Nurturers

Nurturers

Nurturers, A Tale of Three Women

--------------------------------

by Andrew Nellis

a.k.a. the Poison Pen

copyright 1998

 

"You are wrong!"

Ares stood with one foot atop an outcropping of flinty stone as he gazed down on

the world below with his angry, hawkish eyes. He was entirely naked, his hard,

sun-bronzed flesh exposed to the icy wind that swept over the sides of Mount

Olympus. His ruggedly handsome face was frowning.

"It is nothing, let us put this aside. Come to me, my love," purred Aphrodite.

She lay, no less clothed than he, in a nest of wildflowers which had sprung up

among the barren rocks at her touch. Such was the loveliness of her bare flesh

that any mere mortal would have wept openly at the sight. A thousand artists had

torn out their eyes in despair of capturing some hint of her radiant beauty. The

sun made prismatic glories of the dewdrops that bejeweled her downy-thatched

mons, still wet with their lovemaking.

But Ares continued to glare down at the mortal world, oblivious to the longing

in his lover's honeyed voice. "I see no evidence of your vain boast."

Aphrodite sighed and pushed herself up on one elbow. What could one expect from

the embodiment of war if not combativeness? "It is not a thing to be disputed.

It is well known to all. Though men are brave and powerful, none are crueler nor

more ruthless and terrible than women."

Ares' frown deepened. "There is Athena, yes, who is nearly a match for even me,

and of course there are the Furies, whom all fear. But those are goddesses, not

mere women."

"And what of Medea? And Circe? And Hippolyta?" asked Aphrodite, arching one

delicate eyebrow.

"God-touched," snorted Ares, flaring his nostrils. "Am I not the God of War? Do

not all men call upon me in the throes of battle? What would the Goddess of Love

know of power and ferocity that I do not?"

A faint, enigmatic smile touched Aphrodite's soft lips. "Perhaps then you would

not be averse to a small wager?"

"What sort of wager?" said Ares, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he turned to

look at Aphrodite. His battle-honed instincts were warning of a trap.

"We shall choose three women to be our champions," said Aphrodite, still

smiling. "You shall grant them power to realize their greatest desires such that

none may deny them, and we shall see whether their ferocity surpasses ought that

a man might imagine."

"And you, no doubt, shall choose embittered, soul-curdled haridans of such

strength and hirsuteness that they are little different from men," growled Ares.

"Not at all," said Aphrodite with a laugh that tinkled like an icy mountain

stream. "I shall choose only the loveliest, gentlest of creatures, and you may

reject any selections which displease you. If but one does not show such

ruthlessness as to leave any mere man aghast with horror, you will be deemed the

winner of our little wager."

Ares wrinkled his brow in thought but, champion of a thousand thousands of

battlefields though he was, he could find no hint of the lurking trap of which

his prescience assured him. Slowly he nodded. "I do not see how I may fail to be

the victor. And my prize?"

"Why, if you win, you may use me as you will for the remainder of this day, my

love," said Aphrodite, stretching languidly to expose every perfect, gently

rounded curve of her delectable body.

"Aye, and a day on the heights of Olympus is as a millenium in the mortal world

below," said Ares with a leer. "We shall shake the very columns of Zeus' palace

and toss old Poseidon from his watery bed with the savagery of our coupling!"

"And if I win," said Aphrodite, her smile deepening ferally, "then it is I who

shall use you as I will."

Ares made a gesture with his hand, as if dismissing the thought. "It is agreed

then," he said. "I pledge my word upon it."

"And I also," agreed Aphrodite.

"Very well," said Ares. "Let us begin. Come, look upon the world and select your

champion."

Aphrodite climbed daintily to her feet and approached the edge of the precipice

upon which Ares stood. Though her hair was blown and tossed, the wind refused

adamantly to tangle so much as a single lock of her golden mane. She smiled up

at her huge, muscular lover, dwarfed by his mass, and ran a finger seductively

across his ribs, then turned to look out at the checkerboard Earth spread before

her.

"There," said Aphodite at last, pointing. "Her name is Michelle, and she has but

eighteen summers. She aspires to the stage, and to that end she attends a

university some distance from her parents, from whom she is separated for the

first time in her young life. Lost and confused, she does not even heed the

lustful glances extended her by all those around her, men and women both. She is

guileless, a stranger to the ways of love, though I can feel it quicken within

her. Do you find her to be satisfactory, my lord Ares?"

"What manner of name is that? And what sort theatre, much less a university,

would accept the presence of a girl?" said Ares, puzzled. He squinted in the

direction of Aphrodite's finger and watched for some time. "Ah, I see she lives

within the Age of Ignorance. That explains much. I am minded of a playful kitten

by her manner. Yes, I bethink me that no malice lurks in that heart, and already

you have lost the wager. If you are not yet prepared to forfeit the prize to me,

then I find this mortal a most suitable champion."

"And what manner of strength will you bestow upon her?" asked Aphrodite.

Ares mused for a moment. "I shall be fair. Her power over mortals shall be

absolute. As the Titans tower above the gods, so shall this demi-goddess tower

over her peers. To her, I give a fraction of my own strength such that only the

gods themselves might resist her. It is done."

"And now," said Aphrodite, turning her attention Earthward once more, "let us

see what we have wrought."

 

* * *

I. Michelle's Tale

The bus was packed shoulder to shoulder, and Michelle was forced to stand. Since

the ice storm, the streets had been turned into a single huge skating rink. No

one wanted to drive. The main campus of the university was downtown, however,

while the student residence was at the smaller campus, miles away. The shuttle

bus provided by the university was free, but, as everyone knew, it was also

overcrowded during the peak hours.

There was a bang as the bus plowed through a particularly deep rut in the ice,

and Michelle had to grab tight. Packed as it was, though, it was difficult to

imagine falling. None of the faces around her looked happy. Michelle couldn't

blame them. It was hot and stuffy, and what little air there was smelled of too

few showers and too many farts.

In this miasma of discomfort, Michelle's smile was like a golden ray of

sunshine. While others cursed and sweltered, exhausted after long classes and

anxious only to return to residence, Michelle simply smiled and tossed her head.

