Laurel is Dead

Laurel watched as the horrid pulp sloughed from her tilting hand and splattered over another group of victims, smashing and smothering a few more of them to death. As the dwindling masses trembled in her shadow, she shuddered with a growing, devilishly sadistic lust that had been building throughout the afternoon with each shattered human life and crumbled city block. Her ponderous body slowly turned as she lowered herself to the ground, hundreds more bursting and smearing their vital warmth along her skin as she rested on her side. She drew her hand gently along her dust-caked flesh, trailing trickles of blood and shredded garments as she teased herself. Her slightly sticky palm gently cupped a breast that others had once described as smallish, the gritty feel of obliterated remains and smashed concrete brushing across its rigid peak and sending another shudder through her body, bringing forth the longest, lowest moan of the day.

"It doesn't matter how brilliant we are," she muttered, continuing to tease herself while her free hand gently raked through the dwindling crowd, batting people about with casual disinterest and shattering bones and bodies so easily that the sensations were beneath her notice. "It doesn't matter how educated or dedicated we are. You take the power. You take the money. You take and take and take."

Laurel dragged her fingers towards her, pulling along a fresh pile of people to enjoy. More than a few slipped beneath her fingertips and were smashed, or ripped to pieces as they caught on broken steel or some other destroyed piece of their city, but there were plenty left to slide along her torso. Some stuck and struggled along the way, slipping from her fingers and finding their bodies too broken to overcome the faint stickiness of her skin's drying sweat.

The rest found themselves slowly being smashed into the soft, pliable flesh of the colossal woman's bosom as she used their struggling bodies to stoke her own's growing lustful fire. "You even take our bodies," she breathed, her soft voice still easily carrying throughout the city. "You've been using and violating us since the dawn of time." Laurel couldn't resist placing a sultry emphasis on those words, squeezing and kneading and smashing people into her already bloodied breast.

"You rape us," Laurel hissed, her eyes fluttering briefly as she felt another wave of people pinned beneath the growing pressure of her palm squelch and spurt across her skin. "You raped me, you little fucks." Her voice once again took on a dark and vicious, angry edge, though the cameras and microphones captured that more than the wailing, terror-stricken mob. She squeezed now, pushing her grimy palm slowly across the ultra-sensitive, firm point of her breast and finishing off the rest of the wriggling little things in her hand.

"Now it's our turn." Laurel stretched her legs out, pushing her feet through several buildings and homes that had been small enough to escape her notice earlier as well as a number of people who had thought themselves lucky enough to break away from the towering, monstrous woman's attentions. They were bulldozed and flattened into the ground along with everything else in the way, and Laurel was slightly more relaxed. "It's my turn."

Laurel pulled her knees back towards her chest, curling her body around the broken bundle of humanity still before her. Her thighs and knees shoved another number of fleeing hopeful survivors back into the group, some relatively intact, some battered and paralyzed and broken by the sheer force of her casual, thoughtless motions. "Let's see how it feels when I'm the one raping you," she coldly suggested with an eager grin, snatching up another handful of struggling citizens.

Laurel's knees parted as her clenched hand slid down along her body, gliding across her thighs and guiding her captives towards her glistening, eager slit. The backs of her fingers only grazed her swollen lips, bringing a sharp, soft gasp from deep in her chest that grew to a low, rumbling groan as she opened her fingers, letting the little assholes spill across her blazing mound.

Laurel's body had been begging for release for hours, and just the first faintest touches captivated the giantess completely. She had imagined drawing all of this out, putting on a display for the cameras and the remaining members of the little group she'd pulled together, but now she just wanted to use the tiny bastards to get herself off. Her hand shifted, cupping herself and pressing the screaming, struggling pile of people into her as she rolled over, her soft belly and breasts smashing through the crowd, bringing a deep and earnest gasp of shocking pleasure out to echo through the city.

