The Virgin felt them crawl all over her, like so many cockroaches crawling on a wall. Her bare hands, feet, and head were bound- how did they manage to do that? These tiny, miniscule people- dozens of them- that she had only discovered a week past, had her bound, naked, and terrified. What could she do? She pulled harder and harder, yanking the carefully woven strands of rope or hair or God knows what  that bound her, but it was no use- they held her tight, a captive, a slave. They had undressed her- she saw their tiny knives cut through her night clothes and pulled away, the brisk, winter air (thanks to broken heater in the apartment) flaring her nipples up to rock hard solidness. She shivered and felt the gooseflesh on her legs and arms, and she knew that it would soon turn to shivers. She tried to think, tried to gain her bearings, but all she could feel was their maddening, tiny footsteps along her body. She started to whimper, then and there, naked, her nipples hard and she scared.

            The movement finally seemed to subside, but the Virgin still had gooseflesh all over her- she was getting cold, and the sweat that broke out didn’t help. Shivering, she felt now only a single set of footsteps walking across her stomach, toward her face. A tiny woman, with a flowing white gown, a headdress made of feathers, and a staff, walking between her erect breasts and stood on her sternum. She made a few motions, and a pair of guards holding another woman, much younger than the priestess, came up to bear next to the elder. The tiny woman was naked as well, and looked as if she was as scared as the Virgin.

            The priestess coughed loudly, and everyone, the Virgin, the tiny woman, the guards, the workers all around the Virgin (currently trying to bind each of her toes- why were they doing that?). For a moment, she simply looked at everything- even the winter air seemed to still.

“And now,” she finally croaked out, a voice that had talked its way through many years, “We hath come to the end of our soujourn sacred. A goddess hath been obtained, all praise.”

“All praise,” a choir of tiny voices rang out all around the Virgin. Everyone, the workers, guards, and even the tiny woman, now crying, yelled aloud. The voices, though small, seemed to echo throughout the cold apartment, before subsiding and becoming eerily still once more.

“All,” the crone began again, “praise,” she finished with a sinister smile, raising her hands to the heavens. “All praise to ye, great goddess, thou who shalt be ours, blood, bone, and brain. Thy marrow sustain, thy liver warm and cradle, thy heart a home for hearth.”

A deranged chanting began all around her. Softly, it rose to her ears.

The Virgin could hardly speak. She began to tremble, a tear escaping her green eye.

“Thou shalt prolong us, ye maid, ye virgin. With thy death thou shalt give life.” She motioned to the young woman, who now began to wail and weep. “With life,” the priestess proclaimed, as the chants rose, “cometh death.”

From the folds of her robe, she produced a knife, a horrible, ugly thing, blackened and jagged. The guards, the wailing woman, and the priestess walked over to the platform that spanned the length of the Virgin’s neck, stabilized by rope. The Virgin realized that the guards held the wailing woman over her closed mouth. It suddenly dawned on her- did they expect her to eat the woman? In reflex, she pursed her lips even tighter.

“From yon world and people, for yon people the world,” the priestess continued, hovering over the wailing woman. “For the great, the small, for the quick, the dead. For that which shalt come, a similitude!”

The priestess shot the knife out and slashed the wailing woman’s throat- the screams gurgled, suddenly quenched and out of breath- blood came pouring out of the wound, more than might be expected. The Virgin gasped, involuntarily opening her mouth as the red, steaming blood came down- it entered her mouth, and the workers all round, the guards, and priestess included, cheered and roared.

“Cast thy similitude aside,” the priestess screamed, ecstatic in her religion, and the Virgin, nearly vomiting from a combination of blood and fear, watched as the guards threw the woman off of the platform down to the waiting crowd of men and woman near her neck.

“Cast it away, for thy goddess hath feasted! And now…” the priestess’ voice trailed off, and the Virgin looked over at the crowd- a circle had formed, and blood was spraying all over- the people, her neck, the long black hair. She realized, horrified, that the crowd was ripping the woman apart, and eating the remains.

Vomit welled in her throat, and some escaped her mouth. It mingled with the blood, dripping down her neck. Almost choking, she threw her head to the side and spat, getting as much discharge out of her mouth to breath.

The priestess was laughing on her platform- the Virgin looked back up at her, and could not have felt more small if she were ant-sized. The priestess eyes were glowing blood red. As were the guards. And everyone else, who had looked up from their feast.

“And now…” the priestess said, smiling, “The ritual complete, thou shalt house us. Guards, spread our divine’s legs, that we may enter and know her, and break her seal, and feast.”

Tried as she might, the Virgin could not resist, and the ropes that bound her legs, feet, and toes pulled and pulled and pulled, exposing her womanhood. She began to weep, and felt tiny rubs all along her.

Chapter 1

The scout had no idea what was on him until it was too late- the Virgins enormous, grey, checkered sneaker came down on him full weight, and he was instantly crushed into jelly. The cracks his bones made were hideous- a few feet away from where he was, his comrades had hidden in the shadows, and they trembled in fear, a few of them vomiting after seeing the remains of their friend. The Virgin, however, remained completely unaware of the carnage at her feet- she was obliviously listening to her MP3 player, far too engrossed to notice any crunch. She started to whistling along with the tune, and kicked off her sneakers, sending them sailing into the wall. On the wall, a faint splash of red spackled the brick, blending in. When the Virgin went into the bathroom, the other scouts in the shadows held their breath- this might be the moment they were waiting for. After a few minutes, the shower faucet turned on, hissing and steaming. 

"She enters the water cave! Let us make haste and find proof of her virtue!" One cried, sweatingly. 

"Are ye mad? Did you not see what became of Ureat? I'll not risk mine life on proof that may or not be there- I desire that my insides and blood stay on my insides, thank you." 

The former scoffed at the cowardice of his brother.

"You are a fool, Jawm- the priestess guided us here, to thou holy woman-" he pointed to the bathroom, where the Virgin had begun belting out the lyrics to a pop song, "our hope for deliverance. Have ye forgotten that our safety may depend on this titaness? Take courage! I swear, thou shouldst not fall under the wrath of the priestess."

Under his breath, Jawm replied, "Would that I rather fall under the wrath of the priestess than the foot of the Titan..."

“What sayest thou, wrastle?"

"I saith not, kin."

The group set out in multiple directions, each going to a seperate corner of the apartment- they had previously searched here before, but that was when they had leisurely time. Now, as the zero hour drew ever closer, they began to search frantically, hoping for any sign of what they needed- proof, as it were, of the Virgin's virtue.

One of the scouts, this one named Sigdar, went to the kitchen- an enormous room, to him at least. The towering cold box, the flame cave, and the waste place all loomed over him, eager to be explored. If the intel had been correct, this was an area for the preparation of meals. It contained more food than Sigdar could ever imagine- then again, it was the same whenever he scouted any dwelling of potential Virgins. Mountains on mountains of food- meats, vegetables, fruits, eggs, cow milk... The food in one small kitchen could feed his entire clan for a long while. The scout wondered why they bothered with the trial at all- why not just raid the food cabinets? He briefly wondered if te food eaten by the large actually extended life, in fact. Maybe that's what caused them to be so large in the first place. Sigdar shook it from his head- no matter. He was here to search for something. 

His journey up the great wooden walls were perilous- he barely had enough rope, woven from plant fibers, to help him in the climb. When he finally reached the counter, he rested for a bit, and took in his surroundings. A Great Basin filled soapy water was there, where, he knew, the Virgin left soiled plate and bowl. One of the bowls was covered in a white residue. The Virgin, as was her habit according to early scouts, came out late at night at times to scoop more of this white stuff out of the top of the cold box, and eat late at night. He'd never observed this behavior himself, but he was never here late at night anyway.

Getting up from his rest, he continued on. He passed the water basin, moved past various cooking utilities, and near the great humming machine. He could see nothing, unfortunately, that would help him confirm virtue to the priestess. Sighing, he tied the rope around his waist and began the even longer journey down the wooden palisades.

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

Another scout, this one a female, named Sigdaw (she the kin of Sigdar), had moved towards the great portal of the Virgin's dwelling after she, Jawm, and another scout had cleaned up the remains of Ureat. She had vomited once more while doing so, and subsequently had to clean that up as well. They left nothing behind, and hastily wiped up the mixed feces, blood, and oils from Ureat's body, disposing of them quickly. Sigdaw herself took a cracked femur bone of Ureat's, sucking out the marrow before placing the bone in her pack- for proof of death. 

Her belly filled, she lessened her pace as she approached the doorway. She figured that clothing might give away the mark, especially at a certain time of the week. The mark might have been on the coat that has been laying across the floor, lazily dropped there by the Virgin. As she walked towards it, she noticed a line of foot ware that was also roughly displayed near the exit. Thinking she might have time, Sigdaw decided to take a look. 

The shoes were strange, varied. There was an animal-print pair of shoes that seemed like it might only cover the bottom parts of her foot, a pair of green canvas shoes that might reach up to the Virgin's ankles, emblazoned with a star within a circle on the side of each shoe. A large pair of brown leather boots, similar those Sigdaw had seen in her own tribe. A pair of soft, grey woolen short boots, ones that looked warm in the winter. The most compelling, to Sigdaw, at least, was the pair of brown sandals, a pair that had straps of leather winding all around the foot and ankle. They were quite similar to Sigdaw's own, in truth, but the fact that something so familiar to Sigdaw could be shared by a titaness so large compelled Sigdaw to draw closer. As she approached the sandal, it shocked Sigdaw as to how large the Virgin, or anybody they shared this world with, really was. She stood right next to the footware, and realized that the footbed of it came up to her thighs. She felt it with her had- supple leather gave way to pressure under her hand. Much softer, she realized, than her own sandals. 

Suddenly, a thought came over Sigdaw- a tempting idea, but one that would require her to be quick about it. Looking around, she sat down on the footbed and took off her worn grey sandals, tattered from years of usage and walking. It felt good to be free of them, and she took a half second to enjoy the air on her soles. She looked around again to make sure no one was watching- the other scouts were out of sight and she could still hear the water cave hissing and steaming- in fact, the Virgin was still belting out a song.

"It's probably safe," Sigdaw said to no one in particular. With that conviction, she lifted her self up on to the sandal and started to walk. It felt heavenly to Sigdaw- it was all at once exhilarating and pleasurable. Pleasurable because the leather under her feet was so soft and supple- a stark contrast to her own sandals, in fact: Sigdaw's feet were calloused and hard from years of walking, climbing, running on thin flats f leather- so much that there might as well have been nothing on her feet at all. But the leather she felt now... By the gods! It was like walking on a pillow. It was also exhilarating by virtue of the very fact of what it was- where her feet were planted had been tread by the Virgin, a creature many times her size over.

"I walketh where a giant hath walked!" Sigdaw whispered, her eyes widening. When she took another step, her foot dipped slightly- she thought that she had tripped or gone over the edge, but on closer examination, Sigdaw noticed that there was an outlined indentation in the leather of the sandal. 

It dawned on her, suddenly, that she was inside the indentation of the Virgin's footprint.

Her heart stopped as she thought of it. She eagerly traced the indentation with her eyes, and saw it more fully- a shapely, well-formed foot, the leather slightly graded upwards at the arch. And the wide tip of the sandal, five imprints in their orders indicated where the Virgin's toes would push down as she walked. Sigdaw sauntered over to the big toe, and stood there in admiration. It was shapely, and of a good form- perfect, she might have even suggested. Her heart pounded. For sheer morbid curiosity, she laid herself down in the toe's imprint- she was delighted to learn that, from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet, Sigdaw fit completely within the indentation. Her hearted pounded still. She lay there for a moment, closing her eyes. Sigdaw was as an average build for a woman in her tribe, and that meant that most people would fit within the imprint. She thought about that- an entire people, many in number but small in stature, each one able to fit perfectly under the toe of this gigantic titaness. As interesting as it was to Sigdaw, she couldn't help but associate her mind to what she had heard before from scouts who had gone before, and from what she saw today in regards to Ureat. Almost invariably, on every scouting mission, someone of the party had been killed in the most spectacular way- crushed, sat on, swatted, caught in a trap, or fallen to death. The very nature of their life was dangerous, to be afraid of and yet pursue the very cause of that danger. Even now, the Virgin, by no means unattractive, was that danger here and now. She seemed such an innocent woman, to Sigdaw- she could not have been more than twenty five years of age, prime in her womanhood and ready for birthing. Her wide hips, full breasts and lips, dark eyes penetrating whatever they fell upon- she was beautiful, a choice virgin. To be near such a specimen would be honorable- yet somehow she even envied Ureat. Hard to believe, yes, but the thought of his death, while gruesome to behold, excited Sigdaw- to be ended by the Virgin, the very creature you hoped to catch, was exquisite. She closed her eyes to think about it- what had Ureat seen right before he exploded and popped? The sky darkening, a mass of rubber falling on him. What did he feel? Pressure- building and building quickly. His bones cracking. Her thoughts went wild. She took one of her hands and touched the soft leather were she lay in the Virgin's sandal- the sandal that had been under the Virgin's foot, connected to the goddess herself. She tried to imagine what it would feel like- being stepped on. It would hurt, granted- but what about that split second before blackness? Was it heaven? Hell? Closing her eyes, she imagined the Virgin's foot coming down on her- better yet, her bare foot coming down on her- a warm, soft wall of flesh coming down to engulf her own flesh, crescendoing until a soft cracking, a small pop, her insides oozing out. It would feel horrible, yes- but that second of warmth. That second of feeling, just before death.  

Sigdaw suddenly realized that she was rubbing her clitoris. She was startled for a moment, surprised that she would pleasure herself like that. Over another woman, no less! She extracted her hand and looked at it- a milky white discharge between her fingers dripped down on the ground. She certainly didn't climax, she would have felt that- but it still surprised her that her womanrun would let loose so easily. It puzzled her- she had never felt that way before concerning a woman (if the Virgin was indeed a woman and not some manwoman entity- they'd never explained that fully), but she had heard of woman lying with a woman before. It was strange to be sure for her tribe, but not unheard of. Before the journey today, she had always made union with other men- the chief, other tribesmen, even her brother- but never a woman.

The thought excited her.

She would never lie with this Virgin, not ever- she was merely a speck to her, something that was even more apparent as she lay in her big toe's indentation of her sandal- but the novelty of it, the idea- excited her. 

She began to rub herself again, letting her desire get the better of her. She thought about the Virgin, how she towered over everything, everyone. Her long black hair, her full pink lips, enormous breasts and wide hips. She thought about what it might be like to be a prisoner of the Virgin- what would it be like? She had smashed Ureat to jelly underfoot like it was nothing- but would she have done if she had known she was there? 

"Would my goddess hold me to thy breast?" She whispered to the sandal. "Caress me?" 

She imagined that after she had gotten hold of her, she would bring her up to the piercing eyes. There, the Virgin would smile and lick her lips playfully, her face reddening ad flushing with warm blood. The Virgin might then purse her lips and caress Sigdaw all over them, occasionally nibbling at her limbs. There was no pain, no never- but it was hard, almost uncomfortable- it drove Sigdaw wild! To know she was only a bite away from dismemberment- it made her wet with ecstasy. Maybe she would slip Sigdaw's rags off of her body with lithe fingers, letting them fall far down below at those massive feet- then maybe, just maybe, the Virgin would begin to flick her tongue all over Sigdaw's body. 

Sigdaw's fingers pressed into herself deeper.

The tongue might tip its way all over the tiny body, licking her tummy, her breasts, down her legs and on the soles of her feet, toes wiggling with delight. It was delightful, ecstatic- but suddenly ended! With a giggle, the Virgin would let o of Sigdaw, letting her fall down down down to the wooden floor. The only thing Sigdaw saw as she screamed and fell was the Virgin's smiling face, lips curled into a wicked grin and she fell further up away from her. She would hit the groin with a shock, blind numbing pain shocking throughout her body, but she would realize- she was still alive! She tried to laugh but would be stopped by a jutting pain from her lungs- like nothing she'd felt before. She tried to move, but couldn't- her spine might have been broken from the fall. 

Good as dead, she thought. 

Then she noticed the Virgin towering over her, an evil boom of a cackle resounding in her ears. She looked down at Sigdaw, something that might have been a pitiful creature, a bug.

"Wouldst that thou had feasted on my flesh, my love," Sigdaw crocked. 

Laughing, the Virgin would lift her foot over Sigdaw's broken body, her heel still on the ground. The soft, smooth, bare flesh of her foot hung above her, smelling fragrant of the lotion she put on them nightly. 

This was it, Sigdaw realized. Then, another thought- 

"I am honored!"

And with that, the foot lowered. Sigdaw pursed her lips to receive the foot, a kiss to welcome lady death, but almost there, the pressure of the Virgin's foot building- and then...

Sigdaw exploded in pleasure- she moaned and exhaled sharply with an 'aaahh,' her pussy going over the edge, peaking, and climaxing more than union with any man had ever given her. It still rose. Her vaginal muscles tightened and twitched in rhythm with the rest of her quivering body, hot discharge squirting out from between her fingers. It rose even still. 

It lasted for seemed an eternity. The best self-fuck she'd ever had. 

The white hot blank that accompanied an orgasm finally left her mind, suddenly very aware once more of where she was. Leaning her head to the side and inhaling, she got a great whiff of the leather from the sandal, with only a faintest hint of the lotion residue that no doubt covered the Virgin’s feet. She slid her fingers out from her wet mess of a pussy and moaned again- like a visit from an old friend. Her fingers, upon inspection, were covered in a thin, white liquid. Out of curiosity, Sigdaw sucked her fingers- it was only slightly sweet, but unlike things she had tasted before.

Wiping a bit of her ejaculate from her mouth, she rose up, her legs a bit wobbly. She grinned at that- the self-fuck had really done a number on her. She then slipped on her sandals, the rough worn leather a stark contrast to the very soft material she had been laying on previously. Shifting her patchwork loincloth she had made herself once more to allow for easy breathing, she sighed- the sudden breeze and hyperawareness brought on by her long-lasting explosion made her labia quiver and shake, and a little drop fell to the floor. When she composed herself, she looked around- she couldn’t find anything that might be of use- no other clothes or things that might give away a proof of sorts.

Sighing, but incredibly satisfied with herself, she trotted back to where the rest of the party was, eager to know what they found. 