Many on the bus watched her, glaring in resentment or half-smiling in sympathy,

but Michelle was not aware of it. She merely waited for the interminable ride to

be over -- and smiled.

At last, through the miracle of linear time, the bus arrived and disgorged its

sweating prisoners into the frigid January air, which provoked a whole new

series of snarls and curses as people huddled in their jackets and scarves,

hurrying through shin-deep snow to their destinations. Michelle scurried out of

the bus and let out a whoop as the cold hit her. "Whoo, that's chilly!" she

said, laughing, to no one in particular, grinning through a plume of steam from

her mouth.

Halfway back to the residence in which she lived, a familiar voice called to

Michelle. She turned to see one of her floormates jogging towards her through

the snow. "Hi James," said Michelle, waving.

"I'm going to the store," said James, blowing on his hands to keep them warm.

His shirts were loud, his voice louder, and no one on the floor would ever have

guessed that he was studying physics. "You want anything while I'm there?"

"Oh, that's so nice," said Michelle, tilting her head like a puppy. "You're so

cute, James. No, I don't need anything, but thank you for asking. You're such a

nice guy." Michelle gave him a wide grateful smile.

James stared at her. "Yeah. Well, uh, okay. Seeya," he muttered, hurrying away.

Inside the residence, Michelle stopped to take off her hat and check her hair in

the reflection of a display case. She chuckled as she saw the way her block bob

of hair had been compressed to the shape of the inside of her hat. With a

familiar gesture, she ran her fingers roughly through her hair, setting it back

into shape. Distracted, she didn't notice the girl beside her until she heard

the girl sigh annoyedly.

"Ex-CUSE me?" said Chandiri testily. Her slender, petite frame was nearly hidden

behind the heaped basket of laundry she held in her arms, though Michelle could

see her eyes glaring furiously over the top of the heap. "I am TRYING to get

by?"

Michelle's smile slipped for only a second. Chandiri was never nice to her.

Chandiri was rarely nice to anyone. She didn't have to be. Her waifish build

made her very popular with the men on the floor, and, rumour had it, some of the

women as well. "I'm so sorry," said Michelle, contrite. "I didn't see you there,

I don't know where my head was. Can I help you with that?"

If Chandiri said anything, her reply was lost in the mound of clothes as she

stalked past Michelle, who stared after her. When Chandiri had disappeared from

sight, Michelle allowed her smile to falter, but only until she squared her

shoulders and began climbing the stairs to her floor.

When she reached the top of the stairs and opened the door, she was greeted with

a wall of noise. A small crowd of young men and women were kicking a soda can up

and down the uncarpeted corridor, shouting with enthusiasm. Several of them

waved at Michelle, and she flashed them a wide grin, bouncing up and down on her

tiptoes as she waved back. With a kind of half-skip, she threaded her way

between the various players, enduring a half-dozen kicks to the shins, until she

reached her door. Her fingers fumbled awkwardly with the keys, her grin frozen

on her face.

Finally her door opened and Michelle threw herself into the room, slamming the

door shut behind her. The cacophony in the hall faded to a faint background

noise. Slowly, she removed her jacket and let it fall in a heap on the floor.

The grin vanished from her face and she leaned her forehead against the door,

trying to banish the pounding from inside her temples. There was a knock on the

door, and the smile reappeared as if by magic on Michelle's face before she

answered it.

"Heya, 'Shelle," said Siobahn. "We're renting a movie for tonight, anything you

want to see?"

"Yes, your breasts on my body." For a split instant, Michelle panicked, worried

that she had spoken aloud, and her stomach contracted. Indeed, Siobahn's breasts

were the first thing that caught the eye. She was only a year older than

Michelle, and several inches shorter, but her breasts dwarfed Michelle's,

thrusting majestically forward like the prow of a ship. They could not help but

be the focus of attention in any room they occupied. Not only Siobahn's breasts,

but her waist-length butternut hair and wide, sensual hips were the envy of

every woman on the floor, yet she herself seemed infuriatingly unaware of her

own assets.

Michelle's eyes searched Siobhan's face, and she nearly sighed with relief as

she saw no reaction. She had not spoken her thoughts aloud, and her jealousy of

her friend's breasts remained her secret.

"Cool!" squealed Michelle. "Ooh, get something funny! No, wait, or something

romantic!"

"Why don't you come with us?" said Siobahn.

"I think I'm just going to stay here," said Michelle, still smiling. "Thank you

so much for asking though. That's so nice."

"Aw c'mon," said Siobahn. "Come with us."

"I'd love to, but I have lots of stuff to do, really," said Michelle.

"C'monnnn," wheedled Siobhan, tugging on Michelle's sleeve.

"No, really," said Michelle. There was a faintly haggard look to her smile, but

Siobahn didn't seem to notice.

"So you're coming with us? Great!" said Siobahn, shouldering her way into

Michelle's room. She picked up Michelle's jacket and threw it at her. "Come on,

hurry up, you're holding up the show."

Michelle fixed her smile in place, put on her jacket, and began to chatter

aimlessly about cute leading male actors, which she maintained until she reached

the video store with Siobahn. On the way back, Michelle maintained an equally

inconsequential patter about what the movies they had selected might be about.

The wide grin never left her face until she was safely behind her locked door

once more, where she sagged brokenly to the floor and held her head in her

hands.

After a while, Michelle struggled to her feet and threw herself into the chair

in front of her desk. She pulled a pad of paper from the desk, and a pen. With a

trembling hand, she wrote "Dear Rick," and stopped. She thought about Rick, the

slim, heart-throb supervisor of the floor. And she thought about all the other

women ahead of her. Michelle's eyes slid over to the mirror and her reflection

depressed her. All she could see were the small breasts, and what she thought of

as plain looks. Michelle looked down at the paper and knew that she was going to

write yet another letter affirming her undying love that would sit, undelivered,

in her desk drawer until she threw it away for fear of someone finding it and

reading it.

