Lovely Mari was watching television in her bedroom with the Tiny SWAT officer, Drummond.
By “television,” the reader must understand this is Mari’s magical system of projecting long-distance images upon her wall by means of her powerful magic. Through this she can spy on everything going on in any dimension or on any planet, as well as watching ordinary broadcast programs and movies. For free! Because that’s how powerful Lovely Mari is.
Lounging in her favorite cornflower gown, Mary stretched her long, smooth arms behind the wild and flowing mane of her golden hair, resting on a pile of pillows, one shapely calf crossed over one bent knee, her sleepy eyes regarding the flickering images without much interest. Drummond also rested on a large pillow: her boob. Mari insisted that he perch there, sitting on top of one massive, round breast, but she also insisted that he remained fully dressed in his black BDUs and keep his hands to himself. She didn’t bother to say “please” and he didn’t dare disobey an order.
So with Lovely Mari reclining comfortably on her messy bed and Drummond seated in a state of attention on her breast, they stared at the images of the world. She controlled what appeared, either driving an invisible eye through cities and homes to peer into people’s lives, or flipping through channels like anyone else would.
Drummond stared intently at the images, only mildly irritated when the gigantic witch switched scenes. All he could think about was how much easier it would make his own job, back on his planet, if he’d had access to technology as flawless and effective as this simple spell. He glanced at his captor, looking like she was about to fall asleep at any moment, then back at the crystal-clear imagery inside people’s homes while they were perfectly unaware of being spied on. He shook his head slowly, just amazed.
After changing views a dozen times, the images solidified on one particular scene. It looked to the capricious giantess like any other human celebration: a large gathering of people, cooking food outside, children running around on grassy lawns. But there was something that distinguished it from other occasions, and she wasn’t sure what.
“Drummond?” she murmured. “What’s goin’ on here?” Her huge hand hovered next to his tiny body, and she slowly unfurled one large, slender index finger beside his head to point at the pictures.
Ducking his head beneath her finger, he called up to her: “That’s the Fourth of July, my goddess. Independence Day. That’s a family having a picnic.”
Mari furrowed her brow. “But it’s not July.”
“No, my goddess, it’s not happening yet. This program is just showing people celebrating it because it’s coming up.” He looked at the images. “They’re probably trying to sell something… yeah, see? It’s an insurance commercial.”
“But what’s this Independence Day? All those people looked like they were together, not independent.”
Drummond smiled and draped one little arm over her finger. “Syntactic confusion, my goddess. They are celebrating the independence of their nation from another nation. Many countries around my world have the same holiday, just not on the same days. They celebrate the day they were liberated as an independent nation and became their own people.”
Mari blinked at him. “But they ain’t. Independent? Nations? They’re just a buncha bugs waitin’ to be crushed under m’boots.”
“Right, but within the−”
“Muh boots!” she said in a deeper voice.
“−context of my world, where−”
“MAH BOOTS!” She laughed and kicked her bare feet into the air. Drummond lost his balance but wasn’t sure what he was permitted to grab onto, so he tumbled down the length of her boob and got wedged into her bosom. “Mah boots, mah boots!” she sang, pumping her legs and rocking her breasts back and forth. Unable to reorient himself, Drummond could only go limp and let the giantess toss him about as she would.
Eventually she lost interest in this and extended one slim leg toward the ceiling. Her pale, smooth skin glowed in the candlelight. “Oh, I’m not wearin’ any. Drummond! Where’d ya go?”
The tiny officer politely coughed from within her decollétage.
Mari yanked him out and scolded him for taking advantage of a lady, then set him down between her collarbones and returned to the images on her wall. “What do people wear for a Fourth o’ July celebration? What’s the costume?”
“I don’t think there really is a costume, my goddess. If you look at those people, they’re just wearing their everyday clothes.”
“No costume? But I need to get dressed! How’m I s’posed to know what to wear today?”
Drummond tried to look at her, but could only peer over her chin at her nostrils. “What do you mean? Today’s not−”
“We’re havin’ a parade, Drummond!” she said cheerily, sitting up and spilling Drummond onto her boobs. He bounced off, spun haplessly through the air, and collapsed in her lap. “Just me, the Most Beautiful Goddess of Them All, Lovely Mari! Think how excited they’ll be!” Tossing the little man aside, she leaped off her bed and started tearing through her piles of clothes. “And I know just what to wear now, too! I saw it in that commercial!”