Jawm loathed at his predicament- he had just seen one of his kinsman have his insides pop out of his stomach wall and mouth, crushed by a foot of woman several hundred times taller and heavier than  himself, but here he was, inside of her washroom, that same tower woman naked and stark as her day of birthing. As uncomfortable as his position was, it made him marvel- these creatures, whom by his tribe elders count numbered in at least hundreds in the land, had incredible machines- towers that made food cold, or warm; glass caverns that made them wet, and basins that could be filled with the water of an entire lake. He knew, of course, that he had been in great danger from the moment he came into this washroom: the Virgin might very well stop her ritual wetting and emerge out, steaming a white hot halo around her. She would be a beautiful, and powerful, and mighty sight, no doubt- for a second, at least. Then, she would start walking, or spot somebody... The thought made Jawm both shudder and laugh nervously- he wondered what the Virgin might actually do. 

Still, he had a job to do- and the sooner he finished this task the sooner he could leave and get back home, home where the women were nice and normal-sized and didn't have to worry about smashing any potential mates flat.

The room was steamy, as per the hot water coming out of the glass tower- it made a hazy sort of fog high in the room, but still keeping the bottom cool but sprayed with a fine, cold mist. Jawm disliked it, but he shook it off and started his trek to the pile of clothes all aheaped near the entrance of the steam box. If there was any proof of purity in this gods forsaken hole, it would be there, the fabric that touched her. He signaled to his compatriot Zdua to follow him. 

They tip toed around the tiles, their footsteps pounding on the tile grout. They did this, because of twofold- first, it was tracted, so that they might not slip on the slick tile- secondly because tracks on black were much harder to detect than on white. Jawm might've hated his job, but he would be damned if he wasn't going to be the best at it. 

With some effort and navigation, they reached the pile of clothes- Jawm, in a sudden burst of insight, told Zdua to climb up to the porcelain bowl- he reasoned that if any other place might have essence of purity, a place that was regularly exposed to the Virgin's virginity would be a good candidate.

"Have you the marker water?"

"Aye, Jawm- thou sawest that I stole away it from poor Ureat."

Jawm sighed heavily, remembering the look of horror on Ureat's face before it was distorted forever under the titanic woman's foot. 

"Aye, that thou havest. Make ye good use of it!"

Zdua did as she was told as broke off away from Jawm- she ran on te tile grout again up to the tall wooden cabinets, where she started scaling by means of rope. Jawm, however, returned to his work at hand.

Jumping onto the sail of cloth, he picked his way around the soft carpeting, sifting the heavy sheets. Every so often he would glance up at the large glass tower where the Virgin resided, ready to bolt away if necessary. Te clothes were of a motley sort- her jacket was outside the washroom, as were her shoes- where the rest of the remains of Ureat now resided, stuck in each individual diamond groove. Her shirt was an outer layer of incredibly, almost divinely, soft cloth- probably the softest Jawm had ever felt. The pieces of woven material that touched her bare feet, ("I remembereth them being called... 'sucks?' Or was it 'socks?'") were also there, smelling slightly fragrant- but this wouldn't do him any good. Digging farther, he navigated past her wide, hip-hugging denim pants and found, mercifully, what we was looking for- undergarments. There were two he found, but only one was useful to him. The first held the Virgin's breasts- even at his size, Jawm could see that the Virgin was well-endowed by the gods- she might've been, were she his size, bigger than any of the girls in his tribe. Stepping and enjoying the soft material of her brassiere, Jawm moved on to the next item- the cloth that covered her womanhood. It was a warm, dark pink, loosely interwoven were the strands- see through, even. It was the same color as her brassiere. 

Jawm knelt down and felt the material- soft. He noticed a single hair caught in the weave. It was long, dark. Curly. Jawm had yet to see the Virgin unclothed, but frankly, he didn't ever want to- not in her path underfoot, anyhow. Yet here he was, a few short dozen strides away from her. He picked the hair up, held it in his hand, turning it a few times. Did she have such hair all over her womanhood, he wondered? If so, she would have quite the bush. Someone could get lost in there. 

Jawm tossed it aside, fighting his now turgid erection- he frowned, knowing that it came from thinking about the Virgin's moist and probably cavernous womanhood. He scoffed at the idea, despite his obvious physical lust- the idea that he and she mate?

"Impossible," he muttered incredulously, opening his knapsack. He pushed aside the cleaned bones of his friend Ureat, and pulled out a small vial of vigour. The liquid, a bright and glowing purple, would be essential to this portion of the trip. 

He prayed, yes, to his gods, that he liquid would show him what he needed. He didn't pray for the success for his tribe or for the glory of the Ritual or the priestess, but because Ureat died for this- he deserves that kind of legacy, that his sacrifice didn't go in vain. The rest of his tribe didn't share his sentiments... Usually. Life was more seen as a means to an end- a commodity. The tribes numbers were relatively few- only a few hundred at most, quite a few more after the Ritual with the Virgin- but the priestess nor anyone else had the mind to preserve life. Not even his gods. Cruel as they were, Jawm still prayed to them- he'd seen enough in his life to where he knew of their existence. Piety certainly wasn't the duty that he accomplished- it was more of a means to secure favor, a stroke of luck that meant life instead of death. Luck helped a lot. Luck was what he needed.

The liquid quivered as Jawm carefully tipped the vial over, spilling out the contents all over the undergarment fabric- it seemed to hang in the air for a moment, the steam of the room coming from the glass tower making it shimmer brighter, like hope was in that flow. The garment ate up the liquid greedily, diffusing over what amounted to no more than a couple of square millimeters- no bigger than Jawm's hand. Finally, it settled.

He waited. 

He waited a little bit more. 

Jawm's heart palpitated rapidly, eager to know. Finally, like a sun reaching over the mountains to cast its light across a meadow, the purple liquid turned into a bright, vivid saffron. 

His heart leapt up into his throat, excited at a million different but intermingled prospects and ideas- they had found proof of the sacrifice's virginity! She, according to the magic of the liquid, still had lain with no man- a purity that was much sight after. With that title, she could be taken and used as a sacrifice in the ritual, picked and scoured to the bone for the health and fortune of the tribe.  The liquid showing also proclaimed that the dangerous scouting, the very activity that had killed so many over the years, had smashed Ureat all over the Virgins shoe. 

Jawm sighed heavily- he had to admit- he was extremely relieved that the whole ordeal was over. 

"Nay," he reminded himself, "at least one more task falleth to us." The grim task of the sacrifice still had to take place. 

His melancholy thoughts were shaken from him when he heard a loud screech and the water, heretofore created the loud roar that had drowned out ambient noise, stop falling onto the floor with a mighty crash. Terror filled the hallow of his stomach as his synapses shot into play and moved his muscles into flight- he took a look at the glass tower and saw the Virgins silohuette wringing her hair and making the water therein splash down at her feet. He quickly, without even really realizing it, unsheathed his utility dagger and slashed away at the now saffron cloth in his hand. With few cuts and a rip, the cloth was stuffed into his sidebag and Jawm was up and running. He knew, after a very quick survey of the room, the closest place of safety was behind the large porcelain bowl that Zdua was on.

Zdua!

His heart sank- was she still up there? As he tore across the room, his tiny feet padding on the black, angular grout of the washroom tile, his eyes scanned the rim of the bowl for any sign of her. It was too difficult to see clearly while running and more besides the rim of the bowl was very high up. He couldn't risk calling out to her, because the Virgin might hear it. 

"Damn it all," he thought. Zdua, in all likelihood, would have to survive and escape on her own. He sprinted over to the base of the porcelain throne, ducking out of sight and into the shadows, there to wait until the danger passed.

----------

Zdua was all in the panic of her lifetime. In one short span of time, the water tower had stopped issuing forth steam and roar, and screeched to a halt, and now the door being pushed open. In a flash of thought but not much consideration, she darted her eyes around where she stood- atop a vast ring of cold white. At the center of the ring was a deep bowl of water, with a dark hole snaking down to where she couldn't see. She knew full well that this is where the Virgin's kind made both liquid and solid waste. She knew, to some extent, that when a lever was pulled that the waste was magically transported elsewhere, quite possibly to a farm or something. She also knew, for a fact, that the climb up this porcelain structure was damn near impossible on account of its slippery structure, and there was no way in all the world that she could quickly climb down. 

"Gods take it," she muttered, almost crying. The prospect of being caught in the open by one of the Virgin's kind terrified her to the point of panic. She knew, in the darker recesses of her mind, that to caught was to claimed as death's, to be crushed, eaten, smashed, ripped apart, and all other heinous hateful ways that would happen to her if she was so much as seen by one of the... Dare she think it... Giants. 

The door was swinging open now- it slowly moved towards Zdua, thank the gods- that had given her a split second more in time to think and make a decision. She decided, that in the end, she didn't want broken legs or neck, and made the decision (or rather, felt her legs move under her) to leap into the deep part of the toilet bowl. She seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and her tears started again. What if she missed? She couldn't miss. She had to land- that was the only good option here. She decided, in a flash of insight, to climb up to the edge of the bowl and hide in the shadows- just like she was taught.

----------

Jawm had heard a splash over the din created by the Virgin exiting the glass tower. At first, he saw the door and it's shadow swing out and come to a halt, followed by a hail of water droplets. He thought that even though they were smaller, to him being caught by one would really, really smart something awful. He saw one of the great brown cloths fly in front of the structure he hid behind, and saw it rise up, accompanied by a wiping sound. The Virgin was probably drying herself off from the hundreds of thousands of handfuls of water that she had used. Enough water, Jawm thought, to fill the ocean. To sustain a hundred nations. He marveled at this, but nothing could have prepared him for the enormous foot that happened into his view. It came down surprisingly quick, faster, he thought, than anything that large had a right to be. It came down with a loud slap, flesh on tile, followed by a rumble that, of Jawm had not held himself steady, would have knocked him down. He gasped aloud, and did so again when the second foot came down. For a second, he was transfixed, caught between two ideas- his first instinct was to run like hell, leave and get away from these monstrosities. But, his second instinct was to not look away, to marvel and admire what were planted before him. 

He did the latter.

The feet looked solid, like they'd always been planted there. They were a smooth and wet flesh, freshly cleaned and still slightly moist from their washing. They looked well-formed, Jawm thought- comely, even, so different than the feet of the women in his tribe. Ten toes that he could see, alight in motion and ever so delicate twisting. Jawm noticed a soft pastel lacquer on the nails. 

He found himself walking forward, out from cover. What in the name of gods was he doing? This was suicide! But still he pressed on, out into the light. He hugged the cold white stone, freezing against his bare chest. He inched forward, little by little, until the full picture had come into view.

He was awestruck.

Wet, jet black hair, green eyes. She was not fat, no, but she was full-bodied. From the lacquered toes led up a pair of legs and hips that were most suitable to birthing. The pretty pink lips between her legs, the thick black mat of hair covering her crotch. Her stomach, which had a little excess, was adorable in the extreme. Her full breasts with red nipples, erect in the cold air. Her white neck. 

She was drying herself off with the large brown sail. In smooth and long strokes, she wiped the water from her skin, glowing slightly from the pressure as she pushed. 

It was then that Jawm stole a glimpse of her eyes- and in a flash he knew that this Titan of a woman would be intertwined with his life- however long that it lasted.

Her eyes, a deep shade of dark emeralds in the black earth, focused on nothing in particular. Even as rubbed her shoulder length black hair, she looked far away, lost in a deluge of thought, not truly paying attention tithe task at hand- the product of years and years of reinforcement. Finally, she shook her head, flinging stray droplets of water and soap flying onto everywhere. For a second, Jawm saw it.

He would never see it again. 

The Virgin angled her head just so, that the blazing light above her was eclipsed by her head in its entirety. The effect, Jawm knew but did not register at that time, was a halo of light shining out from her head. It was his goddess, reborn- an earthly manifestation! Come to either save them or kill them, to give them the bread of life and everlasting, or to make them her sup. He was entranced- he had forgotten all about the splash. In his religious fervor, he was taken and lost. He found himself staring so long, in fact, that he didn't notice her eyes slip upon the base of the porcelain structure. It was only as she squinted, trying to make out exactly what she saw, that he came to. 

Oh no. NO. He had been seen. 

Then, as if on cue, the light above her head exploded in a flash of blue and strange smell of ozone. He took this blessed opportunity to pedal back with all his might. He landed on his backside and nearly twisted his wrist when he heard the Virgin yelp out, 

"Ugh! Not again!" Followed by a frustrated growl/moan. 

Now in complete darkness, Jawm took stock. Why was he here? Zdua! Where was she? He then realized, with creeping horror, that she had been that splash.

--------

Zdua was trying to tread water when the light went out. It scared her, made her panic- here she was, all alone, when the room suddenly went flat dark. When she fell, or rather jumped, into the bowl of white, she had landed in the shallow end of the pool. As she landed, her ankle rolled in ways unnatural, rendering it swollen and useless to her. Try as she might, she was not able to advance up the steep white slopes- her hands, feet, and legs had been wetted by the heavy water. So, abandoning her pack, she had begun to tread water. She was figuring out her quietest way to tread when the light suddenly exploded and she heard the Virgin yelp aloud. She forgot, for a brief moment, to paddle, and water entered her mouth. She coughed, tried to stifle it. Zdua, finally able to stay alive briefly, focused then on her plan to escape. She noticed, that a faint but all pervasive light, a far less bright one, had began to dart around the ceiling above her. She thought, with passing interest, that the Virgin had possibly alighted a candle to replace the powered light on the ceiling. For a second, anxiety had crept into her- what if she put the light down into the bowl? Surely she would be seen. But that anxiety turned to confusion as the light grew dimmer- the ceiling above her seemed to shrink down, like some shadow was passing over it, or covering the bowls opening. Anxiety spilled over into terror as she realized what was making that eclipse. 

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

Jawm stifled a cry when he realized what the Virgin was doing. He had been hinted at it when he saw both of her massive feet flank both sides of the porcelain bowl and heard the squeak of the seat cover as she sat down on it.

The Virgin, he realized, was about to make waste. And Zdua was in there. 

A few options flashed in his mind, pulling him in a few directions. The foremost was to somehow get the Virgins attention. He had a knife, didn't he? He could easily run over and make nice long scrape on the Virgins foot- that would probably get her off the bowl and away from Zdua. But with that came risks- there was no guarantee that Zdua was alive, that Jawm would be kept safe. Moreover, Jawm had the proof on his person- if both Zdua and he were killed, the proof would be lost and someone else might come looking- furthering the risks of death. The other option, then, was deathly simple.

Do nothing. 

Gods, he resented that. He would until the day he died. 

So he did nothing, and stood there, hand clutching his knife, gritting his teeth. Above him, the Virgins face was lit from the small box that she was concentrated upon, which also occasionally spouted out sounds like 'sweet.'

"My heart weighs heavily for thee, mine sister," was all he could say quiet, outside of the Virgin's earshot, and hoped that Zdua could feel his regret. 

"Divine!" Came the electronic reply from above, accompanied by a shrill of bells and crystal. 

He started to hear a faint pouring noise from within the bowl.

----------

Zdua was no longer terrified, but now downright panicked. It was now completely darkened, and she couldn't see her hands in front of her. The room suddenly screamed with noise that sounded a lot like water being poured into a basin.  The water suddenly got fair warm, and for a second, Zdua didn't realize what that meant. But, when she smelled the urea, a means by which they purified themselves in ritual, she  started to weep, trying desperately to climb up the bowl. 

----------

Jawm was infuriated- the Virgin bitch was pissing on Zdua! Not by choice, obviously- but the fact remained. He gritted his teeth in anger, gripping the porcelain wall tight. Still, he could do nothing- to try and garner the attention of the Virgin was suicide and homicide- he'd kill both himself and Zdua when she was discovered, along with any future endeavors that might come calling into the lair of this woman.

But would she? How did he know that she would behave in the way that he thought? Maybe they would be left alone. Maybe she would become scared. Maybe she might even take them in, like pets.

But then he remembered Ureat, and Jawm knew what people that tall would always do to people this small. 

Shaking him from his thoughts, the Virgin finally arose from her seat. The floor creaked under her (as it sounded to Jawm at least), and she took another step and, thanks to the ambient light from the small box in her hand, did an about face towards the bowl. She leaned over, causing Jawm to duck further into the shadows, even in the darkness. He didn't see it, but he heard a jingling of hallow metal and great sucking sound coming from the hallow box (made of the same porcelain material it seemed) above his head. What was she doing?

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

Zdua's panic was complete as she felt the water around her, smelly and heavy, start to churn violently. A loud roar came out of the holes all around the edge of the bowl, like a death cry. She cried as the water rose, causing her to go underwater slightly, unable to keep up with rising tide. She paddled furiously, trying to stay afloat, but her ankle screamed in pain and every kick up brought unbelievable agony.

Try as she might to compensate by paddling her good foot and hands against the now rapidly lowering tide, Zdua was sucked down into the maw, but not before gulping a huge amount of the tepid water. Her lungs burned as she struggled for breath, all the while being pulled down, twirling and turning. 

The small light from above dissolved as Zdua was sucked down into the hole at the bottom of the bowl, her eyes stinging and lungs crushing. Mercifully, the water whipped her about and slammed her head onto the wall, dashing her brains out and killing instantly. Darkness veiled her eyes, and she no longer felt any pain as her body flowed among the apartment's pipes into the sewer, her grave. 

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

Jawm found it safe to come out of the washroom just as the Virgin was leaving. He watched from the darkened doorway as she slipped on a pair of leather sandals, sandals that reminded Jawm of his own. She then put on a large puffy coat, and, sufficiently protected from the chilly air, opened the door to her dwelling, the wind whipping her long skirt about her titanic legs. She left, and the sound of a bolt thudded into the frame.

She was gone. 

He waited for ten minutes, against her return. He didn't think it likely, but Jawm would be damned if he wasn't going to be very careful. Not after what happened to Ureat. 

Not after what happened to Zdua.

He met with Sigdar and Sigdaw where they had originally came in. The other scout came jogging in as they talked.

"Say true now, Jawm- yon Zdua is gone?"

"Aye, friend. Taken in the waters of her waste. A most direful shame. Very nearly mine-"

"And she sawest thou not?"

"For sooth, her eyes lain not upon me."

"And Zdua?"