There was a knock at the door. Squeezing her eyes shut and pinching the bridge

of her nose with her fingers, Michelle savagely tore the top sheet from the pad

and crumpled it. The knock came again, more insistant. The smile appeared as if

by magic on her face as Michelle rose to answer the door.

"Hey, Michelle, how ya doing?" said Rollie. He craned his head through the

doorway and glanced around.

"Hi Rollie," replied Michelle with a fixed grin. "I am just totally peachy. What

can I do for you?"

Seemingly satisfied, Rollie stopped his snooping long enough to look back to

Michelle. "Oh, just wondering what you were doing. Saw your door was closed.

Your door is never closed. Why don't you open it?"

"I guess I just forgot," said Michelle, and pushed a doorstop in place after

opening the door completely. "Thanks for reminding me! You're so sweet to think

of me." She turned her back and went back to her chair. She was not surprised to

see Rollie still in the doorway when she sat down.

"So," said Rollie, smiling and nodding. There was a long pause.

"So," replied Michelle, smiling even wider. There was an even longer pause this

time. The silence stretched out indefinitely, and Michelle felt rising dread,

knowing she would be required to carry the whole conversation. Again.

Rollie nodded again, and Michelle bounced up out of her chair.

"I'm all icky," said Michelle, grabbing her towel and her bathrobe and her soap.

Not waiting for a reply, she rushed out of her room in the direction of the

bathroom after shouldering past a stunned Rollie, half-crazed with the need to

escape. Her cheeks ached from smiling.

The communal bathroom served all the women on the floor. There were only four

showers, and when Michelle arrived she could not hold in a small sob of

frustration. There were a pair of feet under each of the shower curtains. Every

shower was in use.

Michelle closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Her whole body shook with the

force of her suppressed rage. And then she felt something very strange. There

was a sharp twang inside her head, like something breaking under pressure. She

gasped as she felt a surge of warmth tingle from the base of her skull, coiling

down her spine, and then radiating out to all the extremities of her body. Had

she not felt so good, so strong, she would have been terrified that she was

having a stroke.

When Michelle opened her eyes, the world looked no different, but the ball of

fury in her mind was gone, spent. She blinked dazedly a few times, shook her

head to clear it, and realized that one of the showers appeared to be free.

The shower curtain was still closed, and billows of steam still rolled out past

it so the water was still running, but there were no feet to be seen below the

bottom edge. In fact, whoever it was had left her clothes hung on the peg beside

the shower. Michelle looked around, but there was no naked woman, and none of

the toilet stalls was occupied. Very discreetly, Michelle peered past the shower

curtain. The stall was empty.

"Weird," thought Michelle, with a shiver. It was really creepy. She was certain

she hadn't closed her eyes long enough for anyone to get out of the shower and

run past her. A thought occured to her and she looked under the other shower

curtains, but there were no more than two feet to be seen in any of them.

Finally, her imagination defeated by the mystery, she shrugged and slipped out

of her clothes as quickly as she could, so no one would see her naked, and

stepped into the empty shower stall.

There wasn't enough water pressure for Michelle's tastes, but the water felt

good nonetheless. For long minutes she luxuriated in the spray, soaping and

resoaping the same parts over and over again. As her soapy fingers grazed over

her pubis, she felt a sudden, sharp pang of desire that made her think of Rick.

Terrified of being caught touching herself in the shower, she quickly banished

the feeling and concentrated on washing. She had forgotten her shampoo, but

whomever had been there before her had left some, and Michelle helped herself to

it.

By the time Michelle had finished her shower, all three of her bathing

neighbours had long since left and been replaced by others. Always

self-conscious about her body -- and her small breasts -- Michelle turned off

the water and dried herself in the stall. After putting on her bathrobe, she

stepped out, then remembered she had left her soap behind. She opened the

curtain and reached in, and her gaze was drawn to the floor of the shower.

At first she didn't know what it was. There was something adhered to the painted

cement and her first inclination was to ignore it, since there always seemed to

be something stuck to the shower floors, either wet wads of toilet paper or

small pieces of soap, or other even less identifiable things. In fact, now that

she thought about it, she remembered stepping on something vaguely yielding a

few times while she was showering. Something about the shape, though, made her

look closer.

It became apparent that whatever the small lump was, it was clearly biological.

A bug perhaps? Michelle felt a wave of squeamishness at the thought of having

trodden over and over on a bug that big with her bare feet, because the lump was

mashed nearly two inches across. But the longer she looked at it, the less it

looked like a bug and, besides which, it was a pinkish, nearly white colour.

After staring at it for a while, Michelle realized what the shape resembled. It

looked like a very small, very flat person.

Michelle blinked repeatedly and touched the mashed lump with the tip of her

finger. It was soft. And warm. With her fingernail, she scraped the lump up and

placed it in the palm of her hand. Yes, now she could see it. There were the

arms, and there the legs, although one was partially missing, probably torn off

when she had twisted her heel on it. And the flat little head with its radiating

halo of brownish-blonde hair. A small amount of watery, pinkish fluid leaked

from the mashed flesh into her hand.

Quickly and quietly Michelle gathered up her clothes, her soap, and the other

girl's clothes and shampoo. Without stopping to think, she walked back to her

room, her face an emotionless mask, noting only in passing that the can-kickers

had left. Once back, she closed her door, locked it, and placed the tiny pink

lump in front of her on her desk.

For a long time, Michelle just stared at the little, irregularly shaped blob of

flesh. No matter how much she tried to convince herself that it was an insect,

she could not. She thought she could even make out a little of the face, though

it had been incredibly distorted when it was crushed. In her mind's eye,

Michelle saw how she must have looked to the poor girl, stepping into the

shower; two massive pillars of flesh like mobile office towers. There would have

been nowhere to run. The shower had a lip six inches high to keep the water in,

and the tiny girl had been trapped. How long had the girl run frantically,

hip-deep in soapy water, trying to avoid the rapidly moving feet? Had she

screamed in terror as she lost the terrible game and the foot came down on top

of her, her miniscule voice lost in the thundering deluge around her? And, more

importantly, how had all of this happened?

Bits were beginning to break off as the flesh dried, Michelle noticed. The hands

and feet had already fallen off, and the head didn't look very well attached.

