Giantess Stories: Spectator Sport By The Wordmaster

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Spectator Sport

By The Wordmaster

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen, to the 12th annual Miss Galaxia pageant.

I'm Cid Citswell of KRON 3D newsbroadcasting, and with me is Hal, emotionless

computer color commentator. Hal, you wanna bring our viewers who are just tuning

in up to speed?"

"Most assuredly, fellow comentator. For those of you just joining us, the

current leader is Miss Betelgeuse with 438 points. Coming in close second is

Miss Sol, with 436 points, and right at her heels is the previously unheard-of

Miss Andromeda, with 423 points. Trailing behind at 357 points, but still coming

in fourth and therefore qualifying for our next events, is Miss Rigel-7."

"Thanks, Hal. To recap the competition so far, Miss Betelgeuse and Miss Sol have

been neck and neck in every area, each taking firsts and seconds across the

board. Miss Andromeda was lagging behind, but scored an amazing 198 points in

the strength competition, melding two separate titanium orbs into one perfect

sphere with her bare hands! That extra-strong gravity she experiences living on

the planet closest to her sun really gave her the edge in that category.

"As for our fourth place contestant, well, Miss Rigel-7 is certainly no shining

example of intelligence, but good golly, what a body! She suffered several major

losses early on, scoring a mere 23 points in the universal trivia quiz round and

then only 34 more in the quantum physics round. But apparently our judges

believe that brains aren't everything, and Miss Rigel-7 scored a record-breaking

200 points in the swimsuit competition. Like I said, her body is top-notch!

"And who could forget her performance during our talent show? I've never seen

anyone so flexible! Obviously our judges enjoyed her racy performance as well,

and awarded this little gem of the universe 100 points, pushing her into fourth

place. Whaddaya think of that, Hal? Mind-blowing, simply mind-blowing."

"Well, Cid, it seemed to me the mind was not the primary object being blown. It

would be more accurate to call it *expletive deleted* blowing."

"Whoa, nelly! Good call on that one, censors! We don't want our little Galaxians'

minds warped, do we, Hal?"

"I had no intention of warping minds. In the robotic culture, names of fleshly

body parts are not considered obscene. If something is a *expletive deleted* we

call it a *expletive deleted*"

"Ouch! Hal, you might wanna tone down the potty mouth a little! All righty then,

folks, we're just about to begin our next competition. I think I'd better let

Hal give you the history lesson. Just try to keep it clean, buddy."

"As all citizens of Galaxia know, our next ruler is selected based upon a

comprehensive judging of her intellect, physical strength and appearance, and

also unwavering moral code. The next Queen of Galaxia must be prepared to judge

criminals ruthlessly and dole out their punishments without remorse. As per

standard universal code, punisment involves crushing beneath the feet of the

judge until major bodily funcitons cease. In layman's terms, stepped on until

dead. With this goal in mind, each contestant has been enlarged to 90 kjorns in

height and a shipment of criminals has been imported from a planet deemed unfit

for participation in universal activitites. This year's criminal planet is

Earth, whose crime is transmitting terrible television shows throughout space.

Such shows include Survivor, The Weakest Link, Temptation Island and perhaps

most damning of all, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. Regis Philbin's shrill nasal

voice and inane catch phrase angered the Universal leaders, who immediately

banned Earth from continued existence."

"Well, Hal, thanks. Could you tell us a bit about the vital stats of the

Earthlings?"

"Each one stands at approximately .5 kjorns (roughly six earth feet) in height,

making the contestants thirty times taller than their prey. As is customary, the

arena has been designed to resemble a typical earth setting, in this case a

household room referred to as a 'kitchen.' In the earthlings' eyes, they will

have been reduced to three of their 'inches' (a standard unit of measurement.

Curiously enough, it is used only in one stubborn country, which is also

responsible for the broadcast of the aforementioned television shows.)"

"Allright, Hal! Way to bone up on your history lesson! Now, since I'm sure our

viewers are falling asleep, let's get this party started! Our first event is the

Lightning Round. Contestants have three minutes to crush as many earthlings as

possible. This event starts in three, two, one, NOW!"

***

We lay huddled in the darkness. Near as I can tell, there are about fifty of us

here. Not that I know where here is. I was driving along, minding my own

business, when there's a big bright light in the sky. I stopped to see what it

was and got sucked into this ship. Everyone I've talked to has a similar story.

We've been here for hours. I just wanna go home. I just want...

Wait a second, the door's opening! We're free! As one, we pour through the tall,

metal doors and into the... kitchen? Refrigerator, table, dishwasher, what the

hell's going on? Why is everything so big? A blaring voice comes from above:

"WELCOME EARTHLINGS. THE LIGHTNING ROUND WILL BEGIN SHORTLY. IT IS ADVISED THAT

YOU SEEK COVER."

Lightning round? Where am I? Somebody owes me an explanation. And just what am I

supposed to be seeking cover from?

With a hiss and an erupting cloud of steam, the wall begins to rise. Light

streams into the room, silhouetting four figures in the gigantic doorway. The

ground trembles and shakes as they begin to enter, their heavy footfalls shaking

the foundation of the earth itself. I fall back a step and crane my neck upwards

to see exactly what it is I am to be seeking cover from. As the smoke clears,

the forms become visible. Four gigantic women, scantily clad and stunningly

beautiful. A smile graces the face of the first to enter, a blonde, and she

speaks.

"IT'S SQUASHING TIME!"