"I believeth not, Sigdar. Might we retrieve her bodice?"

"Nay, her body is far gone. Now," Sigdar began, licking his lips, "havest thou proof?"

"Nay, Sigdar, as I saith and as I liveth, I hath not found proof of death of-"

"Not of the bitch Zdua, ye wrastle! Of yon Virgin! Did ye findeth proof of her purity?"

Jawm hesitated, infuriated. How could he casually throw away the life and memory of a comrade?

"Did ye?" Sigdar demanded.

"Sigdar, thou..." Jawm began, but held his tongue. He cast his eyes low and dug into the sack that held the glowing, saffron cloth. He held it out to him, which he snatched up.

"Praise be!" He cried, ecstatic in his religion. "Purity hath been found!"

"Praise be," came the echoing cry from the other three, more reverently from Jawm- but not by reason his comrades believed.

"Come, let us return," Sigdaw cried out, baring her breasts in praise, "and give yon proof to the High priestess! Soon our journey comes roman end!"

All left through tunnels undisclosed, Jawm coming up the rear- thoughts heavy with realizations and revelations to him alone. Two lives- thrown away like it was nothing. All for some giant woman who didn't even know they were there, and had killed them both. 

And soon, he knew, she would die too. 

Chapter 3

Later that evening, under the quiet light of a lamp, barefoot, and in her pajamas, the Virgin wrote in her journal with a pink pompom pen.

"Dear diary,

Hello again! Today has been a good but very busy day- I went to classes this morning only to find out that the homework for my French film class is due next week, not two weeks! I love this class, but I swear, I never seem to have enough time to watch all of the required films- and who wants to cramwatch Le Corbeau at 1am? Not this girl...

After class, I had lunch with Amelia- you know, Matt's girlfriend, the one with the red hair? She told me that James had something planned for my 23rd birthday next month. I wonder what it could be?! I love that he does that kind of stuff for me- remember last month, he got me flowers and gave them to me at work? He is such a caring and considerate guy. I really do love him a whole lot."

She paused a moment and set the pen down, took a bite of her low fat vanilla frozen yogurt, and readjusted the volume of her mp3. And then, continuing,

"Work today was ok, I guess- McKenzie told me that Mr. Dunkirk was going to retire soon, and that just opened up a whole bunch of office politics. And, of course, I will be the first to admit that I caved and participated in said office gossip- not my proudest moment to be sure, but I'm getting better. 

The highlight of my night, though, was my date with James. He was the sweetest man ever! He picked me up outside my place (oh, I wore my new skirt tonight for the date- I gotta say, I was lookin' pretty dang sexy in my skirt and sandals! And yes i know that sandals aren't the best for cold weather but it wasn't snowing, and I'm a tough girl), and we drove up the canyon to look at the lights they put up on the big houses. We got sandwiches and later hot chocolate as we walked around the Christmas Village. We sat on the bench and cuddled- it was perfect. This is what love feels like!

When he walked me to my apartment door, he asked if he could come in, to have sex. I told him no, for the umpteenth time- I want to save it for marriage. Of course, that turned into a philosophical discussion, again!!!! He asked if I loved him and I said yes of course, we've been dating for about half a year now. He then asked if I knew that I was saving myself for 'the one' then why didn't i open myself to him. I told him that it was complicated, that yes i do love him but it was a complicated mess of my beliefs and my promise to my mom. He told me he respected that but he wanted to show his love completely to me. I mean, that makes sense, but he's got to respect my boundaries- which, to his credit, he does. 

Don't get me wrong, I would love to go all the way with him, but i just want to feel ready, you know? And that just doesn't feel right until I'm married, to him or someone otherwise. Am I a bad person for this?" 

The Virgin set down the pen and took the last few bites of her froyo. She took the bowl back to her kitchen, rinsed it out, and set it to dry, halfheartedly convincing herself she'd put it away tomorrow.

She then drank a glass of water, brushed her teeth, had another glass of water, went to the bathroom, then came back to her journal.

"But all in all, it was a good day. Except, I add with some trepidation, I maintained my 163 pounds this week. >:( I swear, I'm trying to hard to lose my tummy! Ugh!

Good night!"

And then, as an afterthought, 

"Ps: I saw a weird looking bug today in the bathroom. I should talk to the super about bug spraying when I talk to him about the socket. Seriously, that's the 4th time it burnt out this month!"

Satisfied with her entry, the Virgin closed her diary, yawned a great yawn, and slipped under the many warm blankets on feather bed. She fiddled with her phone for a second, setting the alarm and finding a suitable soundtrack to sleep to. She decided on a mix of finger style acoustic guitar and a warbling Celtic woman. 

She then turned out the lamp light and, thoughts of her James running through her mind, fell asleep.

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

That same night, an ecstasy of pleasure and song had fallen over the tribe. Sigdar was being praised as a hero for finding the proof that the Virgin they had sought after, the black-haired Titan, that had murdered poor Ureat and Zdua, was a pure and choice vessel for their ritual. She would be sacrificed, the priestess declared, entranced by the hallucinogenics she had taken earlier, her eyes glazed over. 

"She communeth with our gods!" They cried, some under the influence of those same hallucinogens. Some couples, in their religion, took to mating right there on the ground. Thrusting and grinding to the harps and psalters, fucking their brains out, screaming in their pleasure.  

"The time hath come," the priestess crooned, lowering from the air, put there by her sacrament, "to make mine children whole once more. Thy gods hath spoken, mine children, to the hurt and joy of mine own heart, that this sacrament, the Virgin's ruin and death, wilt be mine last, for I am old." Some cries. Mostly just chanting and fucking, came the reply. "But our sacrifice is not without understanding," she continued, licking her dry lips, "for behold, we art in want for an similitude."

The crowd grew duller, especially the younger women. Some of the men made motion to pull their women on the ground, whipping out their cocks and starting to mate with them, out of sight, to shield them from what was next.

"Who then, among ye, shalt be the one to make the pre-sacrament? Who will be sacrificed to yon Virgin goddess?"

Silence, except for the thrusting. No one really took the time to look around or even look at the priestess, who would make the selection. It wasn't really a volunteering gig.

Even Sigdaw, now under a man who was much older than her, but whose short and stubby penis still could hold a point, fell silent. Finally, one woman, who, in a haste to not be selected, neglected to slow her breathing, could be heard above the crowd. 

The priestess looked at her, and then pointed.

"Thou!"

All around the young woman, secretly delighted, turned to face her. Her eyes, pretty brown, which complimented her blonde hair, widened in panic. As the crowd around her started to chant and lift her into the air, she started to weep. 

"Behold, she sheddeth tears as one joyous," someone lied. The hands that held her pushed her forward, towards the priestess and the erected altar, an ancient and worn assortment of stones, lain flat as a table. 

Jawm, far off to the side in the shadows made by the fire, looked on in passive disgust. The day's events, most especially with Zdua and his seeing the Virgin, had weighed on his mind as of late. He had... Ideas. Ideas that ran contrary to his tribes beliefs. And here he was, about to witness a poor young girl (a childhood friend of his- his second woman that he joined with, in fact) be touched and poked and prodded. He knew that she would be stripped, rubbed in ash, her feet washed, her womanhood thoroughly inspected, and fed the sweetest fruits they had. He also knew that they would give her no sedation, no blessed relief, something to dull her mind to the fact that tomorrow she would be killed and eaten. She would live with that, tonight, tomorrow, all way until death. 

He hated it. He hated it so much, in fact, that he found himself walking towards the altar, righteous indignation filling his heart. Before someone could stop him, he leaped up on to the altar of stone, evoking the gasps of many a folk. The priestess had closed her eyes and pursed her lips tightly. Then woman he once enjoined with looked up at him, almost hopefully- but she dare not cry out.

Jawm took an icy look at his people before him. All he knew, all his world entire. He saw this mother, the man he thought his father, his brother. His grandmother, there with her lips pursed at him. 

"Be hold, mine people- hear thou words I doth speak unto thee. I have not the gift of mine mothers mother to aid mine plight and vision, but be hold, I havest mine thoughts, the ones that give me utterance."

The crowd listened with rapt attention. He continued, satisfied he had an audience.

"Thou sayest that this woman here would give up her spirit and ghost own to the Virgin, and ye sayest that the Virgin shalt give us life and light. Behold, I sayest that thou art wrong. Wherefore, I did see yon Virgin, coming out from the box of glass, the water still on her flesh. Behold, I saw no goddess, I saw no savior- I saw only woman, much like unto the one we art to give to the Virgin and our bellies."

A confused set of looks. A cry of 'blasphemy' from the back. 

To shed this one and the blood of the Virgin is to no more shed the blood of little children. Recall ye the days of our ancestors, they strode like unto giants among the Virgin's kind- they lived without the Ritual, without the blood. I say unto you, mine brethren and sisters, that our ways must need change."

A furious uproar from the crowd. Some screamed very loudly at him, and Sigdar, rock in hand, chucked it hard at Jawm. It smacked him square in the chest, breaking skin. More cries of 'blasphemy' and 'heresy.' 

"Hear mine words, mine people- heed not the prophetess, and change-" Jawm was unceremoniously dragged down from the altar by the angry mob, screaming for his blood. They slapped him (the ceremoniously prescribed method of punishment), many times, and brought him before the priestess, cheeks as red and hot as coals in fire. 

The priestess, his matron, glared down at him hard. A lifetime of disappointment went into that stare- Jawm himself had been groomed as successor for the priesthood, but lacked the religionist fire that his grandmother had. Reluctantly, the priestess allowed him to be a scout.

"Thou knowest, young Jawm," she began, venomously, quiet as death, "that I hath awaited for this present day for many years. I shalt enjoy this."

She smiled, and then, turning to the crowd, said, "this one hath committed a great crime, mine children. Mine brother Jawm, mine own child, hath committed the treason of heresy!"

An outcry of anger, absolute and red. 

"What shall the punishment be that we shalt inflict upon him?" She tempted, casting a sidelong glance at Jawm. "Shall we flayeth him, burn him to his bones, scatter his ashes?

Shalt we throw him from our high places?"

Cries of consent were sporadic. No hard consensus.

"Or," she tried, grinning, "shalt we maketh him a meal for yon Virgin?"

Some laughed, but all cried out in favor. "Eat him," became the common chant. 

The priestess held her hands out, asking, no, demanding for silence. 

"Very well, mine children, very well." She turned to Jawm, walked around him, and spat on his head. "Jawm, son of Jawna, daughter of even I, thy priestess Jarwna, hereby call upon mine gods and sentence thee to death."

A cry, and the priestess spat once more on his head. 

"Thy sins have been weighted, measured, and thou hast been found wanting. With this debt, thou shalt be punished, and thy bones shalt be again in the earth. With this last spit, water of my soul, I sentence thee, in the name of mine Virgin Goddess, even..." The priestess uttered the name of her Goddess, too holy and sanctified to write here, for it is a great sin, "... That thou shalt die, and the manner of they death shall be in the mouth of the Virgin sacrifice!"

She spat, once more, on his head, sealing the pact. The universe echoed.

The priestess laughed aloud, and slapped Jawm on the face. 

"Go then, guards, take this beast away, and give him to the Virgin- we wouldn't want her to go hungry now, would we?"

Jawm was stripped away of his sack, his knife, and his clothes. One burly guard and, to his surprise, Sigdar, came and grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away, off to the walls of the Virgin's apartment, to near the kitchen, where they would wait for an opportunity to dispose of Jawm. 

The priestess watched with relish her grandson being taken away, but soon after turned her thoughts to the young girl they had chosen. She rubbed her skin softly, caressing the flesh. Her fingers soon found their way to the young woman's neck, so soft, white, and precious. So easy to cut, she knew. The young woman looked up at her, tears in her eyes.

"Hush, hush, mine child," the priestess said, not unkindly, "thou shalt soon feel no pain, none at all." She sat next to the girl, still caressing. "Take heart, my dear," and, kissing her on the forehead, "thou shalt be the most magnificent of blood sacrifice to our tribe, and they supple flesh will fill our bellies well."

Satisfied with the young girls renewed crying, the priestess arose and spoke to her people.

"Ready thy victuals, ready thy magic seals, ready thy souls- on the morrow night, we shall be in communion once more!" 

Chapter 4

Jawm was beaten all that night, Sigdar and the burly man taking turns punching him in the stomach. It was late in the small hours of the evening when the priestess had declared his death, but the Virgin would not wake for several more hours. And so they worked, socking him over and over in the stomach until blood came out of his mouth and their fists were sore with redness. 

 They then took him (more dragged) to the ceiling above the Virgins kitchen, to one of the loose ceiling tiles. There, they waited for an opportunity while fell silent, tied up and in exquisite pain. The morning passed without incident, except for the Virgin, coming out of her bedroom in only her nightwear, grabbed an apple from the table and munched on it half-heartedly. 

 Sigdar, watching the scene from above, called out to Jawm, whose stomach was on fire. 

 "Behold, ye wrastle, what must come to past, for sooth, is most personal. I hath watched and hated thee, in thy softened of heart, thy lack of devotion, and I," he stopped, looking over at jawm, "Will most certainly enjoy this."

 He smiled at him, a sickly smile, and Jawm let it pass over him.

 They waited for a while longer; the Virgin passed into her room, and played her music once more. This day, they knew, was a day of complete rest for the Virgin- she did not venture out usually and she usually took this day to rest, clean, or watch a small box that made sound and moving pictures. They were confident, however, that the Virgin would come out to make a second meal, and there they would dispose of Jawm. 

 Finally, the Virgin emerged out of her room. They watched as she, now washed, dressed in blue jeans, a tee shirt with a logo plastered all over it with a light jacket over that, and green high top sneakers go back and forth in the kitchen, humming a bright tune and cutting up vegetable. It was a little after noon, and she seemed to be making a liquid concoction. After cutting up the vegetables, she set a pot of water to boil.

 "Behold, Jawm," the burly dude said, pointing to the boiling water, "she maketh a soup. Mayhaps thou shalt be the side dish?" He laughed at his own joke. Still they waited. Jawm knew, with certainty, that these would wait for the most painful and discrete way of disposal- the Virgin would most certainly notice a tiny person floating in her water, despite the painful circus it was to be in boiling water. 

 They watched her for a while longer. Eventually, the Virgin put red, bulbous fruits into the water, taking them out quickly and setting them into icy water. She then peeled them, cut them up, and set them aside, near the edge of the counter. She also cut up a white layered vegetable, a long green thin one that made their eyes sting, even all the way into the roof, and a few others that none of them had ever seen. 

 Finally, she set all the vegetables (with the exception of some of the red, juicy, bulbous vegetable that she had splattered onto the floor at her feet) into a large glass with blades at the bottom. It was apparently called a 'blender,' because that's what she called it when she cried out, "come on, work, you stupid blender!" 

 She set it to work, and with a large roar, it quickly liquified all of the vegetables in it. Sigdar laughed when he saw it, and looked over at Jawm. 

 "Behold, thou wrastle, the engine that shalt give thee an end!"

 Jawm's stomach turned sour. The imminence of his death was very apparent and caused him a lot of distress, an anxiety in his stomach that he had never experienced before. Sure, he had almost died before, several times, but he had never had the distinction to be executed. He felt like he couldn't do anything. Worst off, others were going to die.

 It couldn't end like this. It just couldn't. 

 He started to think very hard about a way to escape. He knew that he was in the roof of this place, and that there was usually some residue of something he might be able to use. His hands were currently tied around the behind of his back; he took a second to gather his thoughts, and then, with a deep breath, closed his eyes, and moved his hands around. 

 He felt, and he visualized. The touching and feeling crafting a map for him, molecule by molecule. He could see, in his mind's inky blackness, the dust particles and fluff. The grain of the wood the Virgin's kind used to craft castles and castles worth of space, like towers of brown with their green fires spreading out towards the sun.   And, much to his delight and relief, a sharp metal shard. 

 He couldn't have known that while this apartment was being built, the carpenter in charge of the housing frame  had just found his wife was two-timing him with that sunovabitch Joey down at the bank. He was ruminating on that fact when he hammered that nail into the frame, where it collided with another nail and fragmented the tip off. Jawm could not have known, but he would be grateful for it indeed. Gripping the piece in his hand, his eyes now open, he sawed away at the fiber rope, hoping he could cut it away in time. 

 He was about half way through and could feel the blood returning to his hands when he heard a sharp bell noise, two tones that, according to the scouts, alerted the home that there was someone at the portal, or door, of their dwelling. They looked at the Virgin, who, at the tone, grew an immense smile. Leaving the blender running on liquefy, but the lid off, she skipped away to the door and out of sight.

 "Now!" Cried Sigdar, urging the burly man to pick Jawm's body up. Jawm, the shard still gripped tightly in his hand, held together the rope an prayed it did not loosen yet, alerting Sigdar and the burly dude. They dragged him over to a tile that they believed would be directly over the blender, where they planned to drop Jawm. The burly one set Jawm down, and, with the help of Sigdar, began to move the tile to create an opening. 

 Jawm knew that it was now or never. He continued to saw as he watched the two try their damnedest to move the heavy tile. Little by little. The wait was maddening. Finally, he broke through and loosened the rope. The two were just finishing to open the hole when he got up from his supine position. Struggling, but pushing through it, Jawm trotted, then jogged, and then slammed into the burly man, who was looking down the hole, trying to find the best place to drop Jawm. He apparently found it, right when Jawm slammed into him. The burly dude, with a whimper, fell right down what seemed like several hundred feet. The man slammed into the lip of the blender, breaking his arm. He finally fell into the viscous concoction of vegetables, and, the motor sucking him down into the blades, screaming, was painfully obliterated and added a dark red to the spinning mixture. 

 Sigdar watched this from above whole Jawm got his bearings. His stomach and hands burned to the point of his passing out, and he could hardly remember what planet he was on. When he finally did, a blur jumped at him and connected a fist to his face. His head reeling, he stumbled back and fell. His hand slipped up with the broken nail piece in it, at the ready and willing. Jawm just got aright in time to dodge out of the way of a descending knife that Sigdar had pulled out. Sigdar's arm wheeled about, slashing wide towards Jawm who stumbled back further. Both uprighted themselves and faced, gutting tools in front of them. 