The fragility of the tiny body amazed her. Soon there would be nothing left that

even resembled a person. Michelle wondered who the girl was, and it struck her

that the disappearance would not go unnoticed. Eventually there would be a

search, but no body would ever be found. Would there?

Michelle pinched the largest bit of flesh from her desk between her thumb and

forefinger. She took one last look at it and, with an almost ritual motion, let

it drop into the small trash can beside her desk. Michelle had made her

decision. Nothing that happened had been her fault, and she was not about to

ruin her life over an accident, no matter how freakish or unexplained. She would

toss the girl's clothes away, and no one would ever be the wiser. She flicked

the last few flecks of flesh off her desk like eraser crumbs just as the knock

on her door came.

The smile locked into place with practiced ease. Michelle stood and opened the

door, surprised at her own calmness in light of what had happened.

"You seen Lisa?" asked Jillian. Jillian was a short girl, and not overly bright.

With Lisa, they formed the female contingent of the floor's drinking companions.

"She never came back after her shower. It's really weird."

Well. That solves the mystery of the girl's identity, thought Michelle. "No, I

haven't," said Michelle, smiling broadly "And I just came back from the bathroom

too. If you see her, tell her we're watching movies tonight. She'll love it!"

"Yeah, okay," said Jillian. She glanced around Michelle's room and too late

Michelle realized that she had simply dropped Lisa's clothes on the floor.

"Hey!" said Jillian, her eyes lighting up as she saw them. "That's Lisa's."

Panic flared in Michelle's mind. Jillian wasn't bright, but when people started

asking questions, she'd remember seeing Lisa's clothes in her room. A flood of

fear-driven adrenalin surged through Michelle, and Jillian's empty clothes

collapsed suddenly into a pile with a dull inrushing of air.

For once, the smile cracked. Michelle gawked at the pile of clothes lying

outside her door. After taking a quick look back and forth to make sure no one

was around, she quickly gathered up the bundle of clothes, closed the door, and

locked it behind her. Michelle took the clothes over to her bed, sat down, and

began examining each article closely. Her heart was pounding, and she thought

she already knew what she was going to find.

For a few minutes Michelle found nothing except clothes: sweatshirt, underwear,

pants. Jillian, whose chest was even less imposing than Michelle's, apparently

did not wear a bra. It was when Michelle upended one of the socks, however, that

the tiny form came tumbling out onto the bed.

She was completely naked, and she was only an inch and a half tall, but the tiny

girl was quite clearly a terrified Jillian. Michelle's jaw sagged open as she

stared. This coudn't be happening, shouldn't be possible, she thought.

Fascinated, she stretched out her index finger to touch the little person.

Jillian cringed away, but the immense finger moved much faster than she could at

her size. At the slightest touch, Jillian was knocked over, the wind driven from

her by what felt like the front end of a huge, soft automobile.

"Unbelievable," breathed Michelle. Jillian simply laid on her back, staring up

at the gargantuan girl in utter fright. "Jillian," said Michelle, "I have no

idea how this happened. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Do you

understand? Nod if you understand."

Michelle leaned in closer to look, and Jillian scrambled backwards without

standing, in a crabwalk, to get away from the head that seemed, to her, to

descend from the clouds above. Desperately, Jillian nodded over and over again.

Her mouth was opening and closing, but she was so small, Michelle couldn't hear

even the faintest sound.

"What am I going to do?" asked Michelle. She knew Jillian couldn't answer her,

and even if she could, she would never be able to make herself heard. Now,

Michelle knew, there would be an intensive search made for both girls.

Everyone's rooms would probably be searched too. To turn Jillian over, she'd

have to admit what had happened to Lisa, and that was something Michelle was not

prepared to do. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was

only one thing she could do. She couldn't let anyone see Jillian, ever. And even

if she was prepared to spend the rest of her life taking care of the tiny girl,

there was no way Michelle could take the chance that Jillian might be discovered

or, worse yet, grow back.

When the decision was made, Michelle was surprised at how easy it had been to

make it. What that meant, she didn't know. And she also found herself strangely

excited.

"See, I have a problem," said Michelle, looking down at Jillian. "I can't let

anyone find out about you, because Lisa, um, sort of... accidentally got stepped

on. It wasn't my fault. Really." She bobbed her head earnestly. "Anyway, thing

is, I have to make sure no one ever finds you." Michelle could see Jillian

shaking her head violently back and forth. "Yeah, I know, you say you'd never

tell anyone right now, but we both know you would. So, I guess there is only one

thing I can do. I'll try to make sure it's really quick and doesn't hurt too

much, okay? You do understand why I have to do this, right?"

Jillian surged to her feet and began running. Her face was frozen in terror.

Before she had travelled even six inches over the uneven softness of the

blankets, Michelle grabbed her with her thumb and forefinger.

Michelle stood and walked over to the desk. With her fingers she could feel

Jillian wriggling ineffectually and the sensation gave her a fluttery feeling in

her stomach. Was she really going to do this? Somehow, Jillian just didn't seem

like a real person at her size, which made things a lot easier. Michelle dropped

Jillian to the desk, where she landed hard. Before Jillian could climb to her

feet, Michelle grabbed a large, heavy book and held it for a moment over top of

the tiny girl. There was a very, very faint chirping noise, like a cricket,

which Michelle realized was Jillian's scream. Then Michelle let the book fall

heavily.

Whether the weight of the book alone was enough to kill Jillian, Michelle didn't

know, but to make sure, she placed both hands on top of the book and pushed down

with all of her strength until she heard a wet crunching noise, like a damp

peanut being stepped on. She pressed down for far longer than was necessary,

until her hands turned white with effort. At last she released the pressure, and

the book laid flat on the surface of the desk.

Now that the deed was done, strange feelings swept through Michelle's body. She

didn't know herself well enough to understand why she felt such a thrilling

sense of accomplishment, or why her womanhood was very wet and tingly. As she

sat down on the bed, she told herself that she had just murdered someone and

ought to feel some kind of guilt.