Thoroughly dizzied, the tiny officer weakly untangled himself from the bedsheets and croaked, “But what… there was no…”
The capricious witch was beyond heeding. She tossed garments into the air over her shoulders, set a few choice pieces aside, then grabbed one of the smaller books in one of her jam-packed bookcases. Flipping through the pages, she looked back at the images on the wall, then opened a spread and thrust it in his direction. “Is this the flag o’ yer country, Drummond?”
He rubbed his eyes and strained to focus. “Y-yes, that’s the United States Flag. Why do you need to know, all of a sudden?”
“You don’t ask me anything, lil’ bug!” She twisted her graceful hand in the air, and one of her pillows sprang up into flight, then plopped on top of the SWAT operative entirely. “I gotta come up with somethin’ patriotic! Show them how proud I am to be an American!”
Drummond questioned whether she knew what that meant, but wisely kept his tongue to himself. Likewise, he decided he’d be safest if he stopped struggling against the enormous bedsheets and simply hid under the pillow for a while. It was peaceful there, dark and soft and warm, with all the sound muted…
That only lasted about a minute, before the young goddess whipped the pillow away. “Ta-da, Drummond! Whaddya think?”
The officer picked himself up and sat on the edge of the mattress, the hardwood floor an impressive distance below him. As for his captor’s apparel, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at.
Mari stood before him, her fists on her hips, a broad smile across her face. She somehow found an old pair of combat boots her size; her lean legs were sheathed in gartered thigh-high stockings, the right one in thin red-and-white stripes, the left in bolder weathered blue-and-white paneling. She had somehow fashioned an outfit from of more blue-and-white fabric, fashioning both an incredibly short skirt, secured with a WWI ammo belt, and a bikini-tied shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned and sleeveless, and it looked as though it might shred and explode at any moment from the tension of Mari’s enormous, heavy breasts; similarly, her short skirt covered very little at all, from her powerful thighs to her large, bouncy butt. In fact, Drummond could just make out a swatch of American flag serving as the front panel of her thong, where the hem of her skirt easily cleared it. And topping it all off…
“My goddess,” he stammered, “pardon the question, please, but is that a section of battleship you’re wearing for a hat?”
“It’s the forward guns o’ the HMS Queen Elizabeth!” She saluted him sharply, then thrust her hips to the side and preened, radiant as the sun. “I got them for you ‘cause you’re in the military! How do I look?”
Knowing better than to tell her that was a British ship, he only said, “I have never seen anything so glamorous or gorgeous in my life, my goddess. You are the most spectacular vision on seven continents.” He saluted her back, and she giggled and clapped.
“I knew you’d love it! I wanted to do somethin’ special for your country, to celebrate your… independence!” She rubbed her hands together rapidly and created a small crystal, placing it gently beside him on the sheets. “Use this to control the clairvoyance. No buttons: it’ll figure out what’cher tryin’ to do.”
He reached out to pick up the crystal, then looked up as she spun around and started trotting out of the room. “Wait, where are you going?”
“Sorry you can’t come!” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back before dinner! Or somethin’!” Her boots clomped through the magic study, clopped down the stairs, and stomped around the lower level until she slammed the door behind her. Outside, he knew, she’d blow up to her desired height and teleport wherever she wanted to go.
Sighing, Drummond turned the crystal over in his hand. Odds were that Mari’s exploits would be picked up by some major network back home.
“Is she gone?” a thin voice called from the miniature library across the room. The teen came out, still in his oversized clothes, still a secret from the witchy giantess.
Drummond stared through the bedroom door at the large magic table. He could just barely make the outline of a large shape atop it, but he decided this wasn’t the best time to explore. “She’s gone,” he called back. “You done cleaning up the cathedral?”
The teen nodded. “I want to watch TV with you.”
“You finish up with city hall?”
“Yes, all the chairs are stacked, and I filed away the papers in the three offices you said.” He rubbed his elbow shyly. “There’s a small stack of papers, I don’t know where they go. You gotta look at them. They look official.”
“How about the bank?”
The teen looked back at the bank and shuddered. Locked in its air-tight vault were a couple dozen dead bodies weeks into decomposition. “You didn’t say anything about the bank! Please don’t make me go in there.”
