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Story Notes:

Once again, the tags crash my browser.

This story contains: growth, giantesses in the 930ft-950ft range, destruction, violence, crush, female masturbation, minor expansion, urination, some puns and a corporate espionage subplot.

(P.s. I realize that giving a character the wrestling moniker of "Wildfire" and having them rampage through the Californian country side, a region commonly known for its very dangerous and common wildfire epidemics, might be considered somewhat tasteless. Please know the naming was purely coincidental. It was never my intention to poke fun at or capitalize on a very real, very recent disaster.)

(P.p.s. It's come to my attention that there is a very real pornographic actress and sex worker with the name "Lolla Blaze" with two L's. Any similarities between Ms. Blaze and the character Lola Blaze featured in this story are purely coincidental.)

Author's Chapter Notes:

the Dirty Dames Mud Wrestling League welcomes you to the biggest event on the west coast! This is Mudbrawl XL. -----

It had been a breakthrough unlike any they had ever seen. Full cellular replication within minutes of application. Their years of research, labour, and hard work had finally bore fruit.

Cheers and handshakes and congratulatory hugs had been passed around the room. Even though their work was far from over, it was clear to the small team at Terra Medical Solutions that proper celebrations were in order but where to celebrate?

"Mud wrestling? Are you serious, José?" Doctor Beverly Perkins, head biochemist at Terra and project lead, plied with incredulity.
"This is the biggest breakthrough we've had in years, possibly the greatest medical breakthrough in the last twenty years, and your idea of celebration is some trashy mud wrestling show?"

"Oh, come on, Bev." Professor Stanley Simmons, chief genetics advisor, spoke up.
"It sounds kinda fun."

"Yea, and it's not just any trashy mud wrestling show." José Alvarez, chemical engineer, interjected.
"It's Mudbrawl 3! This shit doesn't happen every day. Let your hair down, Bev. Live a little!"

Beverly sat back into her chair and scoffed. The notion that someone like her would spend her time at such a low class outing was an insult. She had spent her entire career working on this project, a breakthrough like this deserved a better celebration. One befitting a genius like Beverly. Crossing her arms, she shot an arrogant stare back at José.

"You pervs can go to your stupid show and watch some bimbos slop around like pigs on a farm. This project is going to win me a fucking Nobel prize, I can think of better ways to celebrate." She said, spinning back towards her work station.
"Besides, if you're taking Grant, somebody has to stay and watch the data finish compiling."

On the other side of the laboratory, a head peeked up from behind a monitor.

"Did somebody say my name?" Asked the bespectacled young man.

"Yea, Grant! let's go celebrate. Come on, buddy, what do you say?" José pitched enthusiastically.

"B-but who w-will finish the tabulations?" The young man sheepishly stuttered.

"It's fine, grant. I'll keep an eye on them. You do deserve a night off." Beverly assured.
"Besides, I don't mind working alone."

"Well, OK. If you say so, doc." The young man conceded.
"Where are we going, exactly?"


She shut the door to her über, silently considering getting back into the car and asking to be taken home. After a sharp exhale, Jennifer Harper walked to the back door of The Jewel Of The Springs gentleman's club and entered, stopping briefly to observe the schedule to see if she'd been booked for any more matches. She sighed a resigned sigh and headed to the ready room to put away her belongings and change into her costume, no doubt made skimpier since the last match.
The tall, blonde woman placed her purse and jacket into the cold metal locker, a row of them lining the wall of the ready room, and began to strip. Hanging from a clothing rack, a gaudy, sequinned two-piece bikini with some sort of leg warmers and feathered forearm sleeves sat, adorned with a tag that read "Harpy". She hated it all. She hated her awful stagename, she hated the slutty costumes, she hated the ogling from the damn Silicon Valley tech bros that thought they were better than her. She hated it, but mud wrestling paid her bills.

Donning her new costume, she gave herself a check in the mirror. The tall, beautiful blonde looked stunning in the revealing garment, much to her own chagrin. Her long, toned legs ran up to an hourglass waist and tight, firm butt that glistened in the blue and yellow sequinned bikini bottom. She ran her hands along a slight 6-pack, giving her abdomen a minute flex. At least the gym membership was paying off, she thought. She tied the string of her bikini top tightly, hoping to contain her modest c-cup breasts during the forthcoming match. Pausing briefly, she eyed the last piece of the ensemble, her least favourite piece, the feathered sleeves that made up her "Harpy" wings.