"Is this a knife I see before me," muttered Michelle. She stood and took a step

over to the desk. With sudden resolution she lifted the book which resisted

briefly, glued wetly to the desk. On the underside of the book was a very flat,

irregular oval of flesh. It was like a pressed flower, with every detail still

perfect, if flattened. Michelle could see the crease of Jillian's buttocks, the

teeny-tiny nails on the backs of Jillian's fingers, the toes at the end of each

mashed, misshapen foot. The whole thing was surrounded by a ring of gore, which

painted Jillian's exposed skin monochromatic red. On the desk was a circle of

blood five inches in diameter with a clean patch in the middle in the shape of

the flattened body.

Michelle felt a devilish grin on her face, a real grin, one she had worn as a

child after making a huge mess that she knew would get her in trouble. With her

fingernail, she peeled the little body off the bottom of the book and rolled it

between her fingers. It felt soft, wet, warm, and boneless. She had had no

difficulty rolling it into a little ball and letting it drop into the waste

basket.

"Out, out, damn spot," said Michelle with a giggle as she used a facial tissue

to wipe the smeared gore from her book and desk. The blood had left a very faint

stain, which suited Michelle just fine. It would be like a keepsake to remind

her of the weirdest -- and coolest -- thing that had ever happened to her.

All the clothes were stuffed into plastic bag. Michelle tied it shut and stuffed

it inside a second bag. She would hide the clothes in a garbage bin somewhere

off campus later that night, maybe while everyone else was watching the movie.

She was too excited to eat, but Michelle decided it was best to put on as normal

a show as possible. There would be questions asked. No one should have any

reason to remember her behaviour as anything out of the ordinary. Her stomach

rebelled at the idea of food, though, so she thought she could probably get away

with just a bowl of soup and a sandwich. She could chuck the sandwich later if

she made a show of eating the soup. Briefly she wondered if she was being

paranoid, but a quick look at the blood spot reminded her that she had killed

two people, accident or not, and she had no choice but to be careful.

When Michelle arrived in the communal kitchen, arms loaded with a pot, a tin of

soup, and sandwich fixings, there were already two people cooking, as she had

hoped. She needed an audience. Heath, another of the floor party animals, was at

the stove, his vague attention pointed roughly in the direction of the tinned

stew he was heating. Foxy was scratching his head and trying to figure out the

controls on the microwave.

"Uh, hi Michelle," said Foxy. "You know how to work this thing? The one up on

third is busted again."

Michelle smiled. Neither Foxy nor Heath had too many brain cells left to spare,

but of the two she thought Foxy's tank was closer to empty. Foxy wasn't his real

name, of course. No one remembered it, probably least of all Foxy. The irony of

his nickname escaped him, though, and he was quite content with it. Michelle's

few dealings with him were highlighted by the night Foxy staggered into the

floor lounge drunk, vomited behind the sofa, and returned the next morning to

hide it under a cushion which became known forever after as the 'puke pillow.'

The whole lounge reeked of vomit for a week afterward.

"Here, let me do that," said Michelle. She opened the microwave door, extracted

the silverwear from the plate that held the eggrolls, and closed the door again.

Her finger danced over the controls to the cheerful accompaniment of electronic

beeps, and the microwave whirred into life. "Here," she said, handing the

silverware to Foxy. "This is why the one upstairs keeps breaking."

Foxy gave a lopsided grin, which Michelle matched. "Oh, yah," he said, nodding

agreeably.

Michelle rolled her eyes and opened her tin of soup, which she dumped into the

pot. After setting out two slices of buttered bread, she turned to the stove and

was gratified to see it was free. Heath was wandering away with a dazed

expression, a steaming pot of stew in his hands. Michelle frowned when she

realized that the stew tin was still there, stew was slopped all over the

counter and oven top, and one of the burners was still on. People were always

leaving the kitchen in a mess, and it made Michelle furious.

Fixing a smile in place, Michelle called after Heath. "Say Heath, you think

maybe after you eat, maybe you can come back and clean up a little? I'll wash

out your tin and put it in the recycle box for you, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," mumbled Heath. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than

Michelle's smile slipped a little and Heath disappeared, to leave his clothes

collapsing to the floor. The stew pot hit the ground with a terrible crash,

spraying steaming hot stew everywhere. Both Foxy and Michelle jumped.

"What the hell?" said Foxy, as he gaped at the pile of clothes. That was all he

said before Michelle looked at him in fear and he, too, vanished in a tumbling

cascade of clothes.

"Oh no, oh no," groaned Michelle, running from one end of the kitchen to the

other, unable to decide on a course of action. Whatever had happened before, it

was still happening. And now she had two more people to worry about.

Okay, she thought, stay calm. First things first. Grab the witnesses before they

can get away, then clean up before anyone else notices and has to be... made to

disappear.

Foxy she dumped out of his sneaker into her hand, but she found Heath writhing

in a pool of near-boiling stew, most of his skin bright red. He was making

chirping noises that Michelle knew were blood-curdling screams of agony. Patches

of his skin simply sloughed away when she lifted him with her fingers. His burns

were horrifying. Michelle dropped both men, each an inch and a half tall, into

her empty soup can. As quickly as she could, she scooped up the spill with a

dust pan and dumped it into the sink, then retrieved Foxy's frozen eggrolls from

the microwave and threw them straight into the garbage along with the silverware

and Heath's pot.

The trip back to her room from the kitchen felt like a trek of a thousand miles

for Michelle. She was certain that at any moment someone would stop her in the

hall and engage her in small talk or, worse yet, demand to see what was in the

can. She saw no one, however, and to the best of her knowledge, no one saw her.

With a locked door between her and the world, Michelle began to relax again, and

peeked curiously into the can.

Foxy was on his hands and knees crawling around the edges, as if looking for a

door. Heath simply laid on his back, writhing like a salted slug, leaving pieces

of his flesh on the bare metal. Soon Foxy stopped crawling and simply stared up

through the open top at the huge face that hovered overhead. Michelle wondered

what he was thinking.

