11

Pan chucked the empty blue bottle into one of the little buildings and bent down to grab a replacement. She levered its crinkled top off and again tilted her head back at almost a 90 degree angle. Her thick, dripping hair flew back in a beautiful cascade and spritzed the humid air with her cool, shampoo-tinged sweat. Again her mouth and throat worked with nearly-mechanical synchronicity and the cold, bubbling brew pumped down her throat and into her belly.

 After several seconds of furious guzzling, this giant bottle was empty too.  She tossed this one backwards, and her ears perked as she heard it, and several other things shatter. She was pleasantly surprised to find she already had a nice head buzz after only 2 beers. She must’ve weakened her resistance to real, quality beer with all that cheap, watery shit she was used to drinking back home. 

Not wanting to risk losing her pleasant beer-high, she quickly grabbed and slurped dry three more of the bottles dry in turn; skillfully sucking them down as though they were water. A sudden look of mild discomfort distorted her attractive face and her glistening lips opened, forming a wide O.

 A bubbling cloud had swelled up in her chest and she pushed it up and out. A loud, low growling belch split the air and echoed down the streets and alleyways around her. It drew on for several seconds and strange gurgling animal-like noises joined the bassy bellow.

 This demonic burping was at perfect odds with her angelic features, which twisted and twitched with its ejection. Something so gorgeous should not make those sounds naturally. It gave the impression she was either lip-syncing or under fiendish possession. Invisible odorous clouds, smelling sweet, alcoholic, and rotten all at once, curled sinisterly through the humid air. A flock of grey pigeons, small air-born dots to Pan, found themselves buffeted by such a cloud.

All the poor birds reeled against and fainted at the sickly-sweet stench. They spiraled downwards as one, plummeting to their deaths in nearly flawless, natural choreography. “This sort of demeaning death ought to be reserved for more loathsome foul than myself!,” One of the pigeons, a brash young poet, thought angrily as he rocketed towards the concrete, “…like Seagulls! Sea gulls deserve this! Not us! The obnoxious buggers! Always so brazenly squawking their wanton greed, not having a lick of respect for…” He was cut short by a sudden dose of gravity and exploded in a wet, upward puff of blood and feathers.

Finally, the monstrous roaring petered off. Pan closed her sensual lips once more, threw one of her giant hands up before her mouth daintily, and issued a girlish giggle. “Oopsy! Ex-cuse me!,” She chirruped between chuckles.    

She stooped again, reaching for the last beer. She popped it open but decided she would take with her; as a “road beer”. Smiling she pushed down on the buildings neighboring the one she had sat her hot ass down upon (and into), endeavoring to stand up. Her fingers crunched through their roofs and cracked their walls as the brick structures struggled to give her the support she demanded of them.

 Trickling showers of shattered bricks and dust again spewed onto the street, sidewalks and alleyways, but she eventually found enough purchase to hoist herself up.  She found that her towering legs were a little wobbly from the beer, and her head reeled abit with the sudden change in altitude, but she nonetheless continued her ascent.

 Her round buttocks lifted off the strained floor they had rested on. It was permanently bowed and bore the distinct impression of her perfect ass. It was concave and severely cracked, dipping nearly to the next floor down, where her round cheeks had sat and heaped up in forced ridges where her asscrack had been. Her butt jiggled and shimmied on its way up, loudly widening its entrance holes, and debris rained off of her. Finally she stood to her full height and headed back down the street, towards the water in the distance, and throngs of little people trying in vain to escape the city.

Again Pan’s massive feet hammered the road as she strode briskly towards her goal. The road crackled and shook beneath her and before long she arrived at the end of the street. A wall of buildings, about shoulder high blocked her advance. She peered over the one before her and saw the ragged crowds of people fleeing. She had caught up to them.  They utterly filled the street and sidewalks. Gridlocked lines of cars packed with families and loaded with luggage glimmered in the sun, and streams of tiny, panicked citizens milled in between, and sometimes over them. They rippled in desperate, but slow-going movement.