 "I shall bleed thee, ye thrice-damned whelp!" Sigdar spat out. "I care not what thy bitch of a matron said! I will kill thee where ye stand!"

 Jawm spirited to him, head still foggy. The moment to thrust came far too early, and his body struggled to keep up with it. The shard made contact with Sigdar's left arm, cutting surprisingly deep. Sigdar in turn made a wild stab and Jawm's head, but was too much in pain and faltered at the last second- the knife that he wielded found a superficial cut in the shoulder, slashing up, and back down again, making contact with Jawm's chest. Jawm shot to the side as the knife swept down, as the knife made only a small cut on bare skin. 

 Dropping the metal piece, Jawm slammed his fists down on Sigdar's neck and back, making the latter drop the knife and fall to the ground. He continued to kick away, messy, stupid kicks, which did not do much damage in of themselves. Sigdar grabbed Jawm's leg and dragged him down as well. He jumped on top of him, wailing on him wildly. Messy punches. The two rolled not eh ground together for a moment, precariously edging towards the opening. 

 The fight all at once become and brawl, fists hammering away. Jawm gained the lead on his opponent, starting to think about his hits, forming a fist, following his arm through. Soon, Sigdar's face was red and puffy, a broken nose muddling his breathing. He spat a bloody phlegm and chipped tooth. 

 Jawm arose up and tried to rest his body, he being doubled over. Sigdar's rattle seemed to subside. He hesitated for a moment, and then stumbled over to where Sigdar had dropped his knife. He picked it up, shoving the thing in his belt loop. He coughed once, twice, the thrice blood leaking out of his mouth- his stomach was a flaming inferno. He looked at it- blackened spots, the size and shape of fists and kneecaps, started to cover most of his stomach and chest. 

 He would need water, somehow. And a place to rest. 

 He started for the darkness in the roof, away from the light in the kitchen. He would slip away. Now.

 "Thou thinketh," came the voice behind him, tongue swollen from bites, "that thou thall get thee awayth?"

 Rest. Somewhere. Water.

 Sigdar made a noise that might once have been laughter. 

 "Thou cowerd. I kneweth thath you hadth no tathte for blood. Run, ye bitth."

 Rest and water. But not yet. One last thing to do.

 Jawm turned round, drawing the knife he had taken. He wanted to kill this man, this Sigdar. He would stick him, bleed him.

 Or maybe not.

 He sheathed the knife again, this time getting on his hands and knees next to Sigdar. Then, with a gentle push, he rolled him over. And then, he rolled him over again. And then again. And again. And again. He was only a few strides to the opening.

 It took only a few rolls for Sigdar to realize what was happening. He started to protest, and struggle, but he could not move on his own. The most he could do was yell, but that only seemed to fall upon the deaf ears of Jawm. 

 Sigdar saw that he was very close to the edge, and felt the winter breeze, cold from the open door that the Virgin attended. He didn't know for sure, because he could hardly hear over that damned blender, but he thought he heard the faint sounds of frantic speaking and crying.

 He was shaken out of those thoughts, however, when he felt his arm fall over and hang off the edge of the opening in the tile. He felt Jawm stop pushing him, a moment to catch breath. He looked down to the blender, where the other one was liquified. How ironic. He noticed, though, that his body was not above the blender, and, he knew, when he would fall, he would not land and be obliterated and be eaten.

 "I want thee to know," Jawm said, coughing, "that this is, for sooth, not very personal."

 Jawm placed his foot on Sigdar's body, and pushed. The limp body started to lean, tilt, and finally gain speed as it fell over the brink, down into the wide world of titans. 

 Jawm didn't bother to look and watch him fall- he touched the hilt of the blade and coughed blood again. He spat, spat again, and lost one of his teeth. He laughed, and walked over into the darkness, disappearing into the frame of the apartment.

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

He couldn't believe it. After all that hullabaloo, he was alive. When he tipped over the edge of the ceiling, he closed his eyes. When he found himself falling far longer than he thought, he dared to open his eyes. He immediately regretted it, as he saw the patch of broken tomatoes on the ground come up to meet him blindingly fast.

 When he hit the ground, the pain wasn't immediate, but gradual- he felt the ache, then pain, then excruciating agony. He wanted to die. But, he did not. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he heard a door slam, followed by sobbing. It was the Virgin, he knew. He halfheartedly wondered why she was crying, but didn't think it would matter. When she came back into the kitchen, she would see him. 

 She would SEE him! 

 He was elated. Maybe, just maybe, she would find him and save his life. The thought excited him. He smiled, but found that painful. He had to make her see him. He just had to. 

 He heard the booming footsteps, rising and falling, coming closer. He braced himself. He would call out to her, make himself known. Ironically, it was the worst thing that he could have done before today. To make oneself known to the Virgin meant death. But now, it was his only chance at living. 

 Closer. He heard her sobbing. 

 When she came in, he was awestruck- even at his size, laying down had the effect of making her even larger. She was no longer just a giantess, a large woman that was going to give their tribe life- this was THE giantess- the one foretold by the prophets of yore. A titaness among titans- made even those who his tribe sought seem like even them. The prophecy was that one day, a one would come, visiting the same death and destruction to the Virgin-kind as the Virgin-kind brought to his tribe. They would be crushed underfoot, much like Ureat. 

 Each footstep shook the ground beneath him. More. More.

 He tried to cry out, but a pain leapt through his spine- he was unable to muster the air in his lungs. 

 Panic.

 He tried again. 

 Fear. 

 It didn't work. He could speak to her. It was then, that he realized, the titans vector of walk. She was walking right toward him! And, before, he could try and move, he saw the shadow of her foot, a menacing diamond-segmented sole, come down on him, faster than he could imagine.

 Despite the pain in his lungs, Sigdar was able to let out a weak scream, only to be silence when his mangled body was smashed flat by this goddess of a woman, this giantess, his cry unheard, his presence never being even noted by her, crying. 

----

"Ugh... Dammit!" The Virgin's voice warbled. She saw the tomatoes she had just stepped in, causing red to be splattered all over her favorite green sneakers. This was more than she could take. She set her hands to her face and wept, leaning against the counter for support. 

 When she same to, she poured the salsa, meant for taquitos and chips, down the drain. She then grabbed a paper towel, wiped off her sole and sneaker, trying to get off all of the red. She then cleaned up all the mess, tomatoes and all. 

 After doing that, she took of her shoes and put them in the wash, hoping to prevent stains. She was there but was not there, cognizant but oblivious. She was depressed, the consciousness that was in the back of her head realized. 

 She decided that she would go to the store, but...

 "...later." She admitted to herself. She then took off her pants and shirt and socks, and crawled under the covers of her bed, flipping them over her head.

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

 That same evening, in naked except for her lacy panties and bra, and accompanied by a bowl of vanilla ice cream, the Virgin wrote in her diary. 

 "Dear diary,

 What a terrible day. The day started fine- James and I had scheduled lunch, and so during the morning I had been making salsa because he told me he was going to bring over taquitos. I was so excited- I had made the salsa just as he liked (which was always a bit too spicy for my tastes). 

 Anyway, he told me he was going to show up at 12, but instead he showed up at 11:30. I was naturally excited to see him, and I invited him in, thinking he wanted to talk. I should have seen it coming; he was pretty solemn and didn't look at me in the face a lot. He told me he"

 She stopped for a second, eating a few spoonfuls of ice cream- her first bowl in months.

 "wanted to see other people."

 Her hand shook as she wrote it. She had had the thought in her all day since he came and broke up with her, and she had taken it as one might expect and reacted how one might expect. She continued on.

 "He told me that he loved me and really wanted to go somewhere with me, but that he really didn't want to continue without taking it to the next level. Without having sex.

 We discussed it a lot, of course. I said no, he thought I was being unreasonable. He said he wanted to express his love to me fully, I told him that I wasn't ready." 

 Another couple bites of ice cream. She continued.

 "And after that," she trembled, "he said he didn't think we should be together. He left after that."

 She got up from her desk, taking the bowl of ice cream with her. She watched half of a detective show featuring a brilliant English man who looked like an otter, but her heart wasn't into it. She finished her bowl of ice cream, and then went to the kitchen to get some more. 

 She was about to scoop another helping, but then, convincing herself that she shouldn't, put the bowl in the sink, not bothering to rinse it out. Instead, she got a coffee mug that that proclaimed 'world's best aunt,' and scooped in just one lump of ice cream. 

 She was about to leave the kitchen when she noticed that the blender was still out, with the salsa, now very cold, sitting there still. She thought about having a chips and salsa snack and saving the ice cream for tomorrow, thinking it would be better to have something slightly more nutritious than a cup of ice cream. But, she thought, it was late and hot food didn't sit well with her stomach. And the only thing worse than going through a break up is going through a break up with your stomach being violently evacuated at the small hours of the night.

 She decided to pour the salsa down the drain, being honest with herself and knowing she would never actually eat it. Besides, it had sit out all day- who knows what else might have flown or fallen into it?

 Returning to her journal with her dinner's dessert in hand, she sat down and fiddled with her mp3. She settled on an album that was in fact terrible but was also sad. She finished her entry. 

 "It's really hurting to break up with him. I really thought we had something going there. I guess I'm just really slow to progress. I don't really want to think about it. I just miss him already.

 Good night."

 The Virgin ate her ice cream, didn't bother to put her dish in the sink, and went to the bathroom to brush and rinse her teeth. After such, she came in, shut the light off, and dropped into bed, covering herself only with two blankets.

The sad album played on as she cried herself to sleep. 

It was the wee hours of the night when the entirety of the tribe, all two hundred or so of them, crept out of the walls in holes carved out the previous evening. They used tiny saws and knives to hallow out all but thin parts of the floorboards on the wall, cleverly concealing them but making them weak enough for quick emergence when needed. The group, hundreds of men and women, clothed in loin clothes or nothing at all, spread across the living room like a living carpet of tiny lives. Without words, they signaled to each other, each knowing their part that they must play. 

The first group went to the giant, rectangle portal door, the entrance to the living space itself. The dozen or so of them swiftly moved across the hard wood floor, the carpeting, and the various shoes, sneakers, sandals, and other instruments of crushing, lined up near unto the door. Each of them carried bottles of a vigour colored a dull and pastel green, the color of muted grass. Some of them carried hooks and ropes. Those with hooks and ropes started the arduous climb up the door, between the crack where the wall and door connected. 

It was a difficult climb, fraught with danger, but none of that seemed to matter to them- with silent strength, some faltered, but they kept on, some primal force driving them to push. They had no fear of death, not now. Not this close to the ritual.

The ones on the climb finally reached their destinations and fanned out over the top door jamb, while those on the bottom aligned with those on the top. Then, on some sign known to them only, each person at the door, both on bottom and top, uncorked the dull green elixir they carried. The concoctions started to glow wildly, and then, driven with ancient magic, shot out of the bottles, and traveled up from down, and down from above. The lines of green met in the center of the door, and expanded, widening and forming cross bars. The lines of green seemed to solidify and harden into emerald gates, and when finally, it flashed with a finality and suddenly disappeared, leaving only the faintest green glow upon the door. 

Those who participated in the magic knew the purpose of the incantation- the green crossbars put a seal of sorts into the door. It kept out foreign material and was originally intended for protection- nothing got into the portal without express permission from those who set the spell to work. It was used for a far more devious purpose than protection, however- the spell worked both ways. That meant that both the tribe and their quarry were trapped inside the apartment.

No escape. 

As if on cue, those who are stationed round the door see that all across the apartment, similar flashes and growths of green sprout up and settle in the windows, ensuring that windows to the outside were inoperable as well.

No escape. No chance for survival.

They started to come back down from the high places in the apartment and gather in the central living space. One or two of the descending tribesmen fell to their deaths, but they forced down their fear and fell silently to their deaths. 

After clean up, another group broke off from the main and flew away to another corner of the apartment, while the majority of the tribe started to haul out planks and staves of rough hewn wood from the holes. These boards and poles were ancient-  motley wood that was gathered over many cycles and many rituals. It was out of convenience, not necessarily need, that these planks were hewn out of old wood found in grass plains or fallen trees. Most recently, the wood was found from pillars in walls of homes and buildings. They took just enough to sustain them, but not enough to compromise structural integrity and give away their existence. These boards and planks made their way over to the entrance of the Virgin's sleeping chamber, with silent and practiced footsteps.

The second break off group headed for a large box in the room where the Virgin did her washing. On the cold tile, they saw a large white basket with myriad clothing and coverings inside of it, along with a large triangle, which they knew from observation, would heat up and somehow make the Virgin's clothing flat. 

The box, a large metal rectangle on the wall with a few metal tubes coming out of it, was above a humungous white cube that made terrifying noises when activated. The machine was not currently active and that made it several orders easier to climb. Some climbed between the cracks, others climbed a convenient object located between the wall and the washer. The object, known by them to be used with the aforementioned large, hot triangle, had two sides- one a soft cushion and linen, another a white metal grate, crisscrossed and able to be scaled with ease. 

They made their ascent without any trouble, and soon consulted with one another on how to best move up to the  rectangle and finish their task. They finally decided upon throwing a rope over the tube protruding out of the box. Over and over they tried to make the connection, some throwing the entire length of rope, some attaching what weights they could. One or two lost their ropes entirely and sat down in shame, mocked by their peers. Finally, one got it hooked over the tube, and was subsequently retrieved and bolted down, forming a base on which they might climb. 

A few of them shimmied up the rope with crude metal axes in hand. And then, finding themselves confident in their choice, they began to hack away at the metal tube below them. They knew that they did not half to hack all the way through- in fact, they knew it might've been disastrous had they- they heard tales of shocks like lightning going through and stopping the hearts of those who drew to close to the wires. All they needed to do was get rid of the outer metal sheath the wires resided in, which they did.

Once the rope was secured around the wires, each of the axmen slid down the rope back to the great white cube, and, with a great, solitary effort, caused that all present on the cube should pull the rope wrapped around the wires.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice. 

On the fourth, a few of the wires ripped out.

Five times. 

Six.

On the seventh, the whole of the wires ripped out in a great shower of spark and ozone.

Around the apartment, electronics started to blink out- the microwave, the Virgin's personal computer, the fridge, and, unbeknownst to her, the small alarm clock. The red numbers blinked out, and she snoozed on. 

However, when the lights went out, the rest of the apartment's residents knew that the time was now. All of them, the two hundred or so, gathered in the central part of the floor near the entrance to the Virgin's  room. There, they met with the priestess, the withered old woman who spoke to them thus, religious fire in her eyes.

"Behold, mine children- we art upon the brink of our salvation. In yon chamber lies our sacrifice, for which we hath labored so long. In yon chamber lieth our souls and health. In yon chamber lieth our feast and sacrament with the gods."

"Praise be," came the chant, solemn and deathly.

"Let us now enter in yon room, thou Sanctus sanctorum, and commence the ritual. Taketh her restrained! Taketh her unawares! Bind ye her with cords and make her holy! Be ye started!"

The chant became full now, and and then, on a beat known only to them, they silenced, solemn in their task once more.

Quietly, they moved as one towards the door, and, one by one, slipped through the bottom of the door.

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

As the all marched towards the bed of the Virgin, some of them realized that this was the first time they had seen her. What they saw was this: a young woman, laying supine on the bed in her cold room, wearing nothing but a lacy fabric covering her breasts and womanhood. Her inky black hair strewn about over her pillow, longer than fifteen or twenty of them head to foot. Her mouth slightly open, shivering, telling of a deep but troubled sleep. They durst not speak praise, for it was forbidden that they should speak pre-ritual, lest they frighten the spirits away. In stoic, silent attitude, the tribe of a couple hundred marched on towards the bed, passing the blankets that had been thrown on the floor in the middle of the night.

The first obstacle was to actually get on the bed itself; not an incredibly difficult task, but one that required a lot of planning- they had to bring all of their ropes, equipment, and boarding up their with them. They started up the wooden bed posts, sticking their knives in for leverage. Up and up they crawled, higher to the platform of the bedding. The first one to arrive raised his arms up in solidarity, praising the goddess and himself for his efforts. The celebration was short lived, and he quickly started to help others come up onto the bed, some jamming stakes into the wood to form a rope ladder to the top, facilitating coming up to the bed.

As more and more of them came up, one of the assistant priests tip toed his way up to closer to the Virgin’s face, up near the pillow. He stepped very lightly onto her hair, feeling the softness of it.

“Surely,” he thought to himself, “this is the Goddess’ own avatar. Feel their softness of heaven in her very strands!” He was quite pleased with himself when he successfully navigated to not a few inches to her face, but again, wasted no time in his duty- he reached into his pack and pulled out a small leather satchel, carefully untying the strings around it. He reached in and pulled out a handful of blackened dust, and threw it towards the Virgin’s face- she sniffed, and cringed her lips and eyes, as if irritated- for a second, the priest thought that all was lost! But, much to his and his comrades’ relief, the cringing subsided, and the powder seemed to enter her nostrils fully. The effect was instantaneous: the Virgin’s eye softened, her breathing became more deep, and her mouth, so sadly contorted into sorrow, flattened and her lips as a line.

The powder was a success, and the Virgin fell into a much deeper sleep.

So deep, in fact, that the instant the priest gave an appointed hand signal, the first of the tribe began to climb up to the giantess’ stomach and chest, and began to help others.

The next phase of this ritual was to begin now.

Ropes were uncoiled, metal rings and pulleys were unpacked from backpacks, and a dance so practiced was set into motion.

First of all things, they had to unskew the Virgin: she was slightly crooked and unaligned with the bed, her head being in the middle of the top of the mattress while her legs and feet were slightly towards the edge of the bed. So, it would be a simple matter of mover her waist, legs and feet to stick straight down the middle of the mattress, aligned with her head. They did so by tying ropes around her waist, and with nearly nine tenths of the tribe, moved her waist to the center. They did so again with her legs, binding them to the knees and pulling each in turn to the center- this did not take as many folk to accomplish. Lastly, her feet were dragged over to the center, her toes with the slight pastel lacquer pointing down. Fully aligned, the binding could take place.

Her wrists and arms were first bound into position tightly with thrice-wrapped rope, and these would be fixed once set into place. Tribesmen coiled rope around her wrists, elbows, and around just outside the scapula, and then tied those ropes together. Heaving together and dragging the arm up, the tribesmen wrapped the rope around the wooden bed post several times, and then tied it off and secured it in place with metal rings. They did the same with the other arm.

