Traffic Control
Jackson Road is supposed to be one of the largest avenues in Vickisburg. With its eight lanes and wide sidewalks, I remember thinking of it as impressive when I roamed the city at regular human size. It certainly looks
different at my current height.
There are two things in my head as I leave the City Hall building behind and start my trek down the road.
First: I don’t know who the hell Mr. Jackson was. I guess he must have done something remarkable to get an avenue named after him, but I’m also sure that he was smaller than my pinkie finger. So, as the new supreme ruler of the city, I’ve just decided that I will rename the streets and squares to my liking.
“OK, LISTEN UP, PIGMIES! FROM NOW ON, THIS ROAD WILL BE NAMED PINKIE ROAD. START MAKING THE PLAQUES. I’LL MAKE A FEW MORE CHANGES ALONG THE DAY!”
The second thing catching my attention is just how packed the road is. From my vantage, which resembles that of a traffic chopper, it’s easy enough to see that Pinkie is jammed for miles. I would normally don’t give a shit about the state of traffic if it were not for the fact that it’s indicative of something I do care about: people are trying to leave the city. Or, what is the same, they are in blatant defiance of my orders. This cannot be!
The people’s disobedience is as upsetting as expected, so I take even greater pleasure than usual in crushing the cars under my cute feet as I progress down the road. It takes the people about two blocks to realize that I’m on a trampling fest, which doesn’t really tell much about their ability to perceive reality. Once they do, car doors start flying open, and a nice mob forms in the aisles between cars. I was not specifically seeking it, but I can’t say that I don’t welcome it. What can I say? I dig the combination of the metallic brittleness of the cars and the spongy squishiness of human bodies as I crush them under my bare soles.
Having reached this point, I may share a secret that I don’t think I’ve told you about yet: there’s something that has kept me wavering ever since I became this size for the first time. Every time I’m in a trampling stretch like the one I’m in now, I think there’s nothing better than smashing stuff under my cute, delicate, and oh, so sensitive soles! Seeing the amount of destruction I can cause simply by stepping on stuff is only second to feeling what I’m crushing without looking. You’d be surprised how often I get it right. And believe me, it’s not so easy. After all, a city like this one is full of stuff, and making out the difference between a car and a postbox requires a certain finesse.
But then, I crouch and grab whatever I can find around, and I become convinced that there’s nothing better than holding people and their stuff. Seeing half a dozen tinies in my palm or grabbing any of the supposedly large vehicles they use is a massive turn-on.
So, even if I’m moaning as if I were in an eternal state of foreplay as I trample on traffic and crowds alike, I still feel curious enough to stop when a bright red city bus catches my attention.
“LOVELY!” I chirp as I take a longer stride in its direction.
Those at my feet don’t know what I’m talking about as I crush them disinterestedly with my second step. And then, the city realizes what my objective is as I crouch in the catcher’s position, and I reach out for the mass transportation vehicle, which looks about the size of a soda bottle.
The metal groans, but the sound of muffled screams coming from within the bus is much more delightful as I stand back to my full height and bring it in front of my curious eyes. God, they are packed!
I smile with delight while I observe the mass of humanity trapped inside the bus. There’s a little bit of everything: young women with floral summer dresses, office workers with suits and ties, less “formal” young people … I’d say I have a good enough representation of my new subjects.
“WELL, WELL, WELL… WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” I tease as I shake the vehicle lightly to add to the everlasting state of panic. “YOU WERE NOT, BY ANY CHANCE, TRYING TO LEAVE VICKISBURG?” I ask.
There is a myriad of screams, but it’s impossible to get anything.
“DON’T TALK ALL AT ONCE!” I say, chuckling. “KNOW WHAT? LET’S MAKE THIS A BIT EASIER!”
They don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. Without warning, I set the bus in my other palm and secure my hold on it as I use my now free hand to pierce a finger through the bus’ roof. The metal groans as I pull with my fingertip, quickly getting enough of a hold to peel the rest of the roof off as if I were opening a can of sardines. I discard it over my shoulder and look at the contents of the vehicle, noticing that the people are probably as packed as sardines would have.
There are more screams at the change of scenery. I smile at them and start with my teasing.
“YOU WERE NOT TRYING TO GET OUT OF THE CITY BY ANY CHANCE, WERE YOU?” I ask.
There are some murmurs but no definitive answer. I roll my eyes and repeat:
“I DON’T THINK YOU GOT MY MEMO. YOU KNOW? THE ONE WHEN I SAID I WOULD BE TAKING ISSUE IF ANYONE TRIED TO FLEE VICKISBURG?”
I’m about to continue when I notice something. With no room to move around, about half the people on the bus have no option but to look up at my gorgeous face as I mock and threaten them. The other half seems to be absorbed by something else. I can only let out a loud burst of laughter when I notice what it is.
Of course! I’m looking inside the bus from its now roofless top, which means that I’m holding the vehicle level with my chest. With my world-class, out-of-proportion, bikini-clad chest.
“OH MY GOD!” I say, chuckling. “BOYS WILL BE BOYS, RIGHT?” I add in the same mocking tone.
They seem to realize their mistake just then. All of a sudden, I have every single head on the bus looking up at me (well, at least the part of me that contains my eyes and mouth). Despite their diminutiveness, it’s easy enough to see the combination of sheepishness and regret on their faces.
“OH, COME ON! YOU GUYS LOOK LIKE DEER CAUGHT IN THE HEADLIGHTS. WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND? YOU DON’T THINK I’VE SUDDENLY TURNED BASHFUL OR ANYTHING, DO YOU?”
I don’t think my words have calmed them down too much. The fact that they make the few windows still standing on the bus rattle and that they come from a woman holding them a couple of hundred feet off the road may have something to do with that.