Their clothes were a delightful variety of colors, and they seemed like rainbow ants to her. The blaring of horns, strangled sirens and garbled overlapped cries and frantic shouts floated up to her ears. She sensed an increased tension; some must have seen her disembodied head floating ominously above the little building; seen her beautiful blue eyes scanning over them. They moved even more frantically, and the noises quadrupled in volume.  Smiling, beer in hand, she planted her elegant shoulder against the building, and began to push.

It creaked, but her shoulder began to crack the facade, and slip inside. She pulled it out and set her wide back flush against it. Her shoulders, back, hips and butt pressed and spread against it. Pan pushed backwards with her powerful legs. Her heels bit into the street, digging in deeply, and giving her firm footing. Her lithe, feminine muscles quivered and she heard the building groan. She pushed harder and felt it tilt, bend and snap. Its shadow darkened a screaming section of refugee-packed street as it fell.

Crushing showers of debris rained down from the falling stormcloud of a building. Some ran kicking, clawing and trampling their doomed fellows, others fell to their knees, assuming the “tornado position” in a feeble defense against the violently scrabbling citizens and dropping debris. It pelted the writhing masses and vehicles below. Jagged glass cut citizens to shreds and speared into cars. Tumbling chunks of mortar and dislodged steel pipes and bars clattered mercilessly upon them, caving in skulls and automobile roofs alike.

People in cars tried to get out, but found their doors unable to open, pressed tightly shut by the panicked mobs squeezing past them. They honked and gunned their engines, crashing into each other and over people on foot, tires crunching bone and ripping clothes and skin. All their efforts were for not, the crumbling building fell upon them all. It smashed and collapsed into a pile of rubble over them, crushing and suffocating them. The giantess fell with it and added her immense weight; obliterating them completely.

The building gave in altogether suddenly. Drunken Pan didn’t register this quickly enough. Her arms stretched out and spun in useless arcs as she struggled to remain upright and keep her footing, but her heels dug out further into the road and she tumbled backwards onto the building and further compacted the rubble and citizens below. The gargantuan bottle of beer she had been clutching loosed itself from her hand during the collision and rolled to the side. It bowled over and crushed fleeing ant people and vehicles and gushed its contents onto them.

“Back tha FUCK OFF! HOMIE!,” Malcolm yelled and pushed the bearded motherfucker who had just crashed into him, sending him reeling back. The bearded man whose name was Chip slammed backward into a van, which rocked with the impact and honked its annoyance. Chip was slightly larger and more tattooed than Malcolm and didn’t take kindly to this. He stood to his full height and glowered from beneath a Prussian-blue swastika at the sneering wigger. “YOU stay out of MY WAY!, YOU FUCKIN’ PANTY-WASTE!,” and swung a sloppy haymaker at the young punk’s face.

 Malcolm managed to duck most of it, but the blow popped his ear, causing it to ring. This white-trash piece of shit didn’t know who he was messing with, Malcolm was an amateur boxer; a good one. He made his living knocking mother-fucker’s blocks off with his fists. So the two alpha males, a neo-fascist and a  gang-banger circled each other, trading blows while others ran screaming for their lives past them.

A loud, guttural groan and riotous crash briefly tore them from their testosterone-fueled bout of violence and saw the building, and giant woman crash onto people and cars. Hundreds of screams fell silent, clouds of scattering detritus blew-up into the sky, and something flew from the giantess’ hand and rolled towards them at break-neck speeds. “A giant beer bottle? One of Papa Bubbly’s? ,“ was all they had time to comprehend before finding themselves squelched onto the ornately worded label, right next to Please Drink Responsibly!.

Pan grunted at her mistake, then giggled at the humor of it. She must have looked fabulous flailing and falling. She rolled to her side, crushing struggling humans and upturned vehicles in the process and shakily stood up. She dusted herself off still snickering. Then she saw her overturned beer bottle. “Osh shhhit.” She had forgotten about it for a second. “That wass my last bottle.”

 She eagerly bounced over to it, crushing droves under her dainty feet. She watched disheartened as the amber bottle spewed its contents onto the street. But then she saw the little people struggling against the frothing torrent and splashing around in the quickly growing pool of bubbles and beer and got a wicked idea.

Pan backed up. Her feet smashed down onto people in the midst of praising their respective gods and beliefs for making her overstep them. Her knees, shins, elbows and forearms smashed countless more people and flattened more cars. They turned to bloody paste and oily metallic pancakes under her ruthless weight. Hundreds found themselves in the shadow of her body.