The legs, however, would require special attention. Since the legs had to be kept open, they required a special pulley system that allowed them to adjust the spread of the legs to allow ease of access. They began with her knees, wrapping them in the rope and then pulling the rope to the sides of the bed, where it was strung through a metal ring staked into the wooden frame. Her ankles were bound in similar fashion, but this time not being stringed through the ring at the bottom of the frame. Both rope ends were then pulled through the pulleys and attached the bedposts near her feet, allowing such for only a few men to pull and completely move that leg open. Done on both sides, the Virgin could have her legs opened as wide as possible with only a dozen tribesmen.

Sigdaw volunteered to help bind the Virgin’s feet up- she had this overwhelming desire that she couldn’t explain, and she found herself moving very fast and very intently to the Virgin’s foot.

When she arrived, she could not have told you how she got there, but instead, only stood there struck in awe. She came to her senses right in front of a towering sole of flesh, white and soft-looking. Sigdaw was glued to that spot: she looked up and down the sole many times, admiring the white ring that surrounded the bottom of the heel, the color differentiation between where her weight frequently was pressed and where it was not, the soft, wrinkly skin of her instep, the unearthly smoothness of her footpad on the ball of her foot, smooth like a river-worn stone and callous from years of walking, and toes that could have only been described by Sigdaw as majestic. Each of the Virgin’s toes, long and thin save for the big toe, reached into the air and curled slightly down. Because of that slight curl, the Sigdaw could see the tips of her toenails, white and opaque from the lacquer on top.

She felt that tinge again, that pull in her loins. The pressure in the lower stomach that denoted anticipation and excitement, the feeling that something was close and soon and now, regardless of danger or thought of the hereafter. 

She felt warm, sensuous. 

She felt wet. 

Another person, seeing the woman stand there and gape, punched her in the chest, a motion for her to move, to act. She rubbed the now bruised flesh, temporarily halted from her sexual imagination running wild from her, and hauled her rope up to shoulder. Making the appropriate knot, she motioned to one of her compatriots and, through unpracticed motion, asked which toe to bind. The man looked at her inquisitively, and then simply pointed, still staring at her, to the second to smallest toe. She wasted no time in making her move- with a skilled gait of one who climbs much, Sigdaw threw the rope up and in only one attempt, roped around the toe. Pulling hard to shrink the coil and to secure her way up, Sigdaw set herself up in position to ascend up the fleshy tower that was the Virgin's foot. Securing both of her own feet on the Virgin’s heel, Sigdaw climbed and climbed.

She was beside herself- she wanted nothing more than to take off all of her clothes and stay in contact with the warm flesh she ascended. She couldn’t get it out of her head- this was the very foot that had turned Ureat into a flat paste. He had barely time to scream before his lungs were forced out of his body, the air along with them. Barely time to see her before they popped and spewed out their clear fluids all over the rubber sole. Barely time to feel the anxiety and terror of death before his stomach burst out from the wall, contorting his face into the most exquisite pain. She had murdered Ureat, unintentionally, and she had not even known it.

Sigdaw’s pussy was practically oozing white discharge. She needed a fuck. Bad. Right as soon as she was done with her work.

When she arrived at her destination, the Virgin’s middle toe, she reverently climbed up, ready for her devotion. She hoisted her rope up, and passed it along to a man who was gathering ropes attached to toes. He, in turn, attached them to the main pulley and rope, arranging them in such a way that they would spread when pulled, further easing the opening to the Virgin’s womanhood when commanded so.

After she was done, she hopped down the leg and pulled a man aside with her. They enjoined each other on the spot, right below the ankle of the Virgin, two onlookers silently watching.

Even as the rock stiff, hot cock slid into the wet mess that was her pussy, Sigdaw was not satisfied. Within thirty seconds, the man exploded inside her, and she could feel his come spray onto her insides. She knew they wouldn’t quicken- they never did. Not until after the ritual.

The man emptied his load into her without so much a sound, but he bit his lip. Sigdaw remained passionless, unsatisfied. Even when she was dragged back down and forced to copulate with three other men, one of them nearly choking her in her throat, she was still not satisfied. She needed something else. Someone more.

Someone big.

When Sigdaw did get up and spit out seed from her throat, she gazed back up and the Virgin. How she wanted her. How she craved her. To be caressed and cherished by her.

To have her life crushed out from under her.

There she would find her passion, her joy. Her sexual fulfillment. Somehow.

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

When all the ropes were secure, the Priestess arrived on the bed. She looked around and surveyed the area- her priests had motioned to her that perparations were complete and that anytime they would be able to begin the ritual.

And then, being the primus allowed to speak, she croaked,

“Let us awake the Virgin, and begin.”

And so they did- the same priest who had thrown the powder to the Virgin’s nose returned once more, this time being not-so-careful as to awaken her but stepping on her soft hair. He glanced nervously over to the priestess, and then over to the workers who were now hauling up planks to the bed to construct the platform. In fact, he had seen that some workers had already begun the work on the base of the platform, a square on each side of the Virgin’s neck.

Arriving at his place, he took out yet another sack from his purse. He tilted over the sack carefully, and placed a bit into his hand. He was about to blow when he realized that he wasn’t satisfied with the distance to the face, and so, gripping the power tightly, he waddled once again over the closer to her face.

With a mighty breath, he blew the dust all over the face of the Virgin, who was still in her deepest of breaths and silence. The powder suffused in the air, some being blown away while the rest was sucked into her nose.

Now they waited.

The Virgin’s breathing became shallower and lighter. Her eyes less sunk. Her mouth tighter. She was awakening. Finally, she opened her eyes and saw what was all around her. So shocked was she, that even as her green eyes screamed in absolute terror, her mouth simply fell open. She had seen a tiny person on her chest, and she had felt them all around her.

"Oh... Oh. Oh my god..." 

The Virgin could hardly speak when she saw the multitude of tiny people, all in sandals and loin cloths and leather bras (some) milling about her. 

Her first instinct wasn't to rise up from her bed and take a look around- she just stood there for a few seconds, trying her damnedest to process why exactly little people were all around her- more than she could even count. Tiny men building wooden scaffolding around her neck. But why? This was terrifying. All of her mental faculties were speaking to her, her reason explaining that there could not possibly be an army of tiny people running around her, some climbing on her toes and some climbing her hair.

She saws that there was something rough, like a string, tied between her toes on both of her feet. She wiggled her toe out of curiosity, and the tiny person, a woman it looked like, shook with it and flailed her arms. She grabbed on frantically to the big toe, and the Virgin forced air out of her nostrils, amused by the spectacle. She then felt a sudden wrenching, directed at the nerve endings in her feet- her toes, despite the resistance she put up, were forced to spread, against her will. 

"Ow," she breathed, then seeing the platoon of tiny men pulling a rope- she couldn't see it, but she knew that somehow they had rigged her feet up to be pulled by rope. It stung, and she nearly teared up.

She felt the tiny footpads darting across her stomach and legs and feet and neck. They tickled, but she wasn't smiling. She tried to move her arm, but her eyes widened when she found that she was immobile. Panic gripped her, and the ice in her stomach formed and solidified. Why? Why was this happening?

"Who... Who are yo-"

"We," an ancient voice croaked, "are who we are. And thou, mine lady, art a goddess in sacrament."

The words stopped the Virgins thoughts. Sacrament? That was a word she hadn't heard in a long while. Not since her last regular church meeting. 

"A similitude in form of our great goddess, praise be, who nourishes us and saves us from sin. As she suffered and gave her body in death, so shalt thou."

The pit in the Virgin's stomach grew, the ice became like tendrils into her veins. Her eyes widened and wetted, when the reality of what was going to happen dawned on her. The idea of death becoming a very real possibility for her. She attempted to remove her arms and legs from bondage once more, but could not. She would try to move her torso and elbows, alas, he felt constricted there as well. She could not move, she was immobile. 

"Why," the Virgin managed to squeak out, now feeling much smaller than this tiny woman and her tiny followers  that crawled all over her. "Why are you doing this? What did I do?"

The priestess smiled a sickly, motherly smile, her teeth rotting. She came up to the Virgin's chin and set a withered, minute hand on the quivering thing.

"Nothing at all, child mine," the priestess said, patting the soft chin. "Nothing at all. But thou art counted among the sacred blood. Fear not," she reassured, "thou shalt not be forgotten, but cherished with each morsel of flesh and each drop of blood."

The Virgin's stomach churned.

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

Jawm had seen them from afar off. He had seen them march like bugs across the floor in single rank and file, towards where the sleeping Virgin lay.

Poor girl. 

He saw them work across her, spinning their ropes and binding all portions of her that could be bound for the safety of the tribe and ease of entrance. He watched with jagged breath as they hauled their wooden planks up the bed post and marched them over to the gloriously white and beautiful neck. 

His heart leapt in his stomach when he saw her awaken from magic-induced slumber, the light exiting her eyes as she struggled and struggled and fought and fought but realized that there was naught in her power to fight against what was happening. He saw the poor green eyes wet with tears when the Virgin spoke to the priestess at her chest. 

There was nothing she could do.

There was, however, something that he could do himself. He would have to wait until the very right time to do so, but Jawm had that time. 

As he watched, his hand found his rib cage- the fucker Sigdar had cracked a few and some breaths became difficult. He would be required to choose his movements carefully in the next few hours. 

He looked up, seeing that the priestess was overseeing the last stages of the platform's construction. He had to move, parts of the Virgin would be unattended when the ceremony began. 

From his vantage point, just in the corner shadow of the desk that resided next to the Virgin's bed, he had a clear path ahead of him. Along the way to the actual bed, there were plenty of large objects and dishes that could hide his movement towards the post of the bed. He knew that there would not be much in the way of surveillance upon the desk, what with their only security threat, the Virgin, locked up tight, but Jawm would be damned if he was not going to be as careful as possible on his way over to the bed. What he was about to do was crucial. 

Jawm glanced over at the platform. Despite the Virgins wrigglings, the platform they built was fairly steady, even though it sat partially on her neck. He saw the priestess, her white plumage bobbing in the cold night air, ascend the makeshift stair followed by her bloody entourage. 

He began his own descent- he emerged out this corner in darkness and hid behind a nearby mug, feeling the cold porcelain on his cheek. He hugged around, placing his feet carefully to not make any noise- not that anyone could hear him over that deranged chanting, a chant he himself had once partook in.

As he dashed over to a shadow behind a book, he heard a croaking voice, familiar and prophetic as if from out of the wilderness, yell out to the now silenced body "and now, we hath come to the end of our soujourn sacred." As he crouched next to the book, he heard a chorus of unearthly voices. 

"Praise be," they echoed. Jawm knew his tribe's ritual had begun, an he didn't have much time. The Virgin didn't have much time. The sacrifice who would be fed to the Virgin had less time than all of them. 

He picked up his pace, sprinting across the table, suddenly not so concerned for discretion as he was for speed. With the tribe's attention focused primarily on the ritual and their stupid chants, Jawm could afford less discretion in his movement. He darted from object to object, not really taking his time to sink into darkness between objects. He was a little more than halfway across the desk when he found there was a straightway from the edge to the bed. Between the desk and bed, he knew, was a chasm that would kill him if he fell. 

"Thou shalt prolong us, ye maid, ye Virgin," came the speech from the platform. 

He didn't know exactly how long the gap was between the two boundaries, but he knew it was probably a jump. He glanced over to the bed peaking near the edge of the desk, and he saw that the bed was a great deal lower to the cold hard wooden floor than the desk. So, even if there wasn't a great deal of space between the two pieces of furniture, there would be a hell of a drop. 

"With life,” the priestess proclaimed, as the chants rose, "cometh death."

"My time runneth as water," muttered Jawm in frustration. He had to make a decision, which his feet did for him- he found himself running towards the edge the table with abandon. He had a sudden flicker of doubt- why was he doing this? Why was he risking his life to save one who didn't care at all to kill several of his comrades? Former comrades, he obstinately reminded himself. Still. Zdua. Ureat. One drowned in the Virgin's waste and one splattered all over the floor. 

He was nearing the ledge. If he wanted to stop, now would be the time.

"For the great, the small, for the quick, the dead," Jawm heard the priestess bellow. He neared the edge, committing to the jump. 

He measured his steps carefully- three, 

"For that which shalt come,"

Two,

"a similitude!”

One. 

Jawm pushed off his right leg with all his force, tucking his left below his chest, and then immediately regretting it when he felt his pain creak out of his ribs. 

He screamed when the rest of the crowd screamed, fervent in their religion as the girl on the platform unwillingly fed her blood to the Virgin, as Jawm sailed across the chasm and over the to clothen field where the Virgin lay and the tribe were. 

He landed rather softly on the pillow next to the Virgins head- it made him gasped when he landed on his back, not out of pain, but out of surprise- he did not expect to feel such luxury as he fell. He rolled up, in time to hear the priest scream,

"The ritual complete, thou shalt house us."

Gaining his orientation, he arose and parted over to a binding of rope that was attached to Virgin's nearby white wrist. As much as he wanted to admire the wrist, he pressed on. 

He came up to the bedpost, where he saw the dozens of ropes hold fast the wrist. She pulled at it, and, as a result, it was taut and ready as he felt the rope. He unsheathed his blade and started to saw away at the rope.

"Guards, spread our divine’s legs, that we may enter and know her, and break her seal, and feast.”

She screamed, and he sawed. And sawed. And sawed.

The rope broke, and the Virgin's wrist snapped free, unbound. 

Then, the chaos began.

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

The Virgin's terror was absolute and tears welled in her eyes when she tugged her wrists and suddenly felt one loosen. She had tugged and tugged but it was only now, seemingly from magic, that we right wrist was freed.

She didn't waste a second wondering how t came to be- gritting her teeth, she yanked her arm from the bedpost and whirled it around over her head to her left wrist, still bound to the pillar. Her fingers frantically found the fixed rope that held her left arm bound, and now, using the strength of both arms, yanked with all her might, snapping the smartly woven cord apart with considerable effort. 

Her arm freed, the Virgin sat up, causing the scaffolding tower built at her neck to collapse and shatter into many piece- the priestess, who was still on it, tumbled down onto the Virgin's right side, skipping down on the sheets and tumbling down the side of the bed. Her entourage, all in a tizzy and panicked, fell with her, some before, some after. The ones who fell down first dashed their heads on the solid ground beneath, their brains exploding out of their skulls and wetting the wooden floor. The priestess fell on top of one of them, landing on her leg and bending it in half- she howled bloody murder as her entourage fell and broke their falls with their necks, arms, heads, some dying instantly, some to succumb later to internal hemorrhaging. 

As the Virgin sat up, the blood rushing back to we head and filling her sight with strange lights and stars, only to panic again as she felt the continued but lessened press on her vagina and hymen. Instinctively, she reached down and dug at her pussy, smashing several people into her bed and labia, still panicked as all hell to feel anything. She retreated her hand, concentrating on her legs- she had to be free! She yanked hard, yanked again, yanked thrice, but it was useless- the ropes were held fast.

In an instant, she saw and perceived- a line of something, something important- she starting remembering something she learned in a psychology course, something about a word called priming- that some visual clues opened doors to other ideas. Semantics something or other. She thought about that, half-heartedly, half-screaming, panic overtaking her and causing her brain to switch into operation and move her hand to the desk, searching for something, anything, until he found it. It! A knife! A gift from an old fling, worn and but still sharp. She kept it by her bedside, just in case she ever needed to defend herself from an intruder.

Certainly, even small ones counted as threats, especially these numbers!

She sat back up, unsheathing the knife from its home with a grating metal on metal. The Virgin slashed down hard at the rope near her feet- she missed, but instead the blade cut into someone at her toes- the blade cut them diagonally across the chest, bursting his heart and spilling his innards out onto the bed, and he dropped down, his lifeblood leaving him faster than anyone could have imagined.

She slashed again, and this time her arm pummeled into a crowd of fleeing tribesmen, knocking them off of the bed, some falling to their deaths, some landing softly in the scattered clothing strewn about the Virgins room.

The Virgin made a whining noise, upset and frustrated that she could not hit the rope. Panic again overtook her, and despite the pain, she folded herself in half, and with a great swing, cut the rope in half.

People were still trying to escape from between the Virgin's legs, but some continued to press on, pushing further and deeper still, some entering the cavity but no more. The Virgin, her right leg now free, slammed the whole of her leg, screaming, into her left leg, closing the canyon that was between the two legs. The tribesmen who were still there between her legs screamed in terror as the walls of fleshed closed around them, suddenly silenced as their insides burst out of there stomachs, anuses, and mouths. Several dozens of the tribesmen were crushed between her legs, gore spraying up and blood pooling between the tightly closed legs, her bed becoming a wet warm mess. The Virgin, seeing the buckets of blood covering her legs, stomach, and even some that sprayed on her breasts and nipples, felt a sudden tickle in her  stomach. She wondered what it was, then suddenly felt the bile erupt from her throat, into her nose, and out of her mouth. Rich and acidic vomit spilled out, on top of the blood, which was leaking out. She cried out, gasping for the air that her lungs desperately needed, and coughed and coughed. The knife still in her hand, she was still able to scoot down on the bed. She did so, smearing the rest of a crying woman with smashed legs under her ass, spreading her across her cheek like a dark red peanut butter.

She reached down, spitting out the rest of the vomit at her feet, which hit and knocked someone down, and then sliced the rope in half. 

Frantically, the Virgin, now loose, swung her legs over the side of the bed, knocking some of the tribesmen screaming down to the hardwood floor, killing them. 

She was about to lift off and run, but the Virgin felt a tiny tickle in her pussy- something was moving down there. She immediately reached down between her legs and dug. The priest, the acolyte that that used his powder to transform her sleep into something deep, was in there, one of the first in line, eager to partake of the Virgin. The Virgins fingers, massive trunks of flesh, turned the tiny acolyte into ground meat in the process of scraping him out. He was unceremoniously scooped out, and whipped off her fingers, splattering loudly on the wooden floor.

The Virgin, now devoid of any unwanted passengers, rose up and flew the room. As her bare feet slapped on the floor, she realized, with tears streaming down her face, that she had not even begun to process what was happening. But now, given a chance to flee, her mind became active once more, finally acknowledging that there were tiny people in her home.