Michelle knew Heath was in terrible pain and knew that she ought to put him out

of his misery. Something about the sight of him in his pain and helplessness

excited her though. She was aware of stirrings in her groin, and the pressure of

her nipples swollen against the inside of her shirt. Reaching into the can with

her fingers, she delicately extracted Heath. Her touch elicited a new series of

chirps, which also pleased her.

Heath laid in the centre of Michelle's hand. Michelle watched him for long

minutes as he faded in and out of consciousness. She ought to be merciful, she

knew, but his agonies were making her hot. When she could stand the arousal no

longer, Michelle closed her fist around the thrashing Heath and held him tightly

for a minute, just luxuriating in the feel of his tiny body writhing helplessly

in her grasp. Then she slowly increased the pressure until she felt his bones

snap in her hand. She squeezed until she could squeeze no tighter and then she

held her hand shut with her eyes closed, reveling in her power. She had crushed

a man to death with nothing more than her the strength of her fingers.

Michelle unclenched her fist over the trash and let the crushed body tumble

brokenly from her hand. With savage glee she rounded on the can and her

remaining captive.

"What should I do with you, Foxy?" said Michelle as she looked down into the

can. Her grin was very wide, showing lots of teeth. "You think I should crush

you in my hand? I could, you know. I just squished Heath in my hand. It was

wild, Foxy, just wild. Hey, let's have a look at you first."

With two fingers, Michelle extracted Foxy from his prison and held him up to her

face. She had seen men naked before, but she was a virgin and had never had the

opportunity to look at leisure. "That's so cute," said Michelle, flicking Foxy's

testicles and penis with the very tip of her fingernail. Foxy squirmed and

struggled to no avail in her fingers. On impulse, Michelle lifted him to her

lips and flicked her tongue over the entire front of his body.

"Mmmm, you taste good," said Michelle with a lazy smile, lapping at Foxy again.

"Sort of salty."

The thought gave Michelle an idea that made her groin twitch so strongly she

gave a little moan. Grabbing the bread she had buttered to make her sandwich,

she dropped Foxy onto one piece and dropped the other piece on top of him. "A

Foxy sandwich," giggled Michelle, her mind reeling with the idea that she not

only could but was about to really eat a whole, living person.

Inside, Foxy squirmed in the darkness between the twin slices of bread,

shouting, and shivering with fear. Michelle took a huge bite out of the

sandwich, and light sprang into Foxy's buttery deathtrap. He was near enough he

could see Michelle's huge teeth as they sheared effortlessly through the bread

before him, then pulled away.

"Nope, not that time," said Michelle with a laugh after she had chewed and

swallowed her mouthful of bread. She could see the top of Foxy's head through

the gap her teeth had made. Michelle opened her mouth again and took another

bite.

Foxy saw the teeth getting closer, the nightmarish chasm between them getting

wider. He struggled and fought to win free, and was still struggling when the

teeth passed overhead, plunging him into twilight. Somewhere beyond his feet,

the teeth drove together, severing the pieces of bread which had imprisoned him.

The last of the light vanished, and he was screaming in terror inside Michelle's

huge, monstrous mouth.

This was it, thought Michelle. This was really it. Her stomach did flip-flops

with the thrill of it. She had a tiny living person in her mouth. She could feel

him moving. Closing her eyes so she could better enjoy it, Michelle began

chewing.

Foxy felt himself thrown around by the immense strength of Michelle's tongue. He

told himself over and over that it was only a bad acid trip, and he was still

repeating it to himself when he and a wet, half-chewed lump of bread were thrown

violently between Michelle's molars and crushed.

Michelle felt the crunch when she finally bit down on Foxy. It sent an orgasmic

shiver radiating up her spine. Always chew a hundred times, she thought,

repressing a giggle that would have sent bread crumbs and shreds of bloody human

flesh flying from her mouth. The taste was sort of meaty and sort of salty, and

Michelle decided that it would never replace peanut butter. She chewed her

mouthful of bread and Foxy well, then swallowed it. Wondering wheather Foxy

would give her gas made Michelle grin.

While she had been toying with her tiny victim, the noise in the hall had been

steadily climbing. The can kickers were back at it again. Even in her moment of

triumph, Michelle was frustrated, angry that they wouldn't leave her alone to

enjoy the feeling in silence. As she felt the elation slipping away, she put her

hands over her ears, and, in a low growl which was as loud as she ever raised

her voice, she said: "Shut... UP!"

Silence descended instantly.

The hallway, when Michelle opened the door, looked like the aftermath of an

explosion at a rummage sale. Clothing and shoes were strewn all over the floor

for twenty feet down the hallway. The soda can sat by itself near her door.

Smiling, Michelle sorted through the clothes until she found their tiny

occupants. As she found each one, eight in all and seven of them men, she looked

them over and stuffed them into the small hole in the top of the soda can.

After all the clothes had been gathered up and tossed haphazardly into her room,

Michelle frowned down at the soda can in her hand. It made little metallic pings

as the prisoners inside beat at the walls with their little fists and feet. From

the hole came a whole series of squeaks and squeals.

"Did you ever think about all the noise you make?" said Michelle, addressing the

can. "Did you ever think there are people trying to read or trying to study, or

just don't want to hear you horsing around? You know how many times I've wanted

to come out here and tell you all to shut up?"

There was silence from the soda can.

"Of course you didn't care," said Michelle. She went into her room and used a

piece of masking tape to cover over the hole. As she did so, the squeaking

started again from inside the can, along with the clinks and pings. "Now, why

don't we see how you like it?"

Michelle dropped the can to the floor. It hit with a loud clang and bounced,

skittering down the hall. With a grin of childish delight, she began kicking the

can, caroming it off the walls and sending it flying through the air. She gave a

whoop of delight that, in the fashion of the floor, was returned by several

people in their rooms. If they knew what I was so happy about they'd pee their

pants, thought Michelle with a grin.

For ten minutes she battered the can around the hall with her feet, making a

glorious racket, shouting things like "take this!" and "here's another one for

you!". Eventually she ran out of breath and had to stop.

"You guys alive in there?" asked Michelle, peeling back the tape from the hole.