Drummond stared hard at the boy, then laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Hop up on the tea table, but you absolutely have to hide when I tell you to. No arguments.”
The teen’s face lit up. Just like Drummond showed him to, he sprinted toward the table, quickly hopped up onto a book left strategically in place, then kicked away as hard as he could. With his momentum and diminished mass, he soared through the air to what would have been a fantastic height on his own world. Here, however, it was just enough to clear the edge of the table; he recovered well and seated himself on another book, grinning like an idiot at the officer.
Drummond nodded at him, then turned to the images on Mari’s wall, raising the crystal overhead in the hopes this would do something. He felt a tingling in his head, and then the images started changing very naturally, like flipping through channels.
* * *
In Washington DC, back on Earth, a group of several middle-aged women and men in dark suits and military dress glared at each other over a long, mahogany table. The lighting was sufficient and the ventilation maintained the atmosphere comfortably, five levels below the Pentagon, but the tension was thick enough to slice with a good knife.
“You’re sure this will work?” said Vice President Morton Vetter.
Secretary of Homeland Security Viva Saucier drew a long breath. “Sure? Of course not. We’re only hedging our bets against a completely random and unpredictable enemy. General Colburn?”
A grizzled veteran in dress greens and five rows of medals cleared his throat. “We have deployed three divisions of joint military forces to secure three cities which, in our estimation, present the likeliest targets.”
“And if not the likeliest,” amended Secretary Saucier, “then the three most populous, the three with the most to lose.”
General Colburn nodded grimly, and indicated an illuminated map of the United States on the table before them. “New York City, of course, and Los Angeles, and”—he reached to tap the center—”Chicago. At each, we are placing all the Army’s eggs in three baskets with all our mechanized infantry and air assault divisions, plus anything the other branches feel they can spare.” He cast a withering glance at Secretary of Veterans Affairs Jaime Drake. “We recognize the Navy may feel a bit… at sea… in this situation, but we are truly dismayed that the Marines fail to appreciate the gravity of this threat.” Secretary Drake looked like he was about to retort, then thought better of it.
Vice President Vetter cast his eyes about the map. “We’re not doing anything for Houston? They’re about as large as Chicago, at last count.” He had to advocate for his hometown.
“With all due respect, Mr. Vice President,” rumbled the general, “if Texas is so all-fired anxious to secede from the nation, maybe they should get a taste of what it’s like to cut themselves off from federal protection.”
Secretary of the Interior Margie Padilla interrupted. “Gentlemen! We’re getting off track.” She glared into each man’s eyes, daring them to continue their petty squabble; when they backed down, she continued. “The primary concern is that none of these tens of millions of innocent, loyal, tax-paying citizens are injured at all, and I believe some recognition is merited for our Herculean effort at evacuating everyone in these three cities.” This was met with a respectable round of congratulations. “As a result, when the giantess appears, there will be zero civilian casualties within the greater metro areas.” Her shoulders slumped slightly. “Only catastrophic infrastructure devastation… to an unprecedented order of magnitude…”
Secretary of Health and Human Services Milan Fairbanks rubbed her shoulder. “Can’t win ‘em all. You still did something remarkable, history will remember that.”
The vice president was about to speak again when a telephone behind General Colburn rang, one with a prominent red LED light that stabbed through the fluorescent overhead glow. The old military bear turned slightly and picked up the receiver, his brow furrowed as he listened. No one else in the room so much as twitched a finger.
“Victor-Two-Fife, this is Papa-Niner-Niner. Message received. Stand by for instructions.” He covered the handset and hung his head, deliberately not making eye contact with anyone. “Victor-Two-Fife, this is Papa-Niner-Niner. Division One and Division Three: stand down. Division Two, you are hot. I say again: Division Two is hot. Confirm, Victor-Two-Fife.” When the away station repeated his message, the general signed out and hung up the phone.
He heaved a massive, wearied sigh and stretched out one arm to plant a thick fingertip upon Chicago. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said drily, “it’s showtime.”
Secretary Padilla covered her mouth, and the vice president pursed his lips and looked away.
After a long, silent moment the Secretary of State, Senator Randy Hamilton, soberly ushered everyone out of the room and killed the lights. He’d wanted to invoke the famous “may God have mercy on their souls” line but choked on the very notion.