At 27 years old, Jennifer Harper had certainly hoped her career in wrestling would take off, just not like this. Since before she could remember, Jennifer had dreams of soaring off the top ropes, doing daring and acrobatic feats of athleticism in front of the whole world, winning the adoration of millions. Her passion was a burning flame that never dimmed. From middle school to high school, Jennifer championed her wrestling team to countless victories. Victories that, to her, were hollow. Jennifer wanted to be a professional wrestler, the kind that cut promos and endorsed cereals. The kind that told incredible stories and did their wonderful work on the canvas of the squared circle. So much so that when she saw an ad on Craigslist claiming "WRESTLERS WANTED. PROFFESIONAL TALENT NEEDED." she immediately answered without reading the details. Sure enough, when Jennifer arrived at the address the listing had provided, a strip club-turned-mud wrestling venue, she was incredibly disappointed with the job she was offered. Prancing around in a muddy pit with some other girl practically naked. This wasn't wrestling, not the kind she wanted to take part in. She was insulted, but the offer they made was a lucrative one, one worth swallowing her pride and accepting. A season contract was enough to put Jennifer through 2 years of the wrestling program and training camp she'd wanted to enroll in since she graduated highschool. She could suffer through a few months or degrading costumes and leering drunk men, it would all be worth it in the end.

Meanwhile, the back door to The Jewel swung open as another woman made her way in. With a head of short, fiery red hair, Lola Blaze strutted confidently down the halls to the ready room, 6-inch heels clacking on the tiled floor with every step. Lola was a seasoned veteran of the adult entertainment world. From strip clubs to amateur porn production, at the ripe age of 24, Lola had been through the best and the worst this scene had to offer, including the transition from stripping at The Jewel Of The Springs to being one of its star mud wrestlers.

The change was abrupt, but foretold. Flagging profits persisted for years and on the brink of bankruptcy, a drastic shakeup was needed. The establishment switched hands, younger management came to the rejuvenate The Jewel and funding from wealthy somebodies in the tech world gave way to the Dirty Dames Mud Wrestling League. The DDMWL quickly became a smash hit and franchised out to other clubs in the Bay Area, with the home base in Hope Springs, California, the quiet home of The Jewel Of The Springs.

Jennifer heard the clacking of heels, the telltale sound of Lola's arrival, and braced herself. Since she started mud wrestling, Jennifer's time at the Jewel had been made hellish by patrons in the front of house and Lola in the back. To her credit, Jennifer tried to extend the olive branch and make friends with the other girls at The Jewel, but her and Lola never quite clicked. They were complete polar opposites. Physically, Jennifer was tall and toned with long blonde hair, Lola was more stout and curvy sporting a short head of extremely bright red hair and a body full of tattoos. Even in the way they dressed, Jennifer wore more plain and casual athletic wear, Lola dressed in loud, flashy, revealing outfits. The differences ran deeper than just appearance, too. Where Jennifer was reserved, Lola was brash and loud. Where Jennifer was somewhat private and prudish, Lola was extremely outgoing and liberal with her sexuality. This trait in particular drove a wedge between them as Jennifer both resented and envied Lola's abundant freedom and confidence.

"Hey, Jenny!" She sneered, waltzing into the ready room, tossing her purse onto a chair.

"Hi, Lola. You know I don't like being called that." Jennifer casually exclaimed, focusing on the mirror as she applied a dark eyeliner. Lola perused the costume rack, landing on one garment labeled "Wildfire", her chosen stagename, pulling it from the rack. This interaction was what passed as pleasantries for the two wrestlers. At its worst, the pair could hardly say hello before a passive aggressive remark or outright insult was hurled at the other. Their relationship backstage quickly bled into their performance as Jennifer and Lola were frequently booked against each other with hopes to derive their feud of as much entertainment as possible, something Jennifer adamantly protested. Their animosity was well known in the DDMWL, and it was a commodity to be exploited.

Jennifer's insistence had bought a few seconds of precious silence. Lola, now clad in her skimpy uniform, sat in front of the mirror next to Jennifer and began putting on her makeup. Jennifer relished the reprieve for what it was, but knew that every second without words were ones that Lola would use to brainstorm some venomous comeback. To her surprise, no barbed remark seemed to follow.

"I put in the down payment on my new apartment." Lola said, focused on her blush. Jennifer said nothing, confused at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Bay livin' ain't cheap but it's a nice place." Lola continued.
"Two bedrooms, nice balcony, pet friendly..."

"That's great news, Lola." Interjected Jennifer. Lola grinned, detecting some aggravation in her opponent's voice. She chuckled to herself.

"Well, I'm just letting you know considering we won't see each other much anymore, Jenny." Lola said in a mocking pout.

"What do you mean?" Jennifer asked, putting down her lipstick.

"Oh you don't know?" Lola asked, smugly.
"There's a talent buyer from Bayside Bar out there, Jenny. Word is someone from The Jewel is getting traded to wrestle in San Francisco. We've been talking about it for weeks, did no one tell you?"

Jennifer looked blankly and shook her head.

"Of course not. Why would they?" Lola laughed.
"Any way, it's pretty much confirmed that when I beat you tonight, I'm getting out of this shithole!"