A tiny woman, her arm twisted in a way that it should not have been, was also fleeing the room. She was one of the few that landed on the clothing strewn about the floor when the Virgin swung her arm about. Despite the soft landing, she landed hard on her arm, and it now vended backwards. But that didn't matter, she was alive. Alive! She had survived! She would make her escape, on foot, to a better place. 

At least, that was her plan, until she heard the thundering behind her. She turned, only in time, to see a massive wall of reddened flesh fall down on her, barely giving her any time to cry out- she was smashed under the Virgin's stride, not even felt by her in her moment of panic. 

Another man, crawling away, had his head splattered under her heel; another one had her lower half and stomach crushed in such a way that her insides shot out of her mouth.

A bystander, who watched the Virgin's egress from afar, could not help but be in awe of this goddess incarnate- even in flight, she was a terrifying sight to behold- death seemed to follow and be in her footsteps.

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

Sigdaw was one of the few lucky ones to escape the Virgin's legs before the carnage began. She quickly ran to the back near the bed posts when the bed started rocking. She watched in terror as the Virgin rose, her tear stained eyes straining the dark, and collapsed the tower that the priestess stood upon. She wailed in excitement as the man in front of her was sliced in two and his innards escaped his body. She became wet like never before when the Virgin smashed dozens, maybe a hundred of her tribes folk between her beautiful, lovely, white legs. Lastly, she fingered herself furiously as she saw the Virgin scoop out remains between her labia and crush, so goddess like, so beautiful, unaware people under her celestial feet. 

She was reaching peak when she realized that everyone around her was panicking. No one had seen the priestess. The assistant acolytes were all dead. There was panic. Some of them cursed the priestess for her hubris, others swore that they saw the ghost of that bastard Jawm lurking about. It was chaos, but easily suggestible chaos- one ofthe scouts started to descend the bedposts, followed by another, and then another, until all of them moved in a single direction. Some leapt off the bed to their deaths, some slit their own throats, crying that the goddess had forsaken, that they had sinned gravely. Some started fucking. 

Sigdaw, intrigued, waited to climax. Her functions of self-fuck had been overridden, somehow, by the prospect of possibility. 

The possibility of closeness.

Somehow, somehow, she would get close to the Virgin. Somehow. 

Her fingers slide out of her wet mess of a box with a schluck noise, and she wiped them off on her leg. She walked then, calmly as any other day, to the bedpost, past another man who had gouged his eyes out for his sins.

She mounted the rope that had been embedded in the bed post, and swung down, confident in a thought:

She would be with her earthly goddess tonight.

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

The Virgin stumbled out of her room into her darkened apartment. Her hand fished for the light switch, the blood on her hand making a mark like some morbid artist creating one hell of a statement. She found it, and nearly wept when she found that it didn't work.

"Ngnnnoooooo" was her protest, said through tears pouring out her eyes.

She stumbled to go over to the counter where her desktop computer and landline were, but found, through a sort of soft whine, that the power was cut off. She desperately tried to turn the power on and off on the computer, hurting her index finger and hyperextending it, hoping against hope that her pressing the button would somehow goad the computer into agreeing to turn on. She needed to talk to someone, anyone, goddamnit! 

She hit the computer screen out of frustration, ignoring the sharp pain her knuckles and hanging her head down. What was she supposed to do? What the hell were those things? Tiny people! Tiny people! Honest to God, tiny, living, people, only the size of her toe! If she weren’t so panicked, she might’ve taken a picture on her phone, and… her phone!

It suddenly dawned on her that still had a cell phone, fully charged, in her room. Of course! She could use the cell phone to call the cops, her parents, even James- it didn’t rely on the power in the apartment.

She took one step forward before retracting her foot again, suddenly overcome with the realization that her cell phone was in her room, which was still occupied by…

Tiny people. Tiny people who seemed very intent on hurting her.

She renewed her crying. Why was everything so difficult right now? She leaned on the wall of her apartment, suddenly feeling her legs go limp. She needed to see someone, anyone. But how could she find someone? The phone wasn’t an option, neither was her computer or cell phone. What was she going to do, just walk outside and go visit her friend who lived down the street?

Well, why not?

She realized, though, that she was butt-naked, and God help her, covered in blood. Even if she didn’t have inhibitions or restraint, a bloody, naked woman wouldn’t have gone without suspicion or question very long, not very long at all. That thought gave her pause, but then quickly was resolved when she looked over at her couch and saw a blanket plastered with her university alma mater acting as a couch cover. She quickly sauntered over to the couch, wrapped the blanket around her (then sighing as she realized that she hadn’t wiped off any of the blood), and then pulled it onto her tightly. She glanced outside- it had to be really early in the morning, maybe two, maybe three. Without a clock, she had no idea. She once considered buying a battery powered clock, but then, as she went to the store, found a pair of sandals that would be a lot more fun.

She took a step forward while glancing over at her room. They were still in there, she knew. They were there and she was not. Thank God.

As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard a loud snap, followed by a sudden flash. Before she could even register, she blacked out, and then suddenly found herself on the floor, knocking her head on the ground. More confused than anything, she moved her leg and foot door to stabilize herself, but stopped short and cried out- a shock, like touching a stove or outlet, shot through her body and paralyzed her for a brief half second.

“Oww!”

She drew her limbs in to her core, and let tears leak out again. Everything was going horrible- she woke up, was attacked and almost violated- raped, she realized!- by tiny people who kept going on about some sacrifice or sacrament or whatever, her apartment power went off, cutting her off from the world, and now, her damn door wouldn’t open, and there sure as shit wasn’t a possibility of going out of the window. She examined her door- there was a faint green glow about it. Out of curiosity, she moved her hand towards it further, and immediately retracted it when she saw a flash of green- a tendril of green lightning broke out and ‘bit’ her on the hand.

“Ow, dammit! That was stupid…”

She was right, she was wasn’t going to get out that way. She needed her cell phone, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it? They’d kill her…

Or would they?

The Virgin found herself recalling the tiny woman on her toe- how fragile she looked, how scared she was when she wiggled her foot. The movement, just simply a twitch to the Virgin, nearly sent the tiny bug careening off and most certainly to death. All because she wiggled her toe. And then, she realized, what happened when she slammed her thighs closed.

All that blood, all that death. Just by her body movement.

The Virgin felt a strange sensation in the bottom of her stomach. Something she couldn’t place.

Out of curiosity, she lifted up her right foot- at the bottom of her lovely red sole was a red splotch that covered the ball of her foot. There was one at the tip of her big toe as well. She realized, with that strange sensation brewing inside of her stomach, that she had stepped on some of them- her foot was so large, so immense to these tiny beings, that a single step was enough to completely annhialate them and spread them like jam on the floor. She felt like an exterminator, stamping out tiny lives, or one of those monsters from Pacific Rim.

Suddenly it became clear to her- the feeling in her stomach was that of excitement, of pleasure, and of lust all at once. She involuntarily touched herself, only to find that her womanhood was lubricated- sopping wet, even.

She rubbed herself softly, doing something that she was raised to think was wrong, but my oh my, did it feel so right to her. Why was she doing this? She was scared, so scared- but not so much anymore, she guessed? Why did these tiny beings that terrified her so much at first, now suddenly seem so insignificant to her, only things to be crunched underfoot on her way to get her phone? Why did have this change of heart? Why was she pleasuring herself? Why was she so excited, eager to go into that room, and then? And then?

She touched herself again and smiled slightly, letting her old friend take her- something she hadn’t done in a very long time. She thought about how she had scraped that person out of her, probably killing him in the process. She realized, then, that she had those needs and they wanted, she wanted, them to be filled. Those little people in there? They would help her with that.

She felt hungry. She felt horny. She felt like an exterminator, a destroyer.

She felt like an unstoppable giantess.

And this giantess, she realized, didn’t like being attacked like that.

As if on cue, she glanced over to the entrance of her room, the door still open. Moonlight was streaming through the window and alighting the cubby, giving away a small crowd of dispersed tiny people shadows that gave away their position.

Smiling, the Virgin took a step forward. She was going to get her phone back.

But first, a little revenge.

She was appalled. The kitchen, illuminated by the pale moonlight and reflected in the white tile and dishwasher and refrigerator, portrayed a scene she was not prepared for. 

There was indeed a group of tiny people there, they very much alive... Most of them, anyhow.

A group of five were surrounded by a dozen or so, lying in their pools of blood and gore. Some had their stomachs 'unzipped,' their innards splattered messily all over the tile. The five in the center, as far as she could tell, were covered in said blood. It was not very difficult to see in the moonlight, but it was also dark enough to make her strain her eyes. 

The cry that she had heard came from that group of five- it was a woman, one she thought was a corpse, on her back, surrounded by the other five, who all appeared to be men. One of them was on top of her- he grunted softly as the woman, with whispers almost too soft to hear, came out of her.

"Nooooo," she breathed out, "please, I beg of thee..." A sob.

The breath in the Virgin's throat caught. They were raping her. 

The Virgin's feet refused to move. She put her hand to her mouth, stifling a cry she knew would not come. She recalled a time in middle school where she watched one of her friends, a flamboyant thing named Bobby Grey, beat down on the lawn of the school. She remembered doing nothing then, either.

The man on top of the woman gave a soft grunt, arching his back, thrusting once more; he was finishing. She couldn't see it, but hot white seed filled her cavity and spluttered out in the cracks between his penis and her spread vagina.

"Have ye finished?" Grunted one of the onlookers.

"Aye, verily he hath, for it smelleth of mushrooms!"

"It smelled of mushrooms before ye took her the second time, damn ye," said the man who was mounted to the girl still. "And now shalt the smell of iron mingle with it."

In the flash of moonlight that accompanied it, a knife was drawn. Before the Virgin could even think of something, the knife slid across the girl's throat, bathing the knife in crimson red. She was apparently not expecting this, as when the knife cut across the skin she began to scream. It was short lived, and the gurgle that replaced it was also very intense but very short.

A cry of dismay came from one of the onlookers. 

"See see, Fnya, I was wont to be next! Ye bastard, ye've killed my spoil, thrice damn ye!"

General laughter.

"Come now, old Dvarn- ye had the first go of her, when she still was tired and scared. Tight like unto a pair of hands- it is no justice that thou wouldst have of her a third time. Lest," He began, "he'd have of her now!"

There was a cry of laughter, callous and uncaring. 

"Aye but no!" One of them said, Dvarn most like. "I'd rather haveth that giant bitch outside! But pray, lads, let us rise up and tarry no longer, aye? Lads, what are ye-"

His own question was answered as he looked to where the rest were staring, their jaws agape. 

There stood she, the very giant bitch Dvarn spoke of. In the moonlight she was a terrible thing to behold- fists clenched, her face screwed up in horror and fury, blood and thunder. 

She was on them before they could flee, her legs striding impossibly long. A foot was raised up, dangled briefly, and crushed two of the rapers lightning fast. Dvarn and Fnya, the other raper as well, were sprayed sprayed with a fine mist of blood, still unable to comprehend what had happened. The raper let out a scream, and bolted away, leaving Dvarn and Fnya behind. The giantess tried but in vain to grab the fleeing one, but missed as he rolled, just brushing her fingers. 

The Virgin didn't bother; she went right for the pair that stood frozen in fear. She picked them up, bringing them to her face. One had pissed himself. 

"You..." Any remorse she felt was gone. She was filled with absolute contempt. "You little bastards."

Wasting no time, the Virgin palmed one of the tiny men so her fingers of her hand were free. Her fingers of the other hand moved to lock the other man, Fnya he was called, between her index and pointer and thumb. 

"All of you..."

The Virgin gripped Fnya's arm.

"All of you little shits deserve this."

The Virgin yanked his arm. It tore from the socket, handfuls of blood dripping from the torso and a bit from the arm. Fnya screamed bloody murder. The Virgin tossed the arm aside, flipping over Fnya, his other arm available now. She also gripped that. 

"You monsters think you can harm others like they're just your play things?"

She twisted the arm between her fingers, snapping several bones and making them pierce out of skin. Fnya's screams intensified.

"Well, you little ass. Let me show you just what it feels like."

She let the arm loose, repositioned his body, dangling his legs. She started to pull on the both of them.

Agony engulfed Fnya. Dvarn, trapped between the Virgin's fingers, could only watch on mute horror. He thanked whatever goddess might be present that he was positioned near Fnya's legs and not his head- he didn't think he could bare to look him in the eye.

Tighter and tighter, he was pulled, and his screams rang out in the kitchen. Even the one who had fled and barely escaped the giant's fingers stopped to listen at the horrible cry.

It was too much- the skin at Fnya's midriff began to tear, a thick trickle of blood coming forth. As the skin began to widen, his digestive organs, held only in place by a thin tissue, stretched taut then finally snapped. Viscera dropped down from torn muscle and on to the cold hard floor not five feet below. There was a sudden resistance, the Virgin felt, and she knew that his spine was the last connection the lower had to the upper. With a final yank, the spine was severed, and Fnya's cries became weaker and weaker. His life blood continued to exit him until his head finally dropped to his chin and it was over.

Dvarn vomited violently into the Virgin's hand, and barely noticed that she had dropped the two pieces of Fnya. He was repositioned so that he was between two fingers as well, his heart beating and shaking so violently, he thought he was going to explode. His cock was harder than it had ever been in his life, but not for the pleasure of anything- his manhood was painfully swollen because never had he felt such fear. 

"Well," the Virgin said with a wicked smile, "that was fun. But your friend didn't last very long."

She chuckled. 

"You guys seemed to enjoy that little woman a lot. Tell me," she spoke licking her puffy lips, "do you like getting fucked as much as you like fucking?"

Dvarn's eyes went wide as the Virgin carried him over to the drawer. As she opened it at dug inside, the little man couldn't take his eyes off of her, so paralyzed with fear was he. Finally, she found what she was looking for, and pulled it out. It was a singular chopstick, one of the many that she had accumulated over her time here, wooden testaments of her penchant for terrible take out. 

She held up the wooden stick in front of him, grinning. 

"Do you think she was as scared as you are, you little asshole? You think that she was crying out just because she liked it? And speaking of little assholes..."

She deftly flipped the tiny squirming man in her fingers so he was upside down, his buttocks in the air. She tore off the skimpy loincloth, fully exposing him. 

Her countenance turned wrathful. She couldn't believe how angry she was. She couldn't believe what she was going to do. 

The tiny man was screaming between her fingers, gripped in an unholy panic. He was so afraid, more than he'd ever been. "No no no I beg thee please," he cried out, tears streaming down his face.

The Virgin laughed, tearing up a little bit herself- not out of grief, but anger.

"You little bastard. Oh you little shit." She gritted her teeth. "You have the fucking nerve to beg for mercy. You little fuck. Little man," she said, pressing the chopstick up to his exposed ass, "you'll get no mercy from me."

The stick itself was practically a small tree trunk to Dvarn, but it went in all the same. The curvature of it widened the gap, loosening his legs and spilling his entrails out. It went up into his stomach, lungs, shoulders, until finally it forced his gurgling, screaming head off. He was completely split in half, and she had gone very, very slowly.

Dropping the chopstick and whatever remained of the little split man, she walked over and stood over the tiny woman who was raped and murdered. She stood there for a second, and began to tear up again. 

She knew she had exacted revenge for this one at least. But what of others? What if any others that had been raped and murdered and used as playthings. Was this prevalent? Was it common? Would this happen again if any of them had survived?

She thought back to a time when we sister, all of sixteen at the time, was drugged and made a plaything of some very despicable men. She had wished, as an angry twelve year old, that she could kill all the men, good and bad. They didn't deserve to live, she had thought, her angry and chubby twelve year old self had thought. Now a little older, little wiser, she had thought those feelings of hatred had all gone away.

She guessed not.

These little people, God in heaven, little people! Had tried to rape her, had successfully raped and murdered one of their own. To her, that was crime enough, laws of God or laws of men be damned. 

Any remorse she had felt was gone, she knew, and it wasn't coming back. 

She turned, then, leaving the broken body of her catalyst behind, and spotted the one that had gotten away from her. 

"You," she cried out, pointing at him. He turned and bolted the other direction.

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

Sigdaw, and out of fear, the woman she was with, had headed towards the kitchen ever since they heard what was happening in there. At a slow and steady pace, they made good time, and were nearly arrived, Sigdaw's heart pounding like mad and the tiny woman behind her shaking with ever mounting and increasing fear. 

"Sigdaw, please, I beggeth thee..."

They were almost a foot to the doorway when a tiny man burst out in full sprint, huffing and making pathetic anxious sounds. Not a second later, the Virgin's blood-splattered feet came out in hot pursuit. 

The little man tried his most valiantly to escape, but it was too little- one for the footfalls came right down on top of him, smearing him into the carpet. Not even a crunch of bones was heard, just a short but fast burst of gore. 

Sigdaw watched with her fingers touching her womanhood, stroking softly. The other woman, the true goddess damn her, started to scream. The Virgin turned her head, towards them, locking her deep eyes on the pair. Sigdaw dropped what she was doing and began to back up, feebly. 

The Virgin walked casually towards them, reaching down with both hands to make a grab for them. The screaming woman, her feet apparently glued, offered no resistance but her sonorous wail. Sigdaw, however, tried to at least escape, acrobatting her legs up and deftly attempting to dodge capture, but to no end. She felt a firm grip snatch her by the waste, and then her stomach lurch as she flew upwards. 

As she rose, she realized that her heart was beating rapidly- not from fear, though, no- but from excitement. She was excited to be captured, she realized. 

How odd.

"Oh, my goddess," she spoke to herself, her hand moving back down towards her nether.

When she was brought up to the Virgin's wide and pretty face, she was deep into herself. The Virgin, however, did not seem to notice, but was instead looking at the woman who was, unsurprisingly, still screaming her head off. She frowned, her pretty lips tightening and teeth baring. 

"Give it a rest, will you?" She tried to use her thumb to stroke the tiny woman, but she shook violently, enough to avoid it. 

"Come on," the Virgin frowned, "calm down. You're going to die anyway, might as well be calm about it. Here, would you like a kiss?"

Sigdaw couldn't believe her ears.

The Virgin brought the tiny screaming woman to her lips, just close enough to reach out and touch had she a mind to. She was scared out of her wits, because were she laid out on her side, the enormous pink lips dwarfed the tiny woman in length. 