The Goddess was here, and there was no such thing as mercy.
* * *
A tremendous explosion shredded the air around Cook County, Illinois, when Lovely Mari displaced all the air a mile-high young woman could occupy. She loved the ripple of the shockwaves over her skin, as though a thousand strong fingers were massaging her briefly, all up and down her body. Her breasts danced joyously with the concussion, and she swung her hips in a flirty little greeting to the city. Her enormous combat boots smote the heart of Calumet City, directly south of Chicago on the shore of Lake Michigan.
“I remember this place!” chirped Mari, looking across the water. “I tried to drink you!” She laughed, swung back her boot, and gouged a tremendous divot out of the ground as she kicked an entire neighborhood into the lake. Houses, sections of street, and hundreds of people sailed through the air in a perfect arc, though none of the matter made it as far as the Indiana shoreline.
Shrugging, Mari skipped gaily through the atmosphere, rippling the landscape in earthquakes as she made her way up toward the downtown area. With every boot-fall, the terrain rolled in beautiful, ever-widening circles, as though it were a blanket Mari were shaking out to straighten on a bed. She laughed, her hair bouncing in the sunshine, to watch this beautiful pattern across the land, and when it reached the lake it generated sheets of cute little whitecaps that spread across the blue water.
Mesmerized, the witchy goddess slowly turned to the northeast. She deliberately stomped as hard as she could with every step, flinging out her tremendous, weathered combat boots and smacking them into the lithosphere with astonishing power. She drew her knee up, red and white stripes straining against her skin, then flooded her thigh and hip with power and down came her shin and heel, and the earth blasted apart like so much sand and dust. The noise from the eruptions were pleasant, she thought, but nothing compared to the terrible peal she created every time she simply appeared on the scene. And when she thought about it, she could feel all the chilly, terrified souls rising off the ground like steam and melting into her powerful calves, flowing into her bloodstream for her greater glory.
Up went her left knee, dark blue stripes fading with the elasticity, and down came her heel in a targeted strike, caving in the middle of what looked like a long, straight, artificial river between Calumet Avenue and Highway 20. She thought it looked stupid, anyway: she much preferred the winding, snakey rivers everywhere else. What function was this supposed to serve, anyway? Shrugging off the question, she pummeled the earth beneath her feet and slowly made her way toward a small appendix of land sticking out into the water, one covered with an enticing network of railroad tracks.
* * *
The President, VP Vetter, and Secretaries Hamilton and Padilla were watching the fiasco on a widescreen TV in the Oval Office.
The President swiveled in his sleek black chair to face his staff. “She’s not going to Chicago at all. Look at this, she’s heading to Lake Michigan.”
“What’s the collateral damage so far, Mr. Secretary?” Vetter asked.
Hamilton consulted his tablet, canceling a dozen windows and bubbles that emerged incessantly. “The giantess has veered into Indiana, triggering mag. 5 earthquakes from Calumet City to Whiting and East Chicago, Indiana. Reports are still coming in, but we’re estimating…” The senator looked up, confused. “Nearly 100,000 civilian casualties in under five minutes. That can’t be right.”
The President rubbed his temples. “Madam Secretary, it was my understanding you had taken precautions to prevent precisely this sort of outcome.”
“Mr. President,” stammered Padilla, “it was nothing short of a miracle that the giantess chose one of the three cities we prepared for. There is no way we can guide her, force her to the target! You’ve seen her: by all reports she’s absolutely uncontrollable. All we can do is…” She faltered and glanced at the senator’s tablet.
“Yes?” demanded the President.
“All we can do is hope she gets bored.”
* * *
As if on cue, the glorious young goddess tossed back a wave of luscious locks over her left shoulder, thrust her mammoth breasts toward the northwest, and pulled one soggy combat boot out of the Indiana Harbor where mechanical and coal firms used to center their shipping. Lake Michigan rushed to fill the void, from where hundreds of twisted, mangled railroad tracks curved hideously out of the water and onto the land. Nothing would be shipped into or out of this area for a very, very long time, and the countryside would suffer for it, especially as their ability to recover from a sequence of powerful earthquakes was effectively disabled.
