settled gently upon the neighboring communities, blanketing the devastation caused by the shuddering earth and not by an immensely broad and weighty pair of buttocks. She drew her knees to her chest, slipped her delicate feet into her boots, and gesticulated the spell to lace them back up. It was so convenient to be a goddess!
Boots planted firmly into Highway 10, Lovely Mari turned once more to her destination and broke into a sprint: it was very difficult to hold a football stadium on your tongue! She missed singing and laughing aloud, and she didn’t really care about the 80,000 people who sweltered and languished in her mouth, but she was dedicated to this little experiment. Could she hold two football stadiums in her mouth at once? It was important to know!
She built up speed quickly, pounding acreage of Manistee National Forest deep into the lithosphere in a series of 1,500-foot craters, each nearly two miles apart. But even as she stomped White Cloud, Lakeview, and Ithaca into oblivion, something else was happening. You see, when a two-mile-high goddess kicks out her mile-long legs and races through earth’s lower, denser atmosphere at 18,000 mph, she builds up friction. Her massive body pushes the air away, like shoving a carpet ahead of her—more friction around her feet, where the atmosphere is denser, and less friction around her ears and hat, where the air is thinner, but still. All that air has to go somewhere, so it spreads out in all directions and levels out, but it also roars all around her body at such speed that it creates heat. And even if Lovely Mari’s body was protected from temperature variations, her boots, hat, and smart little black dress were not.
There was a dazzling flash in the sky, witnessed by Michiganders for miles around, as all of Lovely Mari’s clothes incinerated in the air, leaving a gorgeous, surprised, and abundantly nude young woman raced across the state. As they looked up, her powerful thighs churned, her calves flexed and tensed, and her tremendous breasts, each several hundred feet wide, heaved and shuddered and bounced joyfully back and forth; as she raced past, impossibly fast, her pert buttocks rolled against each other in a shiny, pink farewell.
Almost immediately after this, everyone was pulverized by earthquakes and what’s classified as a high-hypersonic boom. There were absolutely no survivors, and several hundreds of thousands of souls flitted up to the naked giantess, where they deposited into her breasts and her bottom, each of which grew fuller and more prominent with their absorption.
This was absolutely mortifying to Lovely Mari, of course, and she skidded to a halt, burying all of Lansing, the capitol of Michigan, beneath a small mountain of fresh loam. With spiky, angry gestures, she cast the spell to fully clothe her once more—it was harder, but not impossible, to cast spells without speaking them. Yet the playful and witchy goddess was quite powerful and adept in spellcraft, so this was only a minor inconvenience. She could take her frustration out on the entire state of Michigan, if she so chose.
Governor Snyder’s phone lines were only just beginning to light up. No one in the path of Mari’s devastation was in any state to report the incident of the beautiful giantess racing over their homes. It would be another ten minutes before, at the urging of Governor Walker, the 110th Air Wing and 127th Wing would be dispatched. These things take time to build up.
Detroit was still 78 miles away (or 26 running strides for the elegant and stylish goddess) to the southeast, and 18 miles to the southwest of the city lay Detroit Metropolitan Airport—“Metro Airport” to the locals. A lovely summer’s day was no time for air traffic to slow down, and while the Delta Airbuses accessed a cruising altitude several miles above Mari’s head when she was crossing Lake Michigan, they were coming in and taking off at much lower heights, the closer she got to Detroit.
Her French maid’s blouse, flapping in the fresh Michigan air (and protected with another round of spells!), hung flatteringly around her fit frame as she slowed to a walk, crunching Highway 96 from Webberville to Brighton beneath her attractive boots. She took another deep breath through her nostrils, calming herself down and protecting Lambeau Field in her mouth. “Protected,” that is, because although it was still standing and hadn’t plummeted down her throat, it was still flooded with the goddess’s sweet saliva. Thousands and thousands of minuscule corpses floated in the wash, slowly breaking apart and dissolving as they drifted like ghosts over the bleachers.
Ghosts that fell apart and dwindled into nutrients, that is. Real ghosts don’t do that.
Outside of Mari’s lovely face, however, a large speck was rising and approaching. It was even large enough that the giantess noticed it. It was heading straight at her head, in fact, which was why she could see it when it flew close enough. At her height, however, it appeared to be moving very slowly, so she had all the time in the world to bring her hand up as it approached.
She spread her fingers apart, four slender and graceful fingers, and held her palm outward.
On the Airbus, the captain and his crew stared in disbelief at the wall of flesh before them. Unsure how to describe this to their passengers, they pulled the plane up with plenty of room to avoid the 600’-wide palm. No matter how soft and sweet it looked, they were correct in their assessment that they would not survive impact with it at 500 mph.
