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