Singing a song to herself, Lovely Mari skipped up Highway 20 to where it became Interstate 90, crossing back into Illinois. Passing the East Side neighborhood, she stamped her left boot into the Calumet River, to match the right boot print she left in the Lake George Canal. She crumpled the dozens of lines of railway as she went, much like a small child would step onto the scrims of ice that form on small puddles by the road, deep in winter, and with as much delight in doing so. They lacked the satisfying crick-crack that a sheet of ice gives, but the keening whine of twisted steel was still a fun little noise to cause, she felt.
The grid of darling little houses coating the Calumet Heights neighborhood just begged to be flattened! Cheerily, the beautiful giantess leaped up into the air and landed with a strong, A-frame stance, arms akimbo. “I’m here, stupid bugs!” she sang across the landscape. “Get ready to worship me, because you ain’t seen something this beautiful in your miserable lives!”
Belting out a rousing Sousa number at the top of her lungs, Lovely Mari thrust her considerable chest forward, pumped her knees up high, and marched very thoroughly across the east numbered streets, driving everything between South Stony Island Avenue and South Lake Shore Drive well into the ground. Her tremendous breasts bounced, heaving left and right, to the tune she sang (mostly on key), and the shirt tied around them truly strained with their astonishing mass. The tops of her breasts gleamed in the bold sunlight, as she watched block after block disappear beneath her heaving bosom… and that, of course, gave her an idea.
Lovely Mari fell to all fours, hands and knees over Interstate 90, and bent her elbows sharply. Her tremendous breasts swung pendulously beneath her, her poor shirt impossibly remaining intact, as she lowered her chest to the ground and crawled across the landscape in this fashion. Her stockinged knees tore tremendous grooves into the neighborhoods and the toes of her boots hammered and punctured the land, as she dragged her breasts closer and closer to South Chicago.
She laughed to see the highway and avenues disappear between her shuddering flesh, to see the large piles of earth her tits began to shove in front of them. Her hands pummeled into a park, a high school, and countless cute, one-story houses all along her way. For a moment, she thought of her pronounced buttocks, sticking straight up into the sky, but she didn’t really care about that: anyone who could possibly see that naughty little view was due to perish from the earth any minute now.
* * *
“What the hell is she doing?” asked the teen, staring at the images on Mari’s bedroom wall.
“I have no freakin’ clue,” muttered Drummond. Once the news had come in that the Goddess of Destruction had reappeared in Chicago, he managed to guide the crystal to pick up some TV stations local to that area. They had all scrambled to cover the event, but a military cordon blocked all land-based vehicles and teams from entering the area. But the media had discovered that, for the time being, the Air Force was not keeping their helicopters away, so a couple channels hovered about the marauding giantess. They didn’t need to be very close to get good footage of her, either, as she stood a mile tall today. All other news outlets simply borrowed their feed, and the entire nation was glued to their sets as the scantily clad goddess bobbled her way back into the collective imagination.
One ‘copter ventured closer than the others. When the young goddess bent down in that ridiculous position, the news crew wheeled around and approached her from behind. Certain networks and online streaming channels were therefore granted unrestricted access to Lovely Mari’s voluptuous buttocks. Her skimpy little skirt hid nothing, especially at this angle, and viewers were treated to the large garters that held up her tights and ran over her hips. Sections of the nation gawked at the thin strip of red, white, and blue that peeked from between her nearly perfectly spherical buttocks, miraculously covering the most-private portions of her womanhood.
Drummond happened to have tuned into one of those networks. His eyes were wide as he studied the projection: the ‘copter was executing some first-rate cinematography, panning around Mari’s wide hips in a slow, graceful arc. It perfectly captured the rocking of her hips as she drew one powerful thigh, then the other, up from South Chicago to South Shore.
“She’s too fat for me,” opined the teen. “I like ‘em−”
Drummond spun around on Mari’s mattress. “I don’t give two meters of contrail from a flying fuck how you like them, you punk-ass scrub,” he barked. “Back in the library. Now.”
The teen started to protest, but when the SWAT operative sprang into a prone three-point position—palpably two seconds from closing the distance between them—he instead mumbled an apology and scrambled to hop down from the tea table. He only cast a couple glances over his shoulder on his way to the collected city, but never slowed his stride until the library doors closed behind him.
