The radio inside a police cruiser was pumping “Solid Gold Hits of the ‘70s” when it became seemingly possessed. The thumping, danceable bass of The Miracles’ “Love Machine” was abruptly replaced by a crackling somber call from HQ. “Car 69, this is HQ. We need you to keep an eye out for a giant, destructive young girl in your vicinity. The captain is still pretty sure these crazies are pulling our leg, but there are enough of them plugging-up our phones to warrant a drive-by. She was reportedly last seen…” There was a distinct, annoyed air of sarcasm in the female dispatcher’s, throaty 900-number quality voice,”… vandalizing a Henry & Henry housing complex on Washington Ave., and is apparently headed toward the business district. Report back after you sweep the area. over.”
“Copy that, Honey-bee! We’re on tha case!” “Mad Dog” Mel Johnson threw his half-finished cup of coffee, black and strong as the man drinking it, out the window, lit a cigar with a match he struck on his cheek, clenched it in his gold teeth, flicked the siren on and gunned the customized engine of his tricked-out cruiser. He did all of this in a manner of seconds. His, partner, “By the Book” Danny Fitzgerald, a pale-complexioned, clean-cut rookie new to the force grabbed the “oh-shit” handle over his window and braced stiffly against the dashboard whilst pointing out studiously, “Littering is a ticketable offense…” “Mad Dog” Mel (A seasoned, veteran-cop who had been demoted from the position of Vice Detective to lowly patrol-men due to accruing an excessive amount of collateral damage on his last case) glowered at him from behind a thickly-tinted pair of aviator sunglasses and from beneath the thick shrubbery that was his salt-and-pepper afro. “Shut the hell up, jive-turkey! This shit’s about to go off like dyn-0-mite!” Car 69 left a stretching black trail of burned rubber and acrid gray smoke behind as it peeled off into a tight ally-way.
After ramming through various boxes, trash, crates, barrels of water, and one unlucky fruit-market, Car 69 and the cops inside arrived with a noisy peel just behind the giant woman. “Damn she’s fine as hell!” “Mad Dog”, loudly remarked, watching her glutes bounce around her skimpy shorts. The motion kept the light material pulled into her asscrack, so it stretched tightly over her buttcheeks, perfectly outlining them, much to the renegade cop’s delight. “Jus’ look at that sexy azz! Mmmm-MMm. I could make a dinner-a that!” His partner was sweating and trying his best to not look aroused. “yeah. Yeah it’s…(big gulp)…nice…”
“damn straight it is,” Mad dog continued as he swerved between abandoned cars and foot-shaped potholes in the asphalt. “I’d give her the mustache ride of her life!” He briefly stroked his black handlebars for effect. There car roared on, they were almost at her heels now, bouncing along to her thundering steps. “Too bad I gotta take this snow-skinned honey down…” Discarded Chunks of asphalt, gravel and wrecked cars fell from her massive sole and buffeted their windshield, cracking it in places. Mad Dog unholstered twin chromed .44 magnums, steering with his knee, and looked briefly at his partner. “Get ready to roll, partner. I’m about to butta this big, bad cracka bitch’s biscuits!” Paniced, sweaty Danny peered ahead, realized what the crack-pot grinning fiendishly at him had in mind, unbuckled his seatbelt, and cringingly rolled out the passenger door.
“Papa’s comin’ for you, mutha-fucka!” Mad-dog cried as he swerved car 69 onto a ramp-truck that sat idling, abandoned, and miraculously unharmed on the side of the road. The police car screamed forward, and left the truck in dramatic slow-motion and in a breath-taking upward arch. It’s windshield filled more and more with her juicy, bouncing ass. Car 69 collided, nose-first into her left cheek. Mad dog propelled through the shattering windshield, firing his hand cannons. The large-caliber bullets flattened against her ineffectually, each impact briefly flashing white. Slight vibrations rippled her firm backside and Car 69 crumpled under the stress of the impact, creaked and shattered. Glass, tires and doors flew off wildly. Momentum curved it perfectly to the contour of her ass, and electric sparks hitting the leaking gas-tank caused it to erupt in a searing-ball of flame.
She heard the puny siren behind her, growing louder at an alarming speed. Cops? About time, she supposed. She stopped and looked over her shoulder just in time to see Mad Dog’s custom cruiser jumping the truck and heading straight for her butt. “Uh-oh” She mouthed. The kamikaze cruiser crashed into her left cheek and lovingly flattened itself against it. It was like a gentle, playful swat to her. Its feeble siren cried its displeasure in a distorted voice like a toy-robot with low batteries then died. She giggled girlishly. But then the car exploded. Not good.