I stand face-to-foot with this enormous woman, staring directly at her big toe,

painted a delicate pink, which stands atop the gigantic leather pedestal that is

her open-toed platform sandal. Her foot raises into the air, its shadow creeping

forwards to cover me. Looking up, I can see every tread in the sole of her

magnificent footwear. With a rushing sound, her foot begins to come down. KastKing Bassinator Elite – (NEW! Baitcast Fishing Reel)

***

"Well, Hal, this lightning round is off to an incredible start. The crowd is on

their feet, cheering their favorites to victory. Miss Betelgeuse scored the

first point, but as always Miss Sol follows close behind. Now the little

earthlings seem to understand their danger and they've begun to scatter. From

the original fifty, there are forty-eight, ooh, forty-seven (Miss Rigel-7 just

snagged one) tiny earthlings, scrambling for cover. Let's switch over to the

live feed and see how things are going..."

***

The room resounds with high-pitched screams and crunching sounds, punctuated by

the occasional squeal of delight from Miss Rigel-7. "I got one! I got one!" she

giggles, then skips after her next victim.

Miss Sol and Miss Betelgeuse are more business-like, each keeping track of her

own score and her opponent's, vying for the title of Miss Galaxia. It is rare

for emotion to cross their faces; they seem like glorious goddesses, unmoved by

the pleas and cries of their puny mortals.

In the first few minutes, there are dozens of people, male and female alike,

scurrying around the floor like mice, seeking in vain for cover. Though they run

as fast as possible, they cannot hope to escape the four towering giantesses who

can cover hundreds of feet with a single stride. The contestants easily pick

them off as they cross the open floor, leaving red smears behind.

Miss Sol tracks a tiny man, poising her foot above him then bringing it down

swiftly. She takes no time to exult in her victory, but immediately begins

searching for another.

Miss Betelgeuse spies a couple, holding hands and sprinting towards the towering

cabinets. With the barest of grins, she stomps, splattering blood and scoring

two points with one step.

The carnage continues, tinny human wails cut short by the grim sound of bone

snapping and flesh squishing.

CRUNCH!

SPLAT!

SQUISH!

Now, the hunting grows more difficult as the remaining prey has had time to find

hiding spots. Each contestant slows down, searching carefully for any movement

that would give away the position of an earthling.

A man darts behind the leg of the gigantic table; it towers over him like a

redwood. His movements have been spotted, however, and he is pulled away from

his hiding place, pinched between finger and thumb of Miss Sol. Her flaming red

hair cascades about her shoulders as she lets out a ringing laugh. Dropping him

to the floor, she lifts her foot and stomps down, ending his life and adding a

point to her total.

A woman, leaning against the pillar of a chair leg, gasping to catch her breath,

peers cautiously around the corner of her hiding spot. Her tiny gaze meets one

gigantic, icy blue eye. Its owner, Miss Rigel-7, lets another giggle escape her

full lips and grabs the woman in her fist. Squeezing, she increases the pressure

until the woman pops, blood squirting from her body and running down Miss

Rigel-7's fingers. A look of distaste spreads across the titanic blonde's face.

She shakes her hand, flinging the broken corpse away and sending droplets of

blood everywhere.

A man, perhaps driven insane with fear, sprints from behind the garbage can and

scrambles towards the wall where the doorway he entered from once was. His mad

dash leads him straight past Miss Betelgeuse, who spies him and disdainfully

kicks her foot forwards slightly, slamming it into the man and sending him

flying forwards. He falls in a heap and is unable to rise. She continues walking

forwards. Her foot lands directly on the man, crushing his legs to paste but

leaving his upper torso intact. She leaves him, screaming and wailing, behind

her as she continues her search for more kills.

Two miniscule people rush for the cover of the refrigerator, hiding under its

bulk. They crouch in the darkness, congratulating each other on escaping the

wrath of the giant women. Their elated grins turn to screams of fear as the

entire fridge is lifted in the mighty grip of Miss Andromeda. Sneering down at

the huddled frames of the insect-like people at her feet, she squeezes harder on

the fridge, causing it to buckle under her amazing strength. She lifts her foot

above them and slowly crushes them beneath it, relishing their squeaks and

squeals of pain. The snapping of bone is faint to her ears. The resistance of

the bodies grows steadily weaker as they are crushed beneath her foot.

Snickering, she stomps down with finality, spraying the humans' innards in a

wide, bloody fan.

***

"And that's time! Hal, whaddaya think of that? One of the most stunning

competitions I've ever seen! We're waiting now for the final point totals to be

tallied so we can announce the winner of this year's Miss Galaxia pageant."

"Yes, Cid. My circuits have been running to analyze the lightning round's

events. While it was impressive of Miss Andromeda to belittle her victims with

awesome feats of strength, it may well have cost her the win. While she was busy

hoisting refrigerators into the air, her opponents were catching easier prey,

scoring more points."

"Too bad we can't give her points for creativity. That girl's got spunk!"

"Another point of conflict is Miss Rigel-7's killing of the earth female. Though

she did technically terminate that being's life, the rules state that victims

are to be killed with the feet. Judges have yet to agree whether to award her

the point or not."

"I see what you mean, Hal. Another interesting problem arose over Miss

Betelgeuse. That one guy whose legs she crused hasn't died yet, and judges are

debating whether she deserves credit or not. Personally, I'd say just give her a

half point! Ha! Get it, Hal? Cuz she smashed half of him, but not.... oh never

mind. Computers. No sense of humor."

"Much as I would like to defend myself against your racial slur, Cid, it seems

the results are in."

"Holy cow, you're right! The judges have selected a new Miss Galaxia. Oh, I'm so

excited! I can't wait to hear who it is! Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of

this year's pageant is Miss-- *ksshhhtt* Wait, we're br*ksshhtt*ng up! *ksshtt*ference

from *ksshtt*amn Earth transmissions! *ksshhtt* winner is*ksshhtt*................"

"For one hundred and twenty five thousand dollahs, is that your final ansah?"

Damn that earth television!

Giantess Stories: Spectator Sport By The Wordmaster

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