And Drummond’s sharp eyes never left the kid until he was inside the building. Only then did he allow himself to relax and return to gaping at the astounding images on the wall.
“She’s not fat at all, you goddamned corporate-weaned maggot,” he fumed to himself. “She is perfection. She is a goddamned goddess.”
The room was getting warm, somehow, so he removed his BDU shirt but nothing more.
* * *
When Mari tired of this little game, she rose to her knees and stretched out her shoulders. As strong as she was, her body and her chest combined to put a lot of weight on the joints of her shoulders, so she swung her huge arms around in enormous circles. She flexed the aching muscles until she felt healing blood going back into them, the swung her arms once more for good measure.
Across the country, people tuned into that certain network watched as, nearly in slow motion, her dainty fist in a dark blue fingerless glove, rose above Bryn Mawr train station on the Metra Electric Line, sailed through the air and then rushed straight into their view. Behind her back, Mari planted her fist into the sole brave news helicopter that dared to stare at her butt. The other ‘copters filmed it as the three-man crew vanished in a ball of flame.
Surprised, Mari brought her arm forward and examined her hand. She was sure she’d felt something, but the skin was perfectly clear and her glove showed no smears or anything. The giantess shrugged her milky shoulders and slammed her tremendous ass into the ground.
The earth rumbled all around, shattering the South Shore Cultural Center and disrupting the tranquility of Oak Woods Cemetery. Mari swung her long, strong legs around and dug the heels of her combat boots deep into the crust of the earth. Before she leaned back on her arms, however, she noticed something amiss with her outfit.
While the miraculous shirt still somehow—impossibly—restrained her gargantuan breasts, there was just enough give to have scooped up a variety of houses between East 87th Street and East 71st Street. Tiny dwellings, no bigger than specks, piled up in her cleavage and ran down the exquisite curvature of her boobs like confectioner’s sugar. Lovely Mari’s sensual lips parted in wonder as she watched the residences settle and adjust. They disappeared into the plunging abyss between her boobs, they sifted all around her much-strained fabric and, particle by particle, worked their way over her broad, tan areolae and became lodged in the wrinkles around her engorged and hardened nipples. The mere thought of this delighted the capricious witch, and she ran her nails over the marble-like mounds poking beneath her sorely taxed bikini top. Which made them harder, which made more room for the little houses to flow, and the cycle continued.
Very briefly, Mari wondered what it would be like to live in a tiny little house like that, to be scooped up by a tremendous bra, and to look out your windows as yards and yards of sweet, smooth girl-flesh ran past your windows. She envisioned a sole house, perched on the jutting ledge of her huge nipple, the wind whistling past it… That seemed peaceful. She hoped, distantly, that one of these houses got to enjoy such a romantic setting.
But back to more important matters! Flinging her arms behind her, Lovely Mari arched her back and placed all her weight upon the heels of her palms and of her feet, and she crab-walked northwest toward the University of Chicago. The layers of tilled earth pulled the back of her inadequate skirt up to her belt, as her massive thighs churned and her titanic buttocks carved wide, sweeping gouges into the landscape.
The young goddess cackled uproariously at the awkwardness of this maneuver! She hadn’t done this in ages, and it made her feel like a child again, racing along in this ridiculous posture. With her body mostly reclining before her, her large and powerful thighs blocked her view straight ahead, and her massive mammaries heaved and rolled before her chin, cutting off her line of sight for nearly everything else, but she went with it joyously. What must have been a hundred yards of topsoil was little more than a light powder for her butt, and it tickled her skin to feel it part and slide beneath her. Certainly, she was lodging new neighborhoods and cute little houses up into a brand-new area…
Craning her head to the side, she more or less accurately steered herself along. She chose to steer around Jackson Park, figuring not as many people would be there (indeed, it looked just about deserted), finished tearing up Oak Woods Cemetery with her left boot (another ghastly mess for the city to clean up), and hooked a right around the corner of East 67th Street and South Stony Island Avenue. Her left buttock wobbled and shuddered as it pushed sheer tonnage of earth aside, and if anyone had been waiting at the 67th Street Metra station, the last thing they would have seen was a vast belt of red, white, and blue thong descending upon them, maybe some fine hairs poking out of supple, peach-hued butt cheek before they were lost in the deep crevasse.