It came away tacky with blood. "Guess not," she said. She thought she heard some

faint motions from inside when she put her ear right up to the hole, but there

were no other sounds.

"Tt's been fun, guys," said Michelle. She thought for a moment. "Oh, and James?

I really hate those shirts." She put the can down on the floor. Then, very

deliberately, she brought her foot crashing down on top of it, crumpling it into

an aluminum accordion shape. It took her three stomps to fully compact it, and

on the last one a jet of blood squirted from a small puncture. Lifting it

carefully so as not to get blood on her fingers, Michelle carried it to the

recycle bin in the kitchen and tossed it in. She was, after all, a very

conscientious girl.

I think, thought Michelle, after she had returned to her room, that I can very

definitely get used to this.

There was another knock at her door, and this time Michelle didn't have to paste

a fake smile on her face. The more the merrier, she thought, swinging open the

door. Siobahn entered, still wearing her jacket and boots, and threw herself

into Michelle's desk chair. The blood stain on the desk caught Siobahn's eye.

She licked her thumb and wiped at it, then looked up at Michelle with a puzzled

expression.

"What's up, 'Shelle? You look so... weird," said Siobahn with a frown.

"Do I?" said Michelle. Her grin was huge.

"Yeah," said Siobahn. "Sort of, I don't know. Creepy." While she talked, she

removed her jacket.

"Creepy," murmered Michelle. She closed the door, and turned to see Siobahn's

show-stealing breasts emerging from the jacket. Michelle felt the familiar pang

of jealousy. Instantly, Siobahn disappeared, her clothes collapsing into the

chair, her pants slithering to the floor.

Michelle's insides gave a lurch. She was jealous of Siobahn, yes, but Siobahn

was also her best friend, the only real friend she had made since she arrived at

university. With trepidation, Michelle rooted through Siobahn's clothes and

found the tiny, inch and a half tall girl struggling to free herself from, what

were to her, now parachute-sized panties.

"Um, see, I'm having this problem," said Michelle, giggling, as she placed

Siobahn into the centre of her left palm. Siobahn, obviously terrified, stood

shakily. "It looks like everyone I get mad at ends up about your size. I don't

know how or why it happens, but, uh, I can't risk keeping anyone around in case

they're found. I've sort of got rid of all the other ones. You know?"

Siobahn collapsed to her knees, unable to stand. Even Michelle could see her

trembling, she was shaking so badly. Michelle realized as she stared at her

friend's naked body that Siobahn's breasts were just as sexy naked as they were

clothed, and couldn't help feeling intense jealousy. It wasn't fair. Siobahn had

nicer hair, and nicer hips. Why should she have those amazing tits too?

"I've never seen you naked before," said Michelle. Siobahn covered herself as

best she could with her hands, making Michelle laugh. "You'll need more than

hands to cover those boobs," said Michelle, as she reached out and bobbled one

with her little finger. Siobahn gave a squeak of fright.

"It's not fair," said Michelle. "Why can't I have boobs like yours? All I got is

these things. Wanna see?"

Clearly, from the way she sobbed and curled up, Siobahn did not. But Michelle

didn't care. Awkwardly, still holding the tiny Siobahn in her hand, Michelle

stripped off her shirt and laid on the bed. She dropped Siobahn between her

small, conical breasts.

"See?" said Michelle. "They're, like, so small compared to yours. Well, not at

the moment." Michelle laughed. She could feel Siobahn's little bare feet

pressing on the sensitive flesh between her breasts. Michelle's nipples were

erect, rock-hard and tingling.

"Why don't you climb them?" whispered Michelle. She licked her lips and flicked

one of her nipples with her thumb. The sensation made her chew on her lower lip.

"Go on," said Michelle breathily. Having another person watch her playing with

her breasts was making Michelle very horny. She lifted the crying Siobahn and

placed her on top of her left breast. "Go on," Michelle repeated. "Rub it."

The nipple came up over Siobahn's knees, and was as large around as a tree

stump. Terrified to disobey, she got down on her knees and hugged the nipple to

her chest, squeezing it with her arms.

"Mmmm," crooned Michelle. "Very, very nice. Ooh, you wouldn't believe how good

that feels. Uhhh. Oh yes. Harder. Harder!"

Siobahn struggled to obey, but she simply was not big or strong enough to apply

the kind of pressure Michelle wanted. Michelle's thumb landed heavily on

Siobahn's back and crushed her into the nipple, rubbing her whole body back and

forth over it. The turgid flesh was as hard as Indian rubber to Siobahn, and she

felt the icy hot pain of ribs breaking. She screamed as her broken ribs were

grated back and forth over the stump-like nipple.

Growling with lust, Michelle rolled Siobahn down the steep incline of her

breast, into her cleavage. "My tits are bigger than your whole damn body," said

Michelle in a husky whisper. So saying, she put each hand to the outside of each

of her breasts and squeezed them together, trapping Siobahn inside.

Siobahn couldn't breathe. The fall from the top of the breast had knocked the

wind from her, and now she was immobilizied between walls of hot flesh. As the

pressure increased, her broken ribs became a hellish torture. She would have

cried out if she could, but she was smothering in soft tit flesh.

"Oh yes," growled Michelle. With all her strength she crushed her breasts

together with her hands and felt Siobahn's sexy little body collapse under the

pressure. A thin rivulet of blood streamed down her breastbone in a trickle and

pooled in her navel. When she released her breasts, tiny Siobahn crumpled down

in a boneless pile.

Michelle was surprised to see, after a few seconds, there was still some

movement. The softness of the flesh had partially protected Siobahn and, though

she was a mass of broken, splintered bone, she yet lived. Michelle picked

Siobahn up between her fingers. She looked at her friend impassively for a

little while, enjoying her handiwork. Then she lowered fingers and broken girl

both into her mouth. With her lips, she slurped at her fingers and pulled them

loose with a smack. Siobahn remained very briefly in her mouth until Michelle

built up enough saliva, then swallowed her alive.

Why she had done any of these things Michelle didn't know, but her groin was a

twitching, throbbing mound of desperate need. After pulling off the rest of her

clothes, she put on her bathrobe and stalked barefoot down the hall.