They clamored under her. She had cast them into a cave. Her pendulous breasts, which swayed and teasingly jostled into each other, her flat belly, heaving with her breaths, and her sweat and arousal-dampened crotch formed its ceiling. Her lean, muscular thighs and upper arms walled them in. The little people slipped on cracked asphalt, slick with blood, gasoline, oil and her sweat, which dripped down her glistening body and splashed down in abundant drops upon them. The pleasant flowery smell of her perfume, and the tangy aroma of her sweat washed over them. Those at the twilight zone under her pussy were treated to alluring, musky whiffs of her earlier arousal.

Pan pushed her arms forward, stretching like a cat. Her hands bulldozed over more hapless retreatees. They flipped and scraped cars, trucks and vans out of her path, and dozens more hapless little people were smeared to wet, crimson oblivion under and over her palms and fingers. She sank down, progressively lowering herself to lie on her tummy. The minute individuals beneath her falling form raised their arms, screamed and beat uselessly at her young body as it collapsed over them.

She felt little people struggle against her nipples as she sank ever lower. Their frantic thrashing only worsened their situation. It tickled the sensitive nerves bundled there and her nipples stiffened into hard points. She bit her lips as she felt the little men and women pop against them. Her breasts came next, further grinding the bugs under her nipples and spreading their warm crushing weight over dozens more. They flattened further over the doomed citizens, suffocating them and cracking their bones.

Her soft, but taut belly slammed into the next group, pulping them instantly, and finally her thighs and pelvis thrust downward over even more people and demolishing some more cars. A gas-guzzling SUV detonated in a searing explosion between the unyielding road and the toned flesh of her right thigh. The heat only tickled her, but incinerated another dozen tinies in its vicinity.

Finally she lay sprawled before her overturned bottle of beer. She folded her hands in front of her, rested her delicate chin on them, and regarded the scene. The stream issuing forth from the gargantuan bottle had slowed to a slight dribble.

Tiny people sputtered and coughed in a fast-forming frothing amber lake of beer, some floated lifeless upon it. The survivors looked behind and saw her staring at them and struggled further, attempting to swim and wade away. Their soaked clothes, pretty impressive depth of the frothy beer lake, and the fact that many had accidentally inhaled quite a bit of the strong brew, slowed them down and they made very little headway.

She smiled impishly at them and grabbed the bottle. With her marvelous blue eyes still locked firmly on the desperate swimmers, she brought it directly over them and turned it over, pouring the remainder of the beer down on them. The brown cascade of Papa Bubbly’s Famous Brew relentlessly bombarded them and drove them beneath the bubbling surface.   

When the bottle was empty, she pitched it ahead of her. It shattered and rained giant jagged shards of glass in its proximity, impaling people and cars. She touched her sumptuous lips to the lake of beer, what to her was only a small puddle, and slurped and lapped at it with her giant pink tongue. Gallons of beer seeped into her gaping mouth and she felt solid crumbs, which she knew to be people, bump and scrabble against her plush lips, before she sucked them in on the frothy beer-tide.  

She swished them around her mouth. Their bubbling screams of terror reverberated off her ivory teeth as her tongue prodded them. She heard them from inside, muffled, but audible, like Pop Rocks in her mouth. She played with them in each mouthful of beer she imbibed, sometimes pressing them to the roof of her mouth where they were allowed gasping, ragged breaths, before pulling them back into the heady brew. Then eventually, she would swallow the whole mouthful: beer, people, roadside debris, and once even a faithful dog that had dived into the puddle in a selfless attempt to rescue his blubbering owner (Poor lil’ guy. L Oh well. They all go to heaven, right? J)and all.  

Pan stood again to her full indomitable height, having licked, swigged and sipped the puddle to dryness. She had a real buzz going on now. Her limbs felt pretty “loosey-goosey” and her head was in a bit of a pleasant fog. She let out another riotous belch and found her body wracked with ticklish, giddy giggles as her ominous shadow stretched and fell suffocating the tiny road filled with toy cars and bug people stuck and wallowing helplessly in her attended path.