From there, it was simple business to wipe out South Woodlawn Avenue and scoot on over to South Cottage Grove Avenue, bringing the destruction with every shake of her hips. Quite literally: Mari perched herself precariously upon four limbs and lowered her ample buttocks to the earth until she could only just feel the ground, and the inadequate shelters that covered it, against her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she then shook her hips and swung her tremendous buttocks left and right, gaining perilous momentum, and the Woodlawn neighborhood did nothing to resist her blows. Her left buttock hung and swung and blasted the ground away, and her right one came after, digging the furrow a little deeper. After a couple rounds of this Mari carefully lurched forward, palms smacking and heels blasting craters into the earth, and her enormous bottom descended once again upon the sleepy homes south of the Midway Plaisance.
* * *
The President and members of his cabinet stared at the TV in disbelief.
“Who the fuck even is this?” said the President at last. “Is the greatest superpower in the world seriously under attack by an oversexed monstrosity with the mentality of a five-year-old?” He looked at each person’s face: all eyes were glazed, all jaws were slack.
The President stood up and stared out his bay windows. “This can’t be how we end. We didn’t create the greatest global communications network, we didn’t put a man on the Moon just to be rubbed out under a young woman’s pert and rosy bottom! What the hell is going on here?”
Messages popped up on Senator Hamilton’s tablet too quickly to be managed. It began to overheat with all the reports coming in, so he set it aside, then promptly covered his lap with it, crossing his legs.
The Secretary of the Interior glared at him. “Randy? Do you seriously have an erection right now?”
The Vice President also crossed his legs, and the President wouldn’t turn away from the windows.
Secretary Padilla leaped from her chair. “For fuck’s sake! If the greatest nation in the world is being run by a bunch of goddamned horny teenagers, I guess we get what we deserve!” She kicked her chair over, stormed out to the hallway, and shouted, “Bring it on, giantess! I’m glad you’re here! Wipe this fucking mistake of a country off the map!” Immediately she was surrounded by press and staffers, through whom she had to fight her way back to her office.
Vice President Vetter looked at the Secretary of State. “She has a pretty nice ass, though.”
“Phenomenal,” declared the President of the United States.
* * *
After Mari lodged the Rockefeller Memorial Chapel and Oriental Institute Museum deep between her butt cheeks, just because she could, she got up and danced a very stompy, thorough dance all over the rest of campus. There was an awful lot, and while her feet were huge, they were only so big… but she did have a lot of time on her hands.
The news ‘copters kept their respectful distance as they recorded the absolute and total devastation of the University of Chicago. Anchors recited the buildings that were being destroyed beneath the boots of the “Sexy-Patriot Giantess”, as she was branded over social media. All of this slipped beneath her notice as she made a project of pulverizing everything that lay between the I-94 Express and the Lake Michigan shoreline. It took concentration and dedication, but Bronzeville resembled South Side and Washington Park, in that they were nothing but a long, flat field of gray, brown, and black. No more roads and railways, no more houses or buildings.
In fact, this was all too easy for her. Granted, Lovely Mari was an indomitable, invulnerable goddess and a vastly powerful witch, but even so, this widespread chaos struck her as… uneventful.
Lovely Mari froze in her tracks, a mile-high testament to both primal destruction and explosive sexuality. Her crimson eyes narrowed, her heart-shaped pupils constricted, as wheels began to turn in her head. The forward guns of the HMS Queen Elizabeth began to warm up in the sunshine, sloping a little heavily to one side of her skull…
Guns! The beautiful giantess’s eyes sprang wide open. She turned about, focusing her glare upon the landscape around her, scrutinizing it for detail from her astounding height. And she looked south, over her wake of ruin, and she looked north, where she had not been yet…
“Where the fuck is everybody?” she cried aloud. This was wrong! All this time, she’d been rolling over homes and businesses and institutions of education and leadership, and there was nobody even in them? There were no droves of panicked citizens creating traffic jams in their hare-brained flight. There were no ridiculous squads of angry men in green or black or blue, or any color, firing at her with their pathetic little pea-shooters.
It was a little creepy, she realized. Everyone was gone. She’d visited alien planets where no life existed, and that was reasonable, but Earth was bustling with life. It was covered in stupid bugs building stupid buildings and crying over their losses when she blessed them with her presence. Yet there was no one here at all.