However, the delicate fingers were a new problem. Even though they were half as thin as their aircraft was long, again, they doubted that the fingers would lose a fight against them. All they could do was bank the plane hard, babbling an apology to their passengers about unexpected turbulence, and steer between Mari’s tremendous third and fourth fingers.
They successfully avoided hitting a finger, but when those slender digits passed by all the passengers’ windows, all hell broke loose. No one heeded the seat belt sign, no one used their air masks, and the flotation devices had no use here. Few people could form a complete sentence other than “what the hell is that” or variations thereof.
The captain and his crew could only stare mutely out of their cockpit, staring at the broad smile with flashing white teeth, staring at the cute button notes, staring at the enormous crimson eyes that looked as though they could swallow the plane whole.
Oh, how Lovely Mari wished to open her jaws and let that slow, stupid plane gently glide into her mouth! It would explode between her teeth! She would make a game of chewing it into a broad, flat piece of metal, then rolling it up into a ball with her tongue! Her tongue was very strong and she could use it with great skill, especially on anything these insignificant bugs could construct.
But no: she had to preserve Lambeau Field for science. Not for the first time, she felt a little resentment that such a powerful goddess as she should protect some stupid bug-built building, limiting her freedom and her ability to sing or swear or snack. Instead, she snapped her head around and brought up the full and luscious waves of her hair to swing around her massive skull and sweep at the Airbus.
Every single strand of blonde hair was just over three inches thick. Individually, the jet might have been able to snap through one or two, booming along over 500 miles an hour. Human hair is built pretty well, however, and even a regular strand at normal size is surprisingly strong. But it wasn’t just one hair or even two that Mari swung at the plane.
The Delta Airbus A330 was entirely covered by waves and waves of thick, blonde hair, covering the windows and blocking out all light. Strands of hair got sucked into the jets, which exploded in dazzling fireballs outside the passengers’ windows. They could hardly appreciate this, however, since the hair wrapped around the body of the plane—almost as though it were alive—and pulled it out of its trajectory. The wings tangled in Mari’s beautiful locks, the plane hung suspended, and 500 mph slowed to 200, then to however fast her hair was sailing through the air, two miles above the ground.
People were thrown out of their seats, of course. They collided with the windows, came to rest against the ceiling or the back of the plane, whichever side happened to be facing down at any moment. Necks snapped, organs ruptured; some people died quicker than others. It was only 234 people who perished in that thin tin can, people who thought they were traveling to Utah but who left their bodies behind to snake through the thinning air and embed themselves in Lovely Mari’s plump lips. Only 234, but the goddess held some affection for every soul that entered her, built her, made her even better than before.
But how do you improve upon perfection? Only Lovely Mari can say.
Leaving the jet hanging from her hair like an errant barrette, her merry crimson eyes only swept over the landscape to pick out her destination from the horizon, and each gently walking step only generated a series of magnitude 5 earthquakes as she resumed her short journey. Her mouth salivated to think of Ford Field, the stadium in her mouth finally overflowed with spit, and tens of thousands of deteriorated corpses slid over the hilly field of her papillae and down her throat, departing Lambeau Field one last time.
She was in the home stretch: as she exploded her way through Dearborn Heights, Mari decided to take a gentler approach. With her powerful magic she significantly lessened the impact of her footsteps, and thus was able to home in on the stadium without too much damage. Instead of pounding Woodward Ave into the earth, she only tore it up as though it were under construction. Lovely Mari fluttered her eyebrows at downtown Detroit, expecting them to appreciate this special favor she was granting them.
She knelt before the stadium, to focus on the building and get a better grasp on it. However, the spell only applied to her sexy footgear, so even though she only partially ruined Comerica Park under the sole of her boot, her unprotected knee drove down into the spaghetti juncture of Fisher Freeway and I-375. Vast stretches of highway, multiple lanes of cars and trucks simply evaporated beneath the smooth, pink knee of Lovely Mari, compressed deeper and deeper into the ground. Business would be disrupted for weeks, months, as the main arteries of the city were torn out like the throat of a man, mauled by a bear. But Mari knew none of this: part of her attention was wondering whether the Midtown neighborhood was staring up her skirt and ogling her panties. They must be, since her French maid’s skirt spread out across the area, creating an unofficial night, and if they looked up to examine the sky they could only see the forbidden spread between her soft and shapely thighs. This was an occupational hazard with which the goddess was quite familiar.
The rest of her attention was focused on another handy bit of magic: she cast a spell of precision and delicacy upon the fingertips of her right hand, and with this she reached down and oh-so-gently plucked Ford Field from its foundation. Her fingertip crushed the Lions Pro Shop on the south side, her thumb flattened the Turf Tavern with all its drunken patrons on the north, but the stadium itself remained perfectly intact.
