Things spiraled out of control very quickly.
Every morning I wake up with the same suffocating weight on my chest. My back carries an invisible burden that bends me forward. I never asked for this. I never wanted it. I get up, eat something flavorless, shower in boiling water as if I could peel my skin off, and then brush my teeth until my gums bleed. Sometimes I stare at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror and feel nauseous. Thank God, I didn’t have nightmares today.
I was just trying to do something good for the world.
That’s why I avoid the news. I avoid the phone. I avoid any screen. I know perfectly well what they’re going to talk about. I know exactly what images they’re going to show over and over again.
Two months ago, I was working on a matter transport prototype: an interspatial gateway capable of moving objects from one point on the planet to another instantaneously. It was my greatest achievement. My contribution to humanity.
Then my Aunt Susan arrived.
I never knew why she entered the lab that day. I never knew why, with that childlike curiosity she always had, she touched the controls. The portal activated with a blinding flash, and she vanished.
She reappeared in the center of London.
Now she stood over 1200 meters tall. Her body was an obscene excess of mature, voluptuous flesh: colossal breasts, heavy and round, overflowing from a black bra, so large that each one could flatten several entire neighborhoods with its mere weight. Her buttocks were the most striking feature: two gigantic, fat, soft, and absurdly enormous globes, covered by leopard-print leggings stretched to their limit, accentuating every curve, every fold, and every ripple of that fleshy mass. The fabric was so taut it seemed on the verge of tearing, hinting at the pale, soft skin beneath. That colossal ass swayed and trembled with every step like two mountains of hot jelly, hypnotic and lethal.
She was a 54-year-old woman. A normal aunt, a bit flirty, who always brought cookies when she visited. But now she looked like a carnal, destructive goddess sprung from humanity’s worst nightmare.
Her thick, strong legs ended in red stiletto heels that now functioned as weapons of mass destruction. Each heel plunged into the ground like a divine spear, piercing buildings, churches, and subway stations with ease, leaving deep craters filled with twisted metal and crushed bodies.
Her long blonde hair rippled in the wind like a golden waterfall, framing a mature and sensual face: full lips painted a deep red, bright blue eyes filled with a sadistic, mischievous joy. She had the body of a woman who had enjoyed life: wide hips, a waist still defined despite her size, and soft skin that glistened slightly from the sweat caused by the strain of her new dimensions.
But the most disturbing thing was her expression.
Susan was smiling. Not with pure malice, but with a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and genuine excitement, as if she had just discovered the most fun toy in the world. As she walked, her colossal buttocks shook heavily, slamming into adjacent buildings and causing them to collapse with a roar. Her breasts bounced forcefully, crushing towers and bridges under their natural movement. Each step triggered earthquakes that shattered windows for miles around and turned people into a thin red smear under her feet.
“Oh, my dear nephew...” she purred, her voice deep, sensual, and booming, making the air vibrate. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received in my entire life.”
And she meant it.
Every step was genocide.
Her red heels plunged into the asphalt like harpoons, piercing dozens of buildings and crushing hundreds of people in a single movement. Bodies became wet, red stains beneath her soles. Cars were flattened into bloody sheets of metal. People ran in all directions, screaming, but there was no escape. Thousands of people disappeared under her feet in less than a blink, reduced to a viscous paste of flesh, bone, and shredded clothing.
Since then, you could say my family has become the absolute owner of the country. My Aunt Susan devoured the prime minister and the entire parliament in a single afternoon. She picked them up as if they were a handful of candies and popped them into her mouth one by one, chewing slowly while smiling. No one can stop her. The cities that try to rebel end up destroyed... or something worse. Many have been lifted from the ground and thrown directly into the dark, hot, and humid abyss between her gigantic buttocks, where they disappear forever in a prison of soft, sweaty flesh.
Millions have died. And it’s my fault.
She doesn’t mind waking up any morning, walking to any town, ripping it from its foundations like pulling a weed, and eating it whole in one bite, houses, cars, and inhabitants included. You can hear the wet crunch of buildings breaking between her teeth, the muffled screams of thousands of people being crushed alive, and then the guttural sound of her throat swallowing.
Once, she went to the busiest airport in the country and committed one of the worst massacres known to humanity.
She picked up the passenger-filled planes as if they were plastic toys. She rubbed them slowly against her enormous, hardened nipples, destroying them in the process. Metal bent and tore, fuselages exploded against the soft, hot flesh of her breasts, and the passengers’ bodies were crushed, turned into a red paste that stuck to her skin. Some were unfortunate enough to survive a few more seconds: Susan would pull them from the twisted wreckage and push them directly between her colossal breasts, squeezing them between that soft, heavy flesh while moaning with pleasure. Their screams slowly faded, drowned by the heat and pressure of her giant breasts.
Birmingham had it much worse.
She simply sat down in the middle of the city. She slowly and deliberately pulled down her leopard-print leggings, revealing her enormous vagina and the deep abyss between her buttocks. Then she used all the buildings in the city as personal toys. With her colossal hands, she grabbed entire neighborhoods, tearing down blocks of buildings as if they were Legos. Some she pushed directly into her vagina, thrusting them deep while groaning with a hoarse, satisfied voice. Others she shoved between her buttocks, crushing them against the hot, sweaty flesh until only ruins and red stains remained.
She would take batches of hundreds of people between her fingers, crush them mercilessly into a bloody pulp, and then smear the remains over her enormous breasts, rubbing the mixture of blood, viscera, and concrete against her nipples as if it were body cream. The smell of death and sex spread for miles around.
The floor begins to tremble. She is approaching.
The roof of my house is ripped off as if it were cardboard. Daylight disappears, replaced by the overwhelming shadow of her enormous breasts. Two of her colossal fingers lift me off the ground with terrifying gentleness and bring me right in front of her face. Her mastodonic lips, painted a deep red, slowly approach and kiss me. A wet, hot, sticky kiss that leaves me drenched in saliva.
“A very good morning to my favorite nephew,” she says cheerfully, her voice rumbling like thunder inside my head.
I am suspended in the air, almost drowning in cold sweat. I won’t lie: I’m afraid of dying.
“How’s the work going?” she asks. Her voice makes my ears hurt.
“Good... it’ll be ready soon,” I reply, my voice trembling.
“I hope so, nephew. I’m starting to get desperate.”
My Aunt Susan had tasked me with making her even bigger. Much bigger.
To ensure I wouldn’t think of anything else, she crushed Lia, my partner, in front of me with her little finger. She did it slowly, enjoying the moment. I watched as the body of the love of my life sank under that fleshy, hot fingertip, how her legs broke first with a dry snap, then her pelvis, and finally her torso burst like a balloon filled with blood. Her organs spilled onto the lab table in a hot, glistening pool while Susan let out a soft, almost maternal giggle.
“HELP ME,” I still hear her cries for help in my head.
“She was a distraction, darling,” she told me afterward, licking a bit of blood from her finger.
Since then, she visits occasionally to “motivate me.” She lifts me up to her face, kisses me with those giant lips that still smell of death and ruins, and whispers playfully:
“And remember, little nephew,” she said between cheerful and terrible laughter, “I want to be big enough to block out the sun with my ass... hahaha. Or maybe fit the whole Earth between my tits, huh?”
Sometimes I wish I could abandon this world, but I can’t do it without repairing the damage I’ve done.