Jennifer was stunned, not knowing whether to believe what Lola was saying or dismiss it as pre-match mind games. Jennifer herself had wanted to get out of Hope Springs for quite some time, perhaps this was the chance she had been looking for. Bayside Bar was a pretty nice club in San Francisco, her contract already paid pretty nicely, surely they'd pay her even more.

"And if you lose?" Jennifer inquired. Lola grinned.

"You think they'll take you if you beat me tonight? As if, Jenny. But, I'll send you and the girls a postcard or two." Lola cackled confidently. Jennifer sat silently.

She could beat Lola. In a fair and square match, Jennifer could have the bitch pinned in seconds flat. But mud wrestling was never about fair fights, or really about who won or lost. It was about scantily clad women groping each other for the pleasure of their patrons. Lola had the looks and the attitude the Bayside Buyer was looking for, an attitude that Jennifer distinctly lacked and she knew it.

She considered her options. On one hand, she could try to humiliate Lola in front of the crowd. Jennifer pictured it so perfectly, her trouncing Lola so badly that she got picked for the trade instead. Jennifer sighed longingly, almost tasting the sweet satisfaction of screwing Lola out of something big like that. As the warmth of the pleasant fantasy washed away, Jennifer had a stark realization. If Lola was telling the truth and moved to San Francisco, Jennifer's live would improve 100 times over. It's win win either way! Fuck the match!

"Oh good! you two are here." A voice said hurriedly, interrupting the brewing conflict. In the doorway stood Scott, The Jewel's talent buyer and entertainment manager, staring expectantly.

"Twilight and Katrina just started their match, we need you both ready in 20, ok?"

"Yes, Scott." The two said in an exasperated unison as the man left as hurriedly as he'd arrived.

"Well, Lola, may the better girl win." Jennifer said with every shred of diplomacy she could muster.

"Thanks, Jenny. I will."


Doctor Beverly Perkins took one last sip from her freshly brewed coffee. Standing in the vacant kitchenette of the research facility, she pondered if she could really pull this off. All her years of toil and turmoil had lead up to this. Facing constant ridicule from her peers in the field or bio-engineering, tonight was the night that Beverly would show them all how wrong they were.

Making one last sweep of the facility, the young scientist was truly alone. Complimenting her own quick thinking in pawning Grant off on José, there was no one to hold her back now but herself. Punching in the code to the locked laboratory, she walked with purpose to the storage unit in the centre of the room. Beverly stood for a moment, taking in the reality of what she was about to do. Removing the elastic keeping her hair up neatly in a bun, she shook her head, letting her raven hair fall softly onto her shoulders. She placed a hand on the stainless steel door of the veritable Pandora's box that sat in front of her. Inside was her prize, the Compound, the formula she had created with the help of her team, though Beverly solely assumed the credit in her mind.

"All you have to do is touch it. Open the container and touch it." A voice echoed in her subconscious. Beverly was frozen, a pale sweat beading upon her brow. There could be no turning back, this was her ascendancy into the heavens, her ticket to what she believed her rightful station. She'd dreamt of this moment, often plotting her course of action once she had become infinitely powerful. Some days, Beverly entertained the thought of marching on Washington, taking the country's leadership into her own unstoppable hands. Other times she dreamed of heading for the coast and just swimming away until she hit land, becoming the benevolent ruler of whatever nation's shores she came upon. Just thinking about the possibilities turned the woman of science on in ways nothing ever had, her dreaming leading to many late night masturbation sessions. And here, now that the reality was within her grasp, Beverly felt a familiar wetness in her briefs. She ran a delicate hand over her crotch, applying pressure onto her clitoris, shuddering in pleasure for a brief moment before regaining her composure. She had to focus. She had a mission. She would be a queen. A goddess. One to be worshipped. One to be feared. That is, if the damn stuff didn't kill her.
With a white-knuckle grip threatening to tear the handle of the storage unit off, Beverly threw door open to claim her just reward.

But the Compound wasn't there.

The lone sample of the Compound, the only one in existence, a powerful, terrible, dangerous substance, was not in its storage unit. Shocked, the young scientist's mind reeled at how this could have come to be and what this meant, what threat this could pose the world at large. But mostly, Beverly was furious. Her goddesshood, the thing she had devoted her entire adult life to, was robbed from her. Instantly, in a white hot fervour, her deductive mind rattled off probable culprits, narrowing in on one with razor focus.


Beverly Perkins ripped her phone from her lab coat pocket and furiously began to dial the chemical engineer, waiting desperately for the call to connect.

"Hello, you've reached José Alvarez. I'm not available, you know what to do."

As the familiar beep played, Beverly, fuming with red-hot fury, didn't know whether to scream or cry. Clutching her phone tight enough to crack the plastic case that housed it, Beverly hung up and dialled again

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