Lovely Mari lifted it up to one enchanting eye, scrutinizing its contents: what luck! They were having a game after all, and so it was full of another 65,000 screaming occupants! Not as many as Lambeau Field, but ah well. It would have to do.
Grinning like a sunbeam, Mari straightened out her powerful, shapely legs and rose to her feet. It was the moment of truth! She opened her mouth wide, stuck out her tongue, and her eyes cutely crossed to follow the stadium as she daintily—
“Hey! What’re you doing?”
The witch-goddess’s eyes fluttered open with genuine surprise. She had excellent hearing, of course, but mostly all she ever heard was the roar of the upper wind corridors or the squealing shrieks of hundreds of thousands of people dying in terror and agony. It was quite uncommon, quite unusual for her to pick up on a single, coherent sentence like this.
She looked around but couldn’t see anyone in the area. What the hell? Squinting her eyes to intensify her astounding focus, she studied the ground all around her tall, exotic boots. To her astonishment, standing with tiny fists on tiny hips, the two-mile-high goddess spotted a tiny little giantess! She must have come running up north along Chrysler Drive from the Detroit River, the border between Detroit, USA, and Windsor, Canada.
For a moment, Mari was surprised to realize there was a part of Canada that was south of the US, but everyone goes through that for a moment.
“I’m talking to you!” screamed the tiny woman, and Mari was utterly baffled. This little woman only came up to Mari’s slender and lovely ankle—why was she acting so bold? Did she know something Mari didn’t?
Inwardly, Mari laughed. That was impossible!
The little woman actually dared to walk up between Mari’s boots. She had tanned skin with long auburn hair that spilled around her shoulders. She wore shreds of fabric that covered her shoulders and breasts, and another stretch of cloth around her waist. It looked very savage and rough, and that was kind of interesting, but she was entirely far too rude for the goddess’s liking.
But Mari was as curious as she was lovely, which was very, so she looked down at the little woman and shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t speak, not with a stadium in her mouth; Ford Field was still poised in midair, nearly two full miles above the city, next to her soft and creamy cheek.
“Don’t shrug at me! And don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” yelled the woman, pointing a strong (but tiny) arm up at Mari. Well, up Mari’s skirt, anyway, since she was standing between the tremendous giantess’s ankles. Poor Mari had to bend quite a bit to peer at the woman over her tremendous bosom.
Oh yeah, bosom! Lovely Mari almost forgot: she lowered the 65,000 terrified football fans, hooked a thumb inside the silk trim of her décolletage, and tugged the front of her dress open. Enormous twin breasts bulged within her dress, squeezing together slightly and producing deep, plunging cleavage, and into this yawning chasm Mari upended Ford Field and dumped most of its occupants. They sprinkled like fine confectioner’s sugar, catching the breeze and spreading. Most of them did sift gently into her cleavage, sliding down the pale, curving slopes into the darkness; a few stuck to her skin, adhered to a very light coat of perspiration. Fewer still were lost to the powerful winds two miles above the earth, and they simply tumbled away into empty space, commencing their very long descent back to their home city.
Mari could barely be bothered to notice these: she was far too pleased with the tens of thousands of people, shrieking in abject terror, as they settled along the slopes of her huge and perfect breasts or flowed over her sternum, lodging somewhere within the depths of her dress, somewhere over her toned belly. Many died, and the rest would die at some point in the near future, and all those minty-cool terrified souls would slip right into her chest and go straight to her boobs, and these would enlarge and strain the structural integrity of her dress, and she would be pardonably proud of the effect. Surely those lucky people who stuck to her tremendous breasts would learn how truly lovely they were, the loveliest in the world, and maybe they would even turn into the loving, sweet souls who are happy to join her. Those souls were much more pleasant to feel, as nice as dissolving a candy in her mouth.
The tiny woman standing between her legs was furious. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing! What did you… Did you actually just dump the people of my city into your dress? Right in front of me?” She fumed and swore, then stomped over (her stomps were so tiny and cute!) to Mari’s left boot, and she punched Mari in the left ankle.
This diminutive woman actually punched the capricious witch-goddess in the ankle!
Mari couldn’t feel it, of course, but still! The impertinence! The cheek! This little imp had to be dealt with. Faster than lighting, Lovely Mari’s pretty little hand descended through the atmosphere and seized the rude little woman in her fist. Now it was really pathetic: Mari’s palm was 600 feet across, and this woman barely filled it at all. When she closed her fingers, only the woman’s long, flowing hair stuck out of the top, where her index finger curled into her thumb. Not even the tiny woman’s feet stuck out! But nothing could excuse her rudeness.