The Virgin pursed her lips, and gave the woman the tiniest of pecks across her body, which only intensified the shaking. She stopped screaming but was full on crying now, covering her face with her hands. 

The Virgin, enthralled, pecked the tiny woman again. And again. Then, finally, in a fit of spontaneity, poked her tongue out at dabbed the screaming lady. The tongue left a dab of saliva on the woman's chest, and woman began to sob all the louder. Again the tongue dabbed her, but then just as soon, the tongue started at her feet and dragged all the length of the inconsolable woman's body, from her toes to her head. The woman was beside herself when the Virgin announced her intent to the woman.

"You... You taste pretty good... I think... That I'll... Have you for a snack."

The tongue again came out and caressed her body, she shivering and shaking as she realized what was about to happen. 

Sigdaw was absolutely beside herself! The Virgin, her sweet sweet goddess, was going to partake of the woman! Her fingers probed deeper into her, her wet mess of a pussy aching. She truly was the goddess incarnate, she thought. 

The woman offered no resistance but her wild shake when she passed the Virgin's soft pink pillows of her lips. The Virgin placed her in her tongue, a soft bed that fell right into the grave of her stomach. 

Sigdaw watched in a combination of mute horror and divine ecstasy. 

-----------------
The decision had come in a flash of inquisition, the Virgin realized, and before she knew it she was placing this tiny woman on her tongue. 

The thought excited her greatly, and she couldn't deny the tickle it made in her stomach... And even her womanhood. She felt herself grow moist with the thought. 

It was the first time in this night that she had felt powerful- truly powerful, like the goddess that the tiny people had spoken of. 

As she had kissed the woman, the thought had come to her, even more so when she realized how tart the woman's skin had tasted. When she considered it, the butterflies in her stomach had gone mad.

She realized that, with a stirring in her loins and stomach, she was going to eat this tiny woman. 

She could barely contain her thoughts, even as she placed the woman on her wet tongue. 

She felt her there, breathing through her mouth, her shivering and shaking. She seemed to resign to her fate. Only when she had closed her mouth had the woman begun to shout ad cry anew. 

The open beat upon her tongue and teeth as the Virgin swished her around like a piece of meat. 

Without knowing it, the Virgin's now free hand visited her pussy, stroking the clitoris softly. 

She was about to swallow when she salivated, diminishing the flavor greatly. She committed then and started to chew, placing the woman between two molars. 
She had somehow avoided the grinding teeth, because as she bit down, something gave way and crunched, but her screams grew even louder. 

Salty blood splashed onto her tongue, and she stroked herself once more. It was oh so sweet. 

Again she chewed, feeling bone after bone crunch and grind between her teeth, until one bite, the screaming muffled and suddenly stopped. A new flavor, one on top of many- but above all, sweetness. 

She chewed to satisfaction, and then swallowed the remains of her tiny bite sized meal down to her gullet.

Ecstatic. 

She licked her lips, still tasting the tiny woman on her tongue. She was absolutely delicious, and the experience had been thrilling. She wondered, had Godzilla or King Kong felt this way? Or was this a new sensation? She imagined herself as tall as those monsters, people as cars and buildings and whatever else at her feet. 

She was imagining herself in that position so much that she forgot all about the other woman in her other hand.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sigdaw had orgasmed twice witnessing the spectacle. First shortly after hearing the macabre first crunch of bones snapping, accompanied by the most delightful scream that had touched her insides like no other. Even after the first explosion, she continued to watch, now more in love and ecstasy than muted horror. Her pleasure could not have been more complete. The second came when the Virgin had swallowed her meal down her throat, the white skin of her neck buldging softly as the lump travelled down and down and down. 

She was nearing the third when her goddess finally seemed to remember that she was holding her. She almost looked surprised to Sigdaw, and for a brief moment, Sigdaw paused stroking herself, the old fear visiting her once again- but only briefly. 

The Virgin’s eyes squinted a bit in the moonlight, eyeing Sigdaw. Her eyes flared and her mouth opened slightly when she seemed to notice the tiny woman in her hand was jilling off. She seemed to take pause herself, unable to comprehend why someone, one who had just seen her devour another woman of her size, would find it prudent to pleasure herself. 

It seemed to confuse her, which Sigdaw found… enticing. 

For a second, nothing happened, but then this: the Virgin touched her bottom lip. Even more so was the way her green eyes softened, the black hair drooping ever so slightly over her face. Sigdaw continued to stroke herself softly, the intensity slightly abated. 

A shudder passed through the Virgin, a sharp inhale that caused Sigdaw’s own hair to move towards the open mouth. The Virgin was thinking, she realized- something she may not have ever considered before, a simple curiosity that Sigdaw herself had once explored. Feelings of something, something like maybe lust or maybe even deep longing, like what she wanted was just before her. All she had to do was give in, submit, and curiosity would be satisfied, maybe even fulfillment would be found.

With all her heart, Sigdaw hoped it was so!

Gently, ever so caress-like, the Virgin loosened her grip on the tiny girl and brought her to her mouth. There she gave not a peck, but a long draw, deep and filled with passion. The kiss had engulfed her head entirely, and Sigdaw shivered with delight mixed with the overpowering feeling of surrender. 

The Virgin retracted Sigdaw from her kiss, her face flushed with blood. Her tiny plaything panting as well, her hand still thrusting in and out of her moistened nethers. 

The Virgin licked her lips again, this time in a hunger that was more than for flesh or consumption- with her free hand, the Virgin first softly took Sigdaw by the arm and pulled it away from her vagina, causing Sigdaw to shudder from the sudden air flow. Once done, Virgin then pushed Sigdaw’s delicate legs open, exposing her to the goddess and the world. But, as far as Sigdaw was concerned, it was only these two.

She moaned softly, closing her eyes, anticipating what was to come. 

The Virgin opened her mouth, letting her tongue loll out, reading for the second meal of the night. 

“Oh, mine goddess… I beg thee- let me be thine!” she cried out, ready.

Sigdaw realized that she wasn’t feeling the ecstasy of cunnilingus from her sacred goddess, and deigned even to open her eyes. The sight that greeted her was not friendly- the goddess had closed her mouth, a frown creeping upon her lips. Once warm eyes now regarded her with something not unsimilar to disdain. Before she could realize what was happening, Sigdaw found herself falling very, very fast, down down down…

Until she hit the carpet below. Her legs twisted under her, folding in ways that should not be. She fell onto her back, too in shock to scream, too out of breath to 
say anything. 

Her arm, she could still move her arm. She reached up, trying to reach out and up to her love- the love that had just killed her. 

There she stood, naked and lovely. Sigdaw, true to herself and her love, used her other hand, two fingers crushed into terrible shapes, to touch herself- and surprised herself to find that she still had feeling.

“G… g…” she croaked, but the words were hard coming. 

The Virgin, still tall, still lovely, still naked. Looked down on the woman with hands on her hips.

“I have to admit,” she said, suddenly very softly, “I almost wanted it.”

She raised her foot above Sigdaw. 

“Godd… godde…”

“But I can’t. None of you can live.”

She began to lower her foot. It all suddenly came back to her, rushing- Sigdaw remembered her time on the Virgin’s foot-printed sandal, pleasuring herself. This is what… this is what she wanted! Even if she was going to die… at the very least, she would die under the foot of hr love, her queen, her goddess.

The foot continued to lower.

Sigdaw continued to pleasure herself, her fingers screaming in agony. 

As the foot lowers, Sigdaw came up to greet it, her lips pursed. But…

But something was wrong. It was all wrong.

As the warm foot flesh made contact with Sigdaw’s body, it was different- the rank smell of blood filled Sigdaw’s nostrils, assaulting her. As the pressure mounted, being unable to move her arms, her head, and the breath being forced out of her, she realized that it was nothing like she thought. 

She began to scream, loud and painfully, diminished only by the cracking of ribs. Broken bones pierced her lungs and flesh, her organs spilling out of tears and from her anus. Finally, the mounting pressure was too much, and her head cracked open- stars filled her eyes and then all the lights and sounds and tastes and smells combined in one loud angry shout before finally going black. She did have one coherent thought before all fell apart. 

“Would my goddess hold me, caress me?”

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

One quick crunch and it was over. Warm blood seeped all over her foot and between her toes, and the Virgin knew that she was gone.

Still, something bothered her- she saw her eyes as they… connected- there was something genuine there, wasn’t there? She thought briefly about the passion that overtook her. 

What in the world was that?

She shook her head- it was nothing, it was a passionate fling, naught else. She was nothing more than just another one of these little monsters to be destroyed. But still- if there was any that the Virgin would remember tonight, it would be that little woman. Her, and quite possibly, the woman she had eaten. 

She wondered, though: did the last one have a name?

The thought left her mind as quickly as it had entered, and, feeling a little sad but not for long, the Virgin went to the kitchen.

A lot of these bugs were still inside her bedroom, where her cell phone was. And she would need a bit of help to get to it.

In the end, she decided that she would use a mallet. A meat tenderizer, really, but for her purpose it was most certainly something of a war hammer. All steel, flat on one end, spiked on the other; if it was three feet longer, it might've been seen on ancient battle fields. She realized, however, that she'd never really used it before, even in food preparation. She wondered- what would the manufacturer think of her using it this way?

She hefted the thing in her hands, giving it a few spins. She swung it once, twice, to know what it felt like. Of course, she only could know what it felt like to swing and hit only air. Once she entered her room and started attacking the tiny army that infested her bed... Well. That would be something different entirely.

She tried to imagine what it would be like- to bring the mallet down on someone. They'd veritably explode, no doubt. Their skeleton would crack completely, joints burst, skin rip, blood expelled. Every thought they might have had, every memory- gone in a quick and loud splat. 
She imagined, then grabbed hold of a reference- she had crushed quite a number of them under her feet, hadn't she? She unconsciously wiggled her toes and shifted her feet, still grown sticky from the blood she splattered on them. She crinkled her nose when she realized how dirty her feet had become.

She found herself moving towards the kitchen sink and reaching for one of her dish towels. The water was turned on, and she ran the cloth beneath it, wetting it completely. Then reaching down, she wiped the gore off her feet and between her toes. Occasionally she scrape off a shed of skin or hair, remains from her rampage. The white cloth became utterly red, soaked with the blood of who knows how many.

More than she could count. 

After she finished, she tossed away the cloth into her trash bin, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to wash it. Not that she wished to remember this night, not how many lives she'd snuffed out under her toes. 

She wasn't a monster, after all. 

Or was she?

For whatever reason, the guilt had lessened to the point of a nonissue with her- certainly she felt bad for killing all of those little bugs, somehow the thought of it being justified solidified in her mind. She thought it was seeing the other tiny woman raped and murdered.

It passed on her as curious, however, that she felt guilty after her own attempted violation- those little people had been trying to enter her, through her vagina. 

That certainly qualified as rape, didn't it?

She recalled digging out someone from her womanhood. He had been whole, she knew, but when her fingers pressed him against the wall of the cavity, she had turned him to a wet red mush. She shuddered at the memory- the way the man whipped off of her fingers and onto the

floor.

So messy. She was a big girl, though, so she could make any kind of mess she wanted. 

She thought about the people she stepped on, turned to paste.

A very big girl indeed.

The Virgin began to walk towards the bedroom door where her phone and the rest of the toy people she had trapped were, mallet in hand. Was she ready for this, she wondered? She wasn't going in there in peace, that was for certain. They'd probably run from her, most assuredly. And she'd smash them all- under her hands, her knees. The mallet, under her butt, her feet.

Her feet!

Her legs stopped walking her towards the door, all of a sudden cognizant of something. She had just washed her feet. And here she was, about to enter an arena where her feet, if she were aggressive about it, would get very dirty an sticky all over again. 

She sauntered over to her apartment door again, becoming once more wary of the soft sheen of light emanating from it- the voltage that had put her on her ass. Being as careful as she could, she grabbed a pair of soft sandals from the line of shoes, among her short boots and flats. 
She couldn't have known that the footwear she chose had been the very ones that had enthralled Sigdaw, her last victim, not days past. 

She slipped the sandals on her feet, doing the straps up one by one, thinking. Who would have guessed that, when she had bought these, she'd be snuffing out life with them? She flipped her now sandal-shod foot over to look at her sole. Smooth as a dream, the sole was. No place, no groove for bones or blood or skin to get stuck inside of.

It was a very odd feeling, wearing nothing but sandals. Sure, she'd worn a bikini and sandals at the pool once or twice, but that at least covered her privates. Like this however, it felt awkward. She almost felt embarrassed. But why? No one was around. More than a hundred people had just seen her full glory naked not thirty minutes ago. 

She thought about that, wiggling her toes within the sandals. She had always loved the way she was covered but barefoot with these shoes. 

Standing up to her full height, she realized she was ready to go, and began walking over to her bedroom door, this time with hammer in hand and, more completely, sandals on feet. 

She listened to her footsteps, the only thing audible here at night. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. 

She shivered when she thought about what her footsteps sounded like to the tiny people in the room. 

Thooom. Thooom. Thooom. Thoooom.

That had to be terrifying- a giant coming to get them, all fe fi fo and fum. A big woman, all business, a goddess. 

Yes, a goddess!

That thought had delighted her. She didn't remember much of what was said during her time in captivity, however, she did recall there being a mention of a goddess. And there, lovely and naked and wearing naught but sandals and a smile, she certainly felt like one.

Arriving and the door and setting her free hand on the knob, she took a deep breath. Was she ready to do this? Ready to take more lives?

A pang of guilt and doubt shot through her like an icy breath. What if she was wrong? What if...

No.

She made her choice. They, more importantly had made their choice, when they raped and killed that woman, one of their own. They chose when they tied her down and tried to rape her. They would pay... And if she had to dispense justice herself, so be it. 

The Virgin, her hands shaking no longer, opened the door.

The sandal fell on the tiny man with inhuman speed- it would've been like being hit by a freight train, if he had any inkling of what those things were.

The Virgin heard his minuscule bones crunch underfoot, and she twisted her foot while shifting her weight on it. Any hard bone or organs that had been left over from the initial stomp was ground out, flattening the man completely into the hard wooden floor. 

The woman being held by the Virgin, a stout and hardy thing, shook violently, unable to comprehend the information she was seeing. Very rarely had she ever been scared like this, but this time may well have been the worse. And, in all likelihood, probably her last she knew.

She watched the Virgin ground out the tiny man underfoot. The man was someone she had known, very briefly, as they had coupled once. He had no real attachment to the man, but seeing a once squeeze literally squeezed to death was disturbing to say the least. 

The Virgin finished her dark work with a final twist of her foot, biting her lip slightly. The woman trembled even further when the Virgin's eyes lighted upon her, the captive.

For a split second, the woman was unsure what would happen, and the trembling stopped. She had seen what she'd done to the others- many crushed underfoot, some under her hands. A couple on the bed she sat on, bringing her tremendous assets down on the screaming survivors of the first carnage.

In the end, she did none of that. She only smiled at the woman, curiously. The woman in her hand felt someone between fear and puzzlement, but her wonder was only short lived- she felt the two fingers squeeze harder and harder, but not to the point of breakage- but goddess damn them all, did it hurt!

The pain was so great that the tiny woman did not see the other hand come up, her finger cocked and ready like a pistol. She felt a great rush of vacuum, air displaced, and she was hit by a train. Everything whitened in her eyes, and she realized that she was flying... But something was wrong. Very wrong. Her neck was screaming, and she felt so much lighter, as if the flight was something new to her, but more freeing.

The stop came very abruptly, in the bed in fact, but even that was strange- only her head seemed to hurt. As she realized that she was rolling on, unimpeded by any limbs or torsos, she got a glimpse of the giantess who had held her.

And she was still, it seemed, holding her body. She blacked out, never to wake. 

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

The Virgin was disappointed- the woman's head hadn't flown very far when she flicked it. 

Still, it had been interesting enough to do. She dropped the now bleeding body, letting it crash on to the floor beneath unceremoniously. 

She sucked the blood off of her fingers, enjoying the salty savor of the red life. Surely the tiny woman wouldn't mind. As she licked her lips, leaving a smidgen of red across her pink, she surveyed the room once more. Not but a few left. She could finish soon.

When she had first entered the room, most of the remainder of the group had been in a small clump in the center of the room, some on their knees and  praying, others supine and even some of those on top of them, thrusting or receiving. 

It had been absurdly easy to get rid of most of them- she got in two stomps before they scattered like leaves in the wind. Before she scampered off to chase them, she noticed that they were huddled around a piece of her clothing- her initial footfalls hadn't been in the center of the groups, but the sides instead. She noticed that they were crowded around a woman on top of the clothing. After chasing down and crushing the life out of most of them, she only then glanced back. She couldn't see very well, not in this light. However, it didn't look like she was going anywhere, so she could afford to take her time, it seemed.

She did so, crushing many underfoot, a couple on her bed under her ass, and not but a few under the spectacular hammer she had brought. She was methodical, taking her time. She found, with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction, that she was enjoying herself. She found herself grinding her teeth as she ground her foot on someone, ending their life. She was... Angry. Sad. Furious. Emotional. She was a lot of things, but mostly, she was sure that everyone was going to die.

One was trying to run, and she giggled when she backed him into a corner. He got on his knees and started to pray to her, begging her through gross sobs to not kill him. The Virgin ended him quickly, crushing him underfoot. She didn't want him to suffer any longer than necessary. 

I'm not a monster after all, she thought to herself, scraping his viscera off her sandal. 

At last, it was done. She was about to turn and grab her phone when she heard a small croak. The woman! On top of the clothing she had noticed! She sauntered over to where the croak came from, her footsteps, even to her, sounding sonorous on the ground.

Doom. Doooom. Dooooooom.

She placed both her feet to flank the woman on both sides, noting how enormous either looked in comparison- the woman, all cracked and bent and bleeding, was no larger than the Virgin's small toe. 

She bent down, squatting to get a closer look at the woman. She gasped in surprise as it dawned on her that the woman was the very same crone that lorded over her at the beginning of tonight. In her panic while leaving the bedroom, she hadn't taken note of what happened to the occupants of the tower they'd built on her neck. It toppled over, she might surmise, but as to the occupants... 

She supposed one of them had fallen down all the way here.