She continued to roll, though. Laurel didn't give a tiny damn about the people still on the ground, she just wanted to be on her back. Her titanic frame plowed through the men and women, squelching more beneath her ribs and hip and even more beneath her shoulderblades. She shifted and breathed, soft and slow as she let her fingers spread slightly, their tips tracing her pink folds, pressing and smashing tiny people as she teased herself for just a moment longer.

She could feel them struggling for their very lives, some pinned beneath the small of her back, pushing and straining impotently as she, the uncaring goddess, simply smashed them without a thought. She could feel them slipping inside her, clawing and shrieking even as her mammoth hand slid further over them. She slowly, firmly settled the heel of her palm down on them, forcing the tiny people into her and against her and feeling them squish and struggle with such unexpected, thrilling detail. Her hips shifted and bucked as she started to grind against her hand, letting the pressure alone stimulate and drive her surmounting euphoria along with the thoughts of all those worthless, miserable tiny suited shits suffering and choking and crushing against and inside her awesome and amazing pussy.

No. Her womanhood. They were helpless, insignificant little objects before her glorious, godly, almighty womanhood. She was using them, fucking them, raping the little bastards to death with her wondrous womanhood.

Laurel gasped and groaned, and a piercing, ecstatic wail broke free from her and exploded through the air, drawing blood from the tiny ears of the minuscule portion of people she'd gathered that were still alive. Her toes spread, her knees clenched and her back arched, her heels sinking into the shattered pavement as waves of utterly fulfilling pleasure ripped through her massive frame. Her squeals of exquisite pleasure softened to soft, feminine grunts and growls as her hand pushed and slid against her slick sex, smashing and smothering the last remnants of the people she'd scooped up while a few more slowly ceased their struggles, drowning in her freely flowing juices.

It was over in mere minutes, the swiftest and most powerful orgasm of Laurel's young life. Her body slumped back to the ground, legs lazily kicking out as a few more horribly unlucky individuals were instantly splattered beneath her backside without her notice. The giantess laid where she was for a while, just panting and letting herself slowly reflect on everything that had happened and everything she had done since that morning, and despite the lingering glow of the immensely satisfying preceding moments, there was still a gnawing, hollow emptiness somewhere deep in the young woman's core.

Laurel opened her eyes. She slowly rolled her head from side to side, looking over the smoldering ruins and the huge tracts of messy gore and obliterated humanity surrounding her, seeing it for the first time from ground level. It was incredible to think that she'd done it all herself, almost impossible to even consider. If she focused and really tried, Laurel could make out recognizable remnants of downtown... a recognizable tree here and a mostly-intact deli there, but by and large, it was all just fucking gone.

This wasn't her doing. This was the work of some inconceivable monster, something out of a terrible movie or something, perhaps, but not the stylish, softly-spoken simple girl that she was.

Laurel lifted her head, propping herself up on her elbows as her dark eyes slowly roamed along her naked, filthy, blood-caked body. Dust and sweat matted her long, black hair to her cheeks and back, and she smelled of smoke and sex and death.

That girl was gone, obviously. The Laurel people knew was dead, killed by the world's betrayal and oppression and abuse, and all that remained was this monster. She was the monster, the monster the world had created, and the monster was all that Laurel had left.

She rolled slowly back onto her side, taking a long, deep breath and letting it out in a heavy, lingering sigh. She spotted a speck of movement in the mostly pancaked and pulverized bodies stretching out before her, noticing a young man in a tattered blazer trying to drag himself through the gore. Almost by instinct she stretched out a fingertip and squashed him into the ground, giving a little twist to ensure he became another unrecognizable part of the wretched pile of gruesome remains.

Fine. She was a monster. She could deal with that; it did feel pretty goddamn incredible to be the monster, and that's what she'd be for the rest of her life. Maybe they really would talk about her in years to come when the conversation turned to gender issues. Maybe all the vengeance and punishment would make a difference for girls somewhere down the line. Probably not, but that hardly mattered. Laurel was dead already, and it wouldn't take too long for the military or whoever to find a way to kill the monster, too.

Until then, the next city was only a few miles away. She could be there, teaching a whole new set of misogynist shitheads a lesson in five minutes flat.