“I DO HAVE GREAT TITS!” I boast. “I NEVER MINDED THE ATTENTION WHEN I WAS TINY, SO WHY SHOULD I DO NOW?” I insist. “YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU DESERVE A BETTER LOOK!”
Keeping my hold on the bus strong, I use my free hand to skillfully unfasten the bikini top at the neck and the back. I’m fast, thanks to a skill I’ve mastered over the years when having to deal with hot guys that are too clumsy to operate the mechanism of a bra. You’d be surprised how many of them are out there.
Anyway, I’m digressing. Back to the bus. It takes me five seconds to remove my top and set it on top of a conveniently sized building to my right. By then, I get half of the occupants of the vehicle I’m holding focused on my tits, now bouncing free of their spandex prison, their hard nipples rudely pointing at the four dozen people I’m holding.
“BETTER?” I mock. “COME ON, YOU GUYS CAN SAY IT. I KNOW THEY’RE AWESOME!”
There are some murmurs of disquiet. I ignore them and just wink at my forced admirers.
“WANNA KNOW SOMETHING? THEY’RE EVEN BETTER TO THE TOUCH!” I say. Some change their expression, already fearing what’s coming. The rest need an extra piece of information, which they get when I say: “HERE, LET ME SHOW YOU!”
With that, I lower the bus a bit and tilt it towards me. The tinies are thrown around, even if I was as delicate as one can be at this size. There are some screams of disapproval. They quickly get muffled when I proceed to the next step of my plan, and I move the bus towards my gorgeous left tit.
The feeling of the warm metal is delicious. Of course, the bus is way too small to fit one of my boobs in it, so soon, the side walls start crumbling in an even more delightful sensation. Nothing can compare to the squishing of tiny bodies as my nipple rams them into the vehicle’s floor.
Quite predictably, there is a dark stain around my teat and areola as I remove my breast and take a look at the pretty battered remains of the bus. I had not expected my first thrust to be so definitive, to be honest.
“GOD, YOU GUYS ARE SQUISHY!” I mock.
The survivors, about half of the original passengers of the vehicle, are broken. I can hardly blame them, which, of course, doesn’t mean that I need to pity them.
“I GUESS I LET MYSELF GET A BIT TOO CARRIED AWAY,” I offered in a false apologetic tone. “YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY… TOO MUCH LOVE WILL KILL YOU!”
I let a short burst of laughter out. No one seems to get the joke but me, but I’m starting to get used to some puns being only funny to girls over a hundred feet tall, so I don’t give a fuck.
There are a few seconds of impasse before I address the pretty fucked up survivors once more.
“OH, DON’T LOOK SO GLOOMY. YOU GUYS ARE NOT GOING TO GET CRUSHED UNDER A GIANT TIT!” I chirp.
This does not seem to comfort them too much. Their doubts turn into an utter panic when I can’t hold myself any longer, and I reveal what their fate will be. I first reach inside and pluck a random person. Well, not so random since I’ve chosen the tiny woman that looks more attractive from my vantage.
The girl kicks and screams as I hold her between my fingers. I’m addressing her and the rest of the occupants of the wrecked vehicle when I say:
“YOU KNOW? GETTING TURNED ON HAS ALWAYS MADE ME HUNGRY!”
With that, I toss the girl upwards like a peanut. She describes a one-hundred-foot arc in the air before she starts her descent. My open mouth is waiting on the precise spot where she’ll drop, receiving her in my soft tongue, which promptly pushes her inside. The people are frozen in panic as my throat bulges when I swallow her hole, her screams and kicking tickling as she moves down my esophagus.
The panicked yelling resumes again. I ignore them and just move the bus up, extending my tongue as I tap the mangled vehicle like a pack of tic tacs, pushing three more people into my mouth.
“YOU KNOW GUYS? I’M HAVING A HARD TIME DECIDING WHERE I ENJOY YOU THE MOST: IN MY MOUTH, INSIDE MY PUSSY, OR UNDER MY FEET. I GUESS I’LL NEED TO TRY ALL OF THEM OUT SOME MORE!”
And then I toss four more people into my gullet. The snack lasts a little over a minute before I run out of morsels. I ponder whether to find some more food in the buildings or cars below but decide to get going. After all, if there’s something I’ll never run out of is tinies! Especially if I manage to stay at this more convenient size.
It’s with this in mind that I inspect the three remaining miles of Pinkie Road ahead of me and decide to make short work of the would-be escapees. My laser thingy comes back to me like riding a bicycle as I muster the power and feel the pressure growing behind my eyes. And then, I just release it in a stretch of road a couple of blocks ahead of me.
Dozens of cars and hundreds of people are incinerated in an instant as my energy discharge creates a ten-stories tall fireball in the intersection I was eyeing. I would normally cut things here, but not this time!
Feeling as if I could tap into an infinite source of power, I slightly reposition my neck and start guiding the beams of death down the avenue. I love the spectacularity of the explosions as I keep going Death Star on the avenue. Five minutes and three miles later, the escape attempt through Jackson Avenue has evolved into a fifty-foot-deep lava ditch, cutting the city in half.
“AHEM… GUYS?” I let out in a boasting tone. “JUST IN CASE YOU DID NOT GET THE MESSAGE BEFORE: WHEN I SAID I WAS READY TO ENFORCE MY COMMAND NOT TO LEAVE MY CITY, I WAS REFERRING TO SOMETHING LIKE THIS.”
And with that, I resume my walk, my delicate soles barely feeling the heat of the new volcanic scar in the city as I head towards the intricate system of highways connecting Vickisburg to the rest of the world.