The Virgin sat there thinking for a minute, hovering over the little body. She was about to stand up and go grab a trash bag when... Movement. She froze, mid rise. The night air seemed to chill also, white moonlight seeping in. 

Again. Movement, right below her. 

The tiny woman was still alive.

Getting to her hands and knees, the Virgin held her face slightly above the withered old thing. 

Haggard breathing. Raspy, faint, but there nonetheless. 

The priestess was alive! 

As if on cue, the tiny woman coughed, and a fine spray of blood found itself across the floor. 

She was alive, but not for long it seemed. 

"You're alive," said the Virgin, "are you okay?" 

A stupid question, she thought.

"Everyone's gone," she added, as if it mattered. How little emotion attached to that phrase unnerved her- it was like telling someone that they came too late to the party of that they were out of dish soap. The detachment the was on some level horrifying in the extreme but that part of her was still pushed out, out along with any self-doubt or remorse. Still, she bent over, concerning for this little woman almost out of habit. Out of nature. 

Funny, considering her nature had flew out the window this evening.

The tiny woman turned her head slowly up at the thundering voice above, that of a goddess. She knew instinctively that it was the Virgin she had sought, but she looked upon her anyway. She felt the wisps of air that were generated by the dangling hair above, pulsating softly with each shift in pressure. Her own wisps of hair on her whitened head twitch violently- it reminded her that any movement from these giants were torments for folk of her kind. Such a disparity. Such a difference. 

"Verily," she croaked, "such trial."

The Virgin piqued her ears at this.

"What was that?" She softly spoke, bending down again ever so slightly. The priestess coughed again, this time covering only barely with her hand, blood still crying from the ground. 

The priestess said something again, but it was nearly inaudible. Tired of straining, the Virgin reached down and ever so gently scooped up the remains of the woman. The diminutive priestesshood cried aloud in pain, but the Virgin paid no mind. She stood with her passenger now in hand, and brought her to her face. 

Now level, without the hindrance of having to be looked down upon, the Virgin took a long look at the crone.

She was ancient, in a word. Wizened and white. Skin spots and laugh lines. Crows feet. Anything polar to youth resided in this decrepit hollow. If death had a grandmother. 

The Virgin reflected for a moment, thinking back. Not hours ago. She... She knew it had been a group effort, what had happened to her. This old bitch didn't solely tie her down on her lonesome, pass ropes trough her toes, slice the throat of some young girl to dribble her blood into her open mouth. She didn't do all of that herself. And yet...

And yet. Here she was, the head of it.

The Virgin flipped the woman around in her fingers, gripping her on her sides between thumb and fore, on either side of the chest. She brought her close, close to let her breath wash over the broken thing. 

"I couldn't hear you. But I think you're still alive," she said, her eyes looking her captive up and down. A huge surge of emotion sweltered through her. Part of her just wanted to squeeze her hand then be done with it. The other part of her wanted to drag it out. Another part of her, much lower than her brain, wanted to consume her.

She felt her fingers grow tighter around the woman.

“Not for long, anyhow.”

The tiny priestess let out a croak. She struggled to loosen her arms from the vice and put them on the two digits that held her captive, her feet wagging limply under her like a soft paddle. Crimson leaked out of the corners of her mouth, the occasional cough letting even more spill out ot the front of her barebones ceremonial gown. It was soaked in blood, very likely her own. Then again…

“Well,” the Virgin began with a smirk, “looks like you’ve got your fair share of blood running down your front also, you little shit.” The smirk snuck to a grin. “Pretty ironic considering what you did to that girl earlier on. Tell me,” she boomed, bringing her finger to the side of her head to rest upon, “should I throw you to your little red-eyed demons as well? But oh!” She began, placing her hand over her mouth, mocking a shock, “they’re all gone.”

The Virgin shook her head, clicking her tongue at her in a mockery. 

“Guess you might just have to join them under my feet. That’s where most of them ended up anyways.” She absentmindedly ran a free finger on the skin of her stomach.

“H… H…”

“Hmm? What was that?” The Virgin brought her up to her ear to listen.

“Hon…. Honored... sa…sacrif… ce.”

It took a second before the word rooted and fully revealed itself to the Virgin. She wished that it hadn’t. The idea took hold of her, and made her heart palpitate. It was coming back to her, the red. She clenched her jaw, let the maggots swarm in her stomach. Honored sacrifice. The tiny, screaming woman that had her throat slit was the honored sacrifice.

The Virgin swallowed, preparing herself to say what she wanted. 

“Sacrifice. For me?” She let the words hang in the still air. “Or you?”

The priestess coughed again, spraying blood on the Virgin’s fingers. 

“The…” she grimaced, gritting her gums and what remained of her teeth. In a frenzy, she lifted her arms to the sky, to the moon, the sun, to death.

“Goddess!”

The Virgin swore that she had heard an echo. Not just in the room, but… everywhere. Everyone. Every…how. 

“Your goddess…” The Virgin said, lowering her head. “Your goddess. I’ve seen what your goddess can do. She can’t protect any of you. If your goddess can’t hear you, maybe she’s away on vacation, or maybe she’s sleeping.”

She looked back up at the priestess, who had fallen from her confession. Once more a tiny mouse of a woman, no longer the prophetess of blood and thunder. And by the great Gaea, did the tiny woman feel it! The Virgin's visage, naturally soft and round, became hardened and not unlike the scriptural account. Where once a young and pretty face was now was plastered a wrathful, vengeful spirit- eyes narrowed and filled with fire and tears. The mouth clenched and teeth made bare. She could not prove it, but yea, she could testify and would for the rest of her life, the light of godhood shined in the Virgin's eyes!

The priestess was overcome.

Surely this was the goddess incarnate come to reclaim her people! An aura of light haloed her head and face, fire blazed down from the heavens! Holy holy holy was she, queen of all the earth and heavens, the earth her throne, its inhabitants her footstools.

Thus saith the Lady her Goddess,

"Your goddess is nothing! She's powerless to help you... powerless. Don't you know, little one?

The Virgin stood to her full height, the rush of air pushing the tiny priestess down. There she stood, a colossus, and the priestess could not peel her eyes away. 

"I," she began, regally, terrifyingly, the words echoing, "am your goddess."

The priestess trembled. Converted was she.

"And I control your life and death. You've done a lot of terrible things," she confessed, "and you deserve to pay for your sins." 

Her eyes were still filled with that fire divine. The tears, however, had dried some.

"And vengeance is mine. You're going to pay for what you've done to me and those others." 

The Virgin sauntered over to the desk where she pulled the chair towards her. She batted off her slippers from the cushion and sat down to it, still holding the priestess in a vice grip.

"Now, as I recall," she cooed, shifting to a more comfortable position, "you were trying very hard to get into me. Not even with my permission!"

She spread her legs, exposing herself and feeling the cool rush of air flow up into her. She was still dripping and wet from the events of that evening. She realized, even now, that she had a... Need. A need that ached and pronged her. A desire that she'd never explored before, not even with that other tiny woman. Never once had she known man or woman, and her family had expressly forbidden it while she was younger, even the exploration of herself with her fingers. Carnal knowledge was a mystery to her, something reserved for holy matrimony. The Virgin, by combination of environment and her own self-restriction, had never experienced the joy of release.

But she wasn't the Virgin anymore, not tonight. 

She was the Goddess.

"But now, you little cunt, you have my permission. You can enter me... But only with my help."

The Goddess began, bringing the tiny woman down to her exposed womanhood. She began to rub her softly on her clitoris, stimulating and breathing sharp, soft inhales from her. She closed her eyes, feeling the build up.

"Mine goddess, nay..." Came the protest. 

The Goddess heard her but continued- she continued to keep her eyes closed, a lovely little smile on her lips. Moaning, she spoke, "but this is what you wanted...? Mmmmmg..."

The rubbing became faster, and the priestess found strength in her arms to start beating and grabbing for the fingers that held her captive, but it was only so futile- they were barely felt, and did nothing. 

It continued. The Goddess bit her lip, feeling the build-up rise another level. She'd never gotten this far in pleasuring herself prior to.

Then again, she wasn’t completely alone, was she?

The priestess was full-on struggling, finding it harder and harder to breathe. She had in only a very few times felt such panic before. She began to cry, flailing and wailing her arms about, trying to punch and kick and grab whatever pieces or folds of flesh were available. The Goddess only intensified her moaning, half-screaming, "oh god, oh my god yes, please keep doing that!" 

It was almost a few breathes every thirty seconds now, and the priestess' vision blurred. The lights dazzled in and out and played across her vision. It was getting harder and harder to control her body.

She could barely keep conscious.

The Goddess, however, paid no heed to the cries below. In her mind the fireworks and lights danced across her vision as well, but they showed such a different picture. She couldn’t keep her toes from wiggling in her sandals, and she flexed her legs inwardly. She pressed, harder and harder, the woman onto her clitoris, stroking herself into oblivion.

She nearly crested, reaching another plateau- her body flooded with endorphins from her spine to her extremities, and the Goddess shuddered with ecstasy. She shifted her helper lower, engulfing her into between the labia minora- she was briefly, although distantly, aware that someone had died in there. She wondered, brokenly, if the priestess she now abused (yes, she knew- she’d have no illusions, she decided) knew that the gunk that covered her was part of her entourage. She thrusted her deeply- a few inches in. The nerve endings screamed inside of her, lavished by the wrigglings of the nearly unconscious woman.

The Goddess flexed, and felt the walls close in on her fingers and play thing. She pulled her out, slowly, letting her extremities tickle her.

She was nearly there.

The priestess could take no more- she struggled to stay awake but it was oh so hard. Her broken bones screamed and she continued to cough up the bloody mucus. Gathering her strength, she let out a cry, desperately calling for mercy.

It fell on deaf ears.

In she went again, clawing at the sides of her captor’s wet box. The Goddess began to thrust her inside and out, pulling her up and out, sliding her inside while brushing softly her clitoris.

Then, without any warning, it happened- something touched right or the neurons fired a certain way, but there it was. A shock ran through the Goddess as she orgasmed- the world went white and her breaths came shuddering and fast. Her toes curled, digging into the soft leather of her sandals. It grew, grew, grew- she was one with the universe, nothing else mattered- she was a giant, a tiny insect, a queen, a goddess- all of it! Rainbows graced her vision and she couldn’t help but smile in complete and raw ecstasy. She peaked, peaked, peaked- and she never felt as though she might come back down. Her neck and back arched, towards the heavens, a prayer to whatever might be listening.

Her pussy tightened on the woman who was still inside and she pinched her fingers, crushing her and bursting her like a ripe melon. It squirted out and past her fingers onto the floor below, staining a shirt she had left below- the last trace of person who called the sacred feminine their tomb. After what seemed like glorious, heavenly hours of climax, the Goddess fluttered back down on a chariot of clouds to the mortal realm. Blood, discharge, and gore seeped out from her womanhood, eeking out between her fingers and the walls. The priestess, completely eviscerated, was no more.

The Virgin pulled her fingers out of her soaking cunt, seeing the blood mingle with the discharge. She gave it a small lick as her eyes fluttered closed. The light was pouring into the window, the first fingers of dawn making their way into the room. The Goddess could reach her phone to check the time, call for help, but…

What was the point? It was over.

The realization was not bitter or sad- she was glad to be done, but like after any orgasm, she had no idea what to do. She was spent, she knew, and sleep would come.

And when it did, it found her bloody and smiling and content and glorious.

He called out to her as she was taking the final bag of filth out to the garbage. He seemed to be just as surprised and she was, and when she met him she was that they were both shaking. 

"You," she exclaimed.

"Thou!" He exclaimed.

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

The Goddess had cleaned up, she was no longer the naked lovely thing that has visited destruction on the entire tiny nation and people- when she woke up just past noon, she had showered and cleaned herself and her insides very well. After showering she donned clothes, a simple garb of jeans, blouse, and her grey checkered sneakers- the shoes that had marked the start of her rampage- though that was unbeknownst to her. Her apartment was filthy- the floor sticky with viscera and blood, remains everywhere. Her bed was done-it couldn't be cleaned no matter how much elbow grease, bleach, or tears she could muster. The sheets, too- the very large spot of red couldn't possibly be explained away, too big even with any menstrual cause. She decided to throw away the sheets, cut up the mattress, and take it far away to the dump past city limits- if she cut out the larger red spot, it shouldn't be more than glanced at. 

She spent the rest of that morning scrubbing and wiping away. She was very grateful that her wooden floors had been redone in recent years, and only with a bit of product did the remains of her carnage come loose. She was grateful to find that the obstacle on the door was done away with. She did not see the spell dissipate, but she knew it happened between when she last saw it and when she woke up. Had the priestess' death done away with it? The murder of the little people? Or had the sunlight dissipated that dark magic? 

Who knew? Who cares, she concluded.

She'd killed a lot of bugs that night, she knew. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Most of their bodies, she knew, wrapped up in plastic bags, but one, she realized, was still digesting in her stomach. 
Now that had been a weird sensation. Of all the deaths she caused, her eating the woman still made her... Shudder. Not out of fear, but, something else. It brought butterflies to her stomach. They fluttered about. She remembered, with something like fondness, of the feeling of holding another person in her mouth. Even more so, the crunch of bones or the iron tang of blood. 
She stopped. She cursed herself- she was getting worked up. She couldn't believe it- of all the things, the take away was that she was a cannibal. 

And yet, there was something so sweet about it. For her, of course.

She realized, with a bit of disappointment, that she'd probably never do something like that again. Imagine her surprise when she heard a tiny voice cry out across the room as she took the last bag of garbage out.

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

"You," she exclaimed, shock wide on her eyes.

"Thou," he confirmed, holding his hands up. "Pray, lady virgin, peace. I asketh thee only for talk."

The Goddess was nonplussed. She sauntered over to him. He was standing on the couch arm, wearing naught but a skinny loincloth. Surely it was another one of those same tiny folk. She squirmed at the obviousness of the conclusion, chiding herself. 

'No, it's my tiny neighbor, Al!' She told herself sarcastically.

The tiny man backed up nervously, keeping his hands held up. The Goddess figured that he would be indeed very wary of her, a woman several hundred times his size- and his people's monster, no less. She softened her approach slightly, feeling the return of a more gentle her. The weight of it all had returned somewhat to her when she woke, and she was not so quick to harm- this one had come to her in meekness- and the curiosity of it had overcome her. 

She knelt down, becoming eye level with the minuscule man- he also wore the skimpy loin cloth and nothing else. She noticed a black hair and darker eyes, even at that size.

"You're very brave," she began, feeling stupid for that being the first thing said, "to come out like this. Who are you?" The inquisition was not unfriendly, she found. 

"I am Jawm, oh Virgin. Who art thou?"

She told him.

"Verily I see. Pray, hear me, I must thank thee for-"

"Wait, how did you know?"

He stopped, eyed her warily.

"Know? Knoweth what?"

"That I've never had sex." She swallowed. "How'd you know I was a virgin?"

The tiny man himself began to shift. She would have no idea, would she? It struck him as queer, that idea- she came from an entirely different world. A much larger one.

He smiled and held out his hands. 

“Behold, we hath gained the ways to tell. A piece of thy garment, a hair… our magic is telling.”

She didn’t understand. But, the again, she supposed that that didn’t matter.

“Ooookayyyy…” she bit her lip. “Well… what did you want to talk about?” She crinkled her nose at a sudden thought- he was going to chide her.

“I… I killed all of you. Well, not all of you, you’re obviously here, but,” she covered her mouth. “Not, not that I want to kill you or anything, I mean… well, you do kind of deserve it, but…” she swallowed. It was like talking to a boy for the first time. “But I dunno, you weren’t there, last night. Like… was that your people? Your… tribe, I guess?”

“Verily, it was!” Jawm called up, smiling. “And thou hast done me well- forsooth, I am indebted to thee, as I did think when I was wont to cut thy bond- thou hath stopped the ritual from continuing on- thou art, or rather, were chosen to be last- but thou hast broken the chain, thou hath torn them to pieces, yea, and none can deliver.”

She gave a half-smile. She wasn’t used to praise- especially not from someone who probably had their family killed by her own hand… or rather, she thought foot.

“Well, I don’t… I didn’t want to. I was… well, I had to, and… wait, you cut the rope last night?”

He nodded vigorously.

“I see, but… wait. Chosen? Ritual?”

“Verily!” he practically burst. “We hath many a time sacrificed thine own kind to prolong ours- thou were meant to be a similitude, an effigy, yea, even a savior. Many times hath we consumed others, in fact I hath been a part of one and half score, and thou were-”

“Wait.” The Goddess cut him off. He looked at her, lowering his hands, as he had brought them up to aid him in explaining. “You’ve… done this before? The whole… tying up and,” she swallowed, “raping?”

He laughed.

He fucking laughed, thought she.

“Nay, nay, we were not wont to rape thee! But instead consu-aack”

The Goddess gripped the man between her fingers, bringing him up to her face, all filled a-fury.

“Lady Virgin, please! What art thou-“

A thumb pressed on his face, covering his mouth. He began to flail, desperately trying to wrench free. All relaxation was gone.

“So many innocent people.”

She sighed and closed her eyes.

“So much fear. And hate. And screaming. How many times did they beg for mercy?” She opened her eyes, gritting her teeth. Her black hair veiled her eyes and all that lay before Jawm was a forest of shiny black vines. “How many did you kill?”

The little man in her fingers continued to flail. She felt a small pinch on her thumb, a sharp but tiny sting. He was biting him.

She chuckled, bitterly.

“Oh, you little boy…” she began, licking her lips. “Don’t you know that this meal is only for me, your goddess?”

His eyes went wide for the split second before he went in. He didn’t scream, didn’t flail, but only was motionless as the Goddess placed him between molars. He was gone in one quick bite, and his blood watered the teeth of his huntress.

She chewed, swallowed, and sat there.

And then, the weight of everything- her break up, her capture, her escape, her rampage, her remorse, her resolve, all of it- came rushing back to her. She began to sob, hot tears running down her cheeks. She sat down and buried her hands in her face.

She just simply couldn’t handle everything that had happened.

James had opened the door on the third knock. He looked confused as he saw his exe standing there at his apartment door.

“Rose? Are you okay… what are you doing-“

“James, listen, I know you broke up with me. I want to talk… I think I’m ready.”