Lovely Mari stood up and opened up her palm, showing the tiny giantess what would happen to her if she tried anything stupid. The little tan woman seemed shaken, rose to her knees, and peered over the edge of Mari’s hand. She saw the vast landscape spreading around, and she saw how her soft and fleshy platform hovered in a void far, far above the earth. Slowly the woman crawled back into the center of Mari’s palm, where she drew her knees to her chest, hugged her legs, and rocked back and forth in a state of shock.
The goddess was not without mercy, but the little woman did need to be taught a lesson. What to do?
Tilting her hand to make the giantess roll down it, Mari quickly pinched the woman into her skin with her thumb. Now her arms, head, and legs were all free but her waist was securely held in place. Mari lifted the tiny giantess up to her soft cheek and opened her mouth extra wide. When the woman stopped screaming, she looked inside the gaping maw and saw Mari’s adorable tongue sticking out at her. At the back of her tongue stood Lambeau Field, shaken and drenched but still standing. Maybe now the tiny woman would understand what Mari had to do.
Very gently, she placed Ford Field upon the front half of her tongue. Immediately she could feel the two stadiums bumping against each other, and the edge of Ford Field stuck out over the tip of her tongue just a little bit. That was no good. With great skill and care, Mari shoved Lambeau field around and turned it 90 degrees, and likewise she placed Ford Field sideways on the end of her tongue.
Success! Lovely Mari proved to the world—and this tiny, savage giantess was witness—that she could fit two football stadiums in her mouth at one time! Oh, Mari wanted to dance with happiness, but first things first: the horrible little woman had to be punished.
Still sticking out her massive yet alluring tongue, Mari waved her fingers to create an enormous smartphone that hovered in the air some distance before her face. She posed the tiny woman by her cheek, closed her eyes in an expression of delight, and took a selfie of the momentous occasion. That done, Mari happily crunched the two stadiums into rubble and choked them down, and then she held the woman before her puffy, rosy lips.
“Now then, whatever shall I do with you?” Her voice boomed with tremendous violence through the atmosphere. The tiny woman clapped her hands to her head, but the sound pounded every inch of her body like violent ocean waves. Her face contorted in agony and she screamed something, but it didn’t make any sense to the real goddess.
Shrugging, Mari simply popped the woman into her mouth. Not all the way, of course, not at the start: the tiny giantess’s chest squirmed against the ticklish surface of Mari’s sweet tongue, and the goddess closed her delicious lips around the woman’s waist. That left her legs dangling down Mari’s chin and her bare butt exposed. Mari threw up two fingers and grinned at the massive, floating smartphone, getting a nice picture of her charming expression and the tiny giantess’s thighs spread to expose everything, sticking out of her puckered lips. She waved her fingers again and the smartphone disappeared.
Now there was nothing else to do but finish the job. The tiny woman was screaming her head off inside Mari’s mouth, loud enough to hear, but the goddess only sucked in her cheeks and opened her jaws, keeping her lips closed. This created a powerful vacuum that drew the woman’s body toward her throat: the woman’s round breasts dragged over Mari’s lovely tastebuds, and her round hips and butt popped in through her lips. Two powerful thighs snaked inside her mouth, then her feet, as the woman’s torso began sliding down Mari’s throat.
The witch-goddess could feel the tiny giantess grasping for things to hold onto. The woman’s tiny fingers slipped over her teeth, slid over her tonsils, but none of it helped. Mari tried very carefully to relax her throat, breathing gently, and soon the woman’s body filled it. Mari tilted her head back, squinting at the sun, opened her mouth wide and let gravity do all the work. The tiny woman’s screams echoed down Mari’s throat, and her heels kicked at the roof of her mouth, and her powerful little body writhed and struggled all the way down. Lovely Mari could actually feel it, all the way down, first like a chunk of meat lodged in your throat, and then like a burp that won’t come out.
At last, however, the tiny giantess worked her way down to Mari’s beloved stomach, tumbling into the digestive juices and settling down like a heavy snack. There, that was good: Lovely Mari stroked one perfect hand across the black fabric over her firm and taut belly. She closed her eyes and believed she could feel the ridiculous, rude little woman trying to stand up, punch at the walls of her stomach, and other weak attempts to escape or rebel.
“You just keep fighting,” whispered Lovely Mari to her little prisoner. “Fight as long as you can, days and days. That will show me how much you love me.”
But now her adventure was over. She had proven that she could hold two football fields in her mouth at once—what next?
Actually, a really good idea came to her. Walking back over her huge stompy craters, she picked her way across the state to return to Lake Michigan. She was pretty sure she could drink it all, and there was only one way to find out.
Image of Lambeau Field in Green Bay, Wisconsin from NASA World Wind.