“By the Book” Danny sat rubbing his bruised shoulder, taking refuge in a side alley. He saw Car 69 crash into the monolithic woman. His eyes guiltily followed the little waves rippling her ass. He unconsciously licked his lips as the car bent against her and exploded shooting fire, hot-metal and presumably pieces of the late, great “Mad Dog” Mel out over the road and into near-by buildings. He wiped a single tear from his eyes and readied his shoulder-mounted radio. “HQ, this is Officer Danny Fitzgerald, car 69. Officer Mel Johnson is down. And that Godzilla woman you’ve been hearing about…,” he took a deep breath, “She’s very real. And very dangerous…” Then he clicked off his radio, and slid-down against the alley wall, holding cradling his head in his hands like a fragile egg. He spoke, “I’m too young and in-experienced for this shit.”
She flinched and gasped at the firey explosion, but was shocked to realize it didn’t hurt. White light flared over the parts of her ass that were in peril, and all she felt was a slight, warm tickling. The sparse, blackened remains of Car 69 slowly peeled off her buttcheek and fell, with a hollow clatter, to the ground, where it continued to smolder and melt. She noticed that her shorts weren’t even singed. When she peered closer at her own reflection in the building next to her she did spy one tiny, black spot, obvious and bold against the bright color of her shorts, where her buttocks met at the crack. And it was…moving?
“DAMN!,” Mad Dog cursed. He had lost his off-hand magnum and his half-smoked Cuban in the frantic jump to her ass. He watched them float to the ground, the magnum discharging on impact, shooting god only knew what. Then he whipped his attention back to the matter at hand. His beloved, customized car was ramming itself against her hilly cheek self-destructively, spraying glass and his tires, with custom chrome hubcaps every which way. He ducked his head, not quickly enough, sharp daggers of glass shot through his trademark afro, cutting fluffy bits off. Then he realized car 69 was bending towards him, it’s backend on its way to crushing him against her backend. “SHE-YET!,” He shouted, and using only his free hand, pulled the thick material the shorts he was clinging to and used the momentum to jump.
He flew flailingly through the air and landed in what he hoped was the relative safety of the cleft between the twin hills of her ass-cheeks. He braced himself, against the warm, jiggling walls she unknowingly provided him and hunkered down as he heard the dying warble of the police siren. He pressed his bristly face against her in the interest of further fortifying himself against the carnage yet to come and briefly digested the heady scent of her feminine sweat, mingled with lingering traces of a flowery soap. “Baby, you smell gooood..” He whispered into the course material beneath him. Whether it was the musky scent and firm, but giving nature of the body he clung to alone, or she was also sending out some kind of bedeviling super pheromones he didn’t know, but he desperately wanted to be on the otherside of the shorts. Then a deafening blast tore him from his reverence and sent fire tearing over her left asscheek. He felt hot flames pass over and sear his favorite leather coat, and smelled the tell-tale stench of burning hair as more of his afro was lost. The force of the explosion blew the fire out almost immediately and the shock wave almost knocked him from his perch. But he was Motha-fuckin Mad Dog. And Mad Dog wasn’t gonna go out like that!
It took her a moment to realize it was a little man, clinging stubbornly to the shorts covering her asscrack. She smiled mischievously over her shoulder at him. Keeping her eyes on him she arched her back and turned her upward thrust posterior closer to the building’s mirrored front to get a better view. The little cop appeared to be trying to climb out of the gully between her cheeks, which rose toweringly over him on either side. She was going to say something coy and smart-alecky, along the lines of “You attacked my ass. Now it’s my ass’ turn to attack you,” or somesuch. But she found herself a little husky at what she was planning to do, and only stared with heavy eyes and her mouth partly-opened in anticipation. She resisted the urge to grab her own delectable ass as the speck failed to make any headway. This would be more impressive, and hotter, if she didn’t use her hands. Then, letting out a sigh, she clenched her perfect cheeks over the little man.
Mad Dog began to try to climb, though he refused to holster or let go of his second pearl-handled magnum and the material of her nonsensically large “booty shorts” was too damned slippery to make any real progress on. His stomach lurched as she slightly changed her position. He was almost horizontal now; she was arching her back. He turned suddenly and gazed on the reflection behind them. He saw himself dwarfed by this woman’s immeasurable ass, and the blurred, ghostly visages of terrified people behind the glass, waching the scene play out before their eyes, and looking further up he saw her condescendingly grinning down at him. “Go ahead. Keep smilin’, you bitch! I’m gonna shoot you in yer pretty blue eyes when my ass gets up there!” Then her expression changed. Her eyes dropped to half-mast and her full lips parted suggestively. He felt the muscles on either side of him begin to tighten. “Ah, HELL NAW!” He always knew a white woman would be the death of him.
She watched transfixed as she squeezed her ass closed, the black spot lost in the collapsing, cheerfully-colored sea of her shorts. She heard a small, wet crunch as her cheeks came together like a car-compacter, squeezing the little cop out of existence. Sighing again, louder this time, she unclenched her ass and watched the tiny, infinitesimal dot that used to be a man fall from it. Smiling she brushed her butt off, though she saw no stains, and finally did give it a double-handed, playful, and appraising squeeze. Firm and ripe, she concluded, biting her lip. Then she straightened up and thought on what to do next. Her tummy rumbled ominously and she had a pretty good idea of what was next on the agenda…