Chandiri had the bad luck to be coming out of her room just as a bathrobed

Michelle came storming past. Chandiri sneered and opened her mouth to speak, but

her words would remain a mystery forever. She vanished in an explosion of

clothing. Michelle padded to a halt long enough to sort little Chandiri from her

now-empty clothes.

"You stuck up little cunt," hissed Michelle to her tiny prisoner. She grinned

demonically. "In fact, that's not a bad idea." Chandiri's elfin, nutmeg-coloured

body looked delicate enough to simply snap under its own weight. Michelle hoped

Chandiri would stand up at to the punishment, at least for a little while. A

quick glance showed her the hallway was empty, and she thrust the tiny,

wriggling body into her bathrobe, through her wet, sopping labia, and deep

inside her cunt. Michelle giggled and wondered if that counted as losing her

virginity.

After kicking Chandiri's clothes into her room, Michelle continued down the hall

until she got to Rick's room. The door was open and Rick was at his desk,

writing. He looked up and blinked in surprise at Michelle's flushed, grinning

face, then at her haphazardly tied bathrobe that revealed far more than it hid.

Michelle slammed the door shut and locked it. "Fuck me," she growled, pulling

open her bathrobe and letting it fall to the floor. Chandiri's tiny body

struggling in her cunt was making her so horny she could hardly think. Rick

gawked stupidly as Michelle stalked over and tore open his shirt, sending

buttons flying everywhere. After straddling his lap, she pressed her lips

against his and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

"Mmmmph?" said Rick, struggling for breath around Michelle's hot tongue.. "Mmmm!

Mmmmm," he said, his last grunt trailing off into a moan of satisfaction as his

hands found Michelle's breasts. He tried to pull her off, to tell her to go

slow, but she she was savage, like an animal in heat. He had to wrestle her

bodily away from him long enough to stand and pull off his pants. Rather than

wait for him, Michelle threw herself on Rick and tackled him to the floor, then

impaled herself on his erect member.

Inside Michelle's cunt, Chandiri was suddenly rammed violently into the cervix

by the spongy tip of Rick's giant penis. It retreated briefly, then rammed

itself home again, crushing Chandiri into the wet flesh. She tried to scream in

the hot, wet, airless cave, but the penis retreated and smashed into her again,

splintering bones. Over and over Michelle lifted her hips and rammed herself

down again, battering Chandiri to a torn and bloody, completely pulped mass.

Rick orgasmed, shooting his semen inside Michelle and drowning the twitching

remains of what had been Chandiri.

Shortly after Rick came, Michelle had an incredible, volcanic orgasm of her own.

As she did, Rick vanished from beneath her, causing her to drop a several inches

to the floor. A careful inspection revealed a very stunned-looking Rick laying

on his back on the carpet in a wet spot of his own semen mingled with Michelle's

juices and Chandiri's blood. With a growl, Michelle rose to her knees, picked

him up, and rammed him into her cunt, against her clitoris. She ground him

without mercy against the hard nub until his tiny body was thoroughly crushed,

and his blood lubricated his remains. She continued to crush his mangled body

against her until she had a second, almost as powerful, orgasm.

As she lay on the carpet recuperating, her chest heaving with exertion, Michelle

smiled. So much could change in an hour, she thought. Tomorrow, there would be a

whole busload of people, sweating, farting, grumbling people who would make her

very angry. With so many people missing, who would notice if she just pulled up

stakes and moved on? And tonight, they would be gathering in the lounge to watch

a movie. Or so they thought.

Much later that night, as Michelle gathered up the tiny forms that darted across

the carpet in the lounge, she looked up briefly to see what movie was playing.

She couldn't suppress a harsh bark of laughter.

It was Attack of the Fifty Foot Woman.

 

* * *

 

"I believe I have won this one," said Aphrodite, with a sly smile. She

sighed. "It's so romantic to see a girl find her true calling, don't you think?"

"First blood is indeed yours," growled Ares. His cheeks were hot with fury.

"Though it was most fouly done."

Aphrodite lifted one eyebrow in surprise. "So! How foul, say you?"

"Clearly you knew such a monster could hide within the flesh of a mortal girl of

unassuming aspect," said Ares.

"Come come, my lord," said Aphrodite. "Did you not look within her yourself? Did

you not see her free from tarnish or blemish? An innocent, if foolish heart?"

"Aye," growled Ares. "And more's the suspiciousness. In any event, you shall not

take another round. I shall decline any selection of a champion chosen from the

Age of Ignorance, for it is most obvious that women there are far estranged from

their gentler forebearers."

"As you will," said Aphrodite with a minute shrug of her smooth, ivory

shoulders. "My next selection shall be from the Age of the Gods, so that you

might not claim ignorance to excuse your defeat."

"Beware your tongue," snapped Ares.

Aphrodite smiled. "My apologies, my lord, if I offended. My next choice is easy,

for I have watched the girl for some time. Young Selenia is as lovely and pure

as spring rain, and surely at least as innocent. Her family, though not wealthy,

are well provided and want for nothing. The Emperors in Rome have ruled her land

for five hundred years in peace and prosperity. She is well-beloved. Her nature

is gentle. Look deep into her heart and see that no serpent of evil coils

within."

With a gesture, Aphrodite pointed Ares to her champion through the mists that

swirled perpetually about the Mount of the Gods.

For a long time Ares scrutinized his lover's choice, both inside and out. "Yes,

I see no evil there. She is lovely and gentle, with no hidden malice. I do not

see but that she is incapable of cruelty. I approve the selection."

"It is well," said Aphrodite. "Bestow upon her your power."

Ares smiled grimly. "This time I shall take no chances. Her strength shall not

be hidden, to use in secrecy. No, that temptation shall be denied her. Her

strength shall be open and obvious for all to see, and its exercise shall be

likewise apparent. She is made great... thus. It is done. Now, wanton woman,

prepare to render your prize unto me."

But Aphrodite merely smiled her enigmatic smile. "We shall see what we shall

see."

 

* * *

II. Selenia's Tale

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