She thought hard: when she first appeared, yes, she felt some souls flow into her when she stomped up to the harbor, but when did that stop? Mari bit her finger and hummed in concentration.
“Is this a trick?” she yelled, her powerful volume disabling one of the news ‘copters and sending it spinning into the lake. “Are you tryin’ to trick me, stupid bugs? Where the heck are ya?”
Out came her fat bottom lip in a sad pout. She made fists in her fingerless gloves and planted them on her hips. After all the time and effort she put into this incredibly sexy outfit! And this is the thanks she got? It was almost enough… to make a gigantic, beautiful goddess cry…
But she wouldn’t! Crying was for stupid bugs after she devastated their cities. Goddesses like her were never defeated: they only set their sights on something bigger.
She turned north. Mari’s sweet pink lips curled into a cunning smile. “Fine, if that’s how ya want it.” She walked up to the waterfront and scraped the train tracks next to Highway 41 away. “Go ahead, hide away like stupid, burrowing worms. That’s fine.” She strode back to the interstate and ground the Institute of Technology into dust beneath one combat boot. “You can hide and wait for me to be gone before you come back. I guess it’s my job to make sure there ain’t nothin’ here for you to come back to.”
Throwing back her head in laughter, she stomped a series of magnitude 7 earthquakes all the way across Chinatown and South Loop and Printer’s Town, heading unerringly into the center of Chicago proper.
* * *
“Are we ready?” hissed the anchor. “Check your batteries.”
“Fully charged,” hissed the cameraman. “Camera, mic, all green. Check your mic.”
The anchor tapped the foam head of his mic and glanced at the mixer, doubling up on transmission. The mixer checked his levels and nodded silently.
“Let me know when we’re live,” hissed the anchor. The mixer stared at his smartphone, then raised his hand silently, gesturing four… three… two… and pointed at the anchor.
The anchor stood by a window and spoke clearly at the cameraman. “This is WGN field reporter Terrell Palmer, coming at you live from abandoned Lower Beaubien Court. Doubtlessly you’ve been watching the big story of the day: a gigantic woman, estimated to be around five thousand feet tall, has been tearing her way up from south Chicago to downtown proper.
“Your intrepid news team has penetrated the military cordon in place and”—Terrell made a big show of looking out the window—”I can confirm visual ID of the Sexy-Patriot Giantess! I see her… wow… upper body over Grant Park, coming at us from Chinatown.” He motioned at the cameraman, and the visual feed scrambled from a comfortable Millennium Park Plaza apartment to the shaky footage of Lovely Mari’s torso, far in the distance yet rising far overhead Prairie District.
From off-camera Terrell concluded his broadcast with the promise of updates as events warrant. The mixer hissed, “A-a-a-and you’re off the air. Station says they’ll return to us in two minutes.” He looked up from his phone. “Are you sure this is safe?”
Terrell sneered at the young man. “This is award-winning journalism, bitch. This is history in the making. If you wanted to stay safe, you should’ve stuck to MMD giantess videos in your mom’s goddamn basement.” He straightened his tie and pressed his cheek to the window. “Goddamn, look at those titties. I could get lost in those for weeks.” He turned, laughing to the cameraman. “You know? Don’t even call the National Guard! Just leave me alone! Let me die in that wilderness!”
The cameraman traded glances with the mixer. They concurred on the anchor’s intelligence, and they were pretty sure they were going to die.
* * *
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.
[from the tumblr of the same name]
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Giant ladies who aren't very nice.
Just another WordPress.com site
A place to celebrate size-changing erotica and macrophilia.
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Olo's fitful dreams of size fantasy
Where gods and giants bring Njord their stories
The adventures of Normies and Anthropoles living together.
Giantess Video Store, Video Chat, Forum, Zone VIP and more
A procurement of the best giantess related stories on the Internet.
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Get a seat your size, enjoy the company
calm in the eye of the storm
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Looking at size fantasy in pop culture
stories, ideas, blag
A blog about mythology, the stars, and the new mythology, comics.
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Because we are soup snakes.
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Giantess collager since 2007
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Vore, Growth, Crush
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
The sensuous lure of imaginary beasts. Not for children or the squeamish.
Fetish Erotica at its Finest
Kickin' it Old School Since 1996
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer
Dispatches from a Size-Fantasy Writer