Boots.
#1 of Stories.
A story about a spaniel and his boots. And his other bodily functions.
(ATTN: I realise watersports aren't everyone's jam, so I've pointed out these sections with *MARK*, so avoid them, if you wish.)
It was easy to see, owing to the clear, cloud-less day, the gigantic set of boots looming in the distance. The rather large city, nestled in some flat plains, was staring out at the leviathan looming over it. A spaniel, clad in black t-shirt and jeans and a rather sick smile, staring down at the city. He takes a single step forward, his wide, tall, heavy, black leather boots sailing forward. As it moves forward, before landing, it crashes through a small forest, the wood exploding under the massive kicking force of the steel-toed boot. It sails through the air, soundlessly, before crashing down. Sinking almost 10 meters down into the ground, the exploding sound of it's impact causing some of the city's thinner windows to crack and shatter, it crashes into a crowded highway. Cars, highway, people are all compacted into one, as the titan takes his stroll into down, each step aiming carefully for concentrated masses of the small metal vehicles. He leaves great strides untouched, his long legs owing to his unintentional mercy. He does let his toes drag the ground occasionally, the dirt dragged upward, rolling over the vehicles and trapping them. He keeps his stroll up, the spaniel humming and whistling as he wreaks a small-scale apocalypse underneath his boots, a few thousand trampled already before he even reaches the city limits.
Many in the city had seen him coming, but a few were either ignorant or idiotic. They poke out of their abodes, and watch with binoculars and cameras, as the massive, boot-clad wearing spaniel enclosed on their suburban homes. As he closes in, they tremble and shake from the tremours caused by his tall, military-style boots, the titan giving a rather sick grin again, as he peers his head down. He squints a bit, his foot thumping down again, causing a considerable crater, as he examines some of the houses in front of him. Squinting carefully, he spies a plucky, tiny soul, filming the event on a large camcorder. The spaniel gives a rather loud chuckle, shaking the poor journalist with his volume, before pushing his lips out slowly. The spaniel works up a thick mouthful of saliva, before spitting it out, the missile careening down toward the cameraman in a solid glob. Stunned, he keeps filming, before it lands, trapping him in a mass of stickly fluid, smashing him down into the ground. If he were lucky, his footage might survive, and be used posthumously in a news report.
The spaniel looks down at the little splat mark he made, and laughs some more. He lifts his foot, debris scattering off it's messy sole, before he pushes his boot-front down on the little house of the journalist. The roof is gently lowered upon, cracked running down the tiled roof, red slates sliding down and shattering as he lowers his foot some more, the majority of the roof caving inward and crumbling. Still pushing down, the spaniel ponders if there are any cowering wrecks inside, wailing or squealing for mercy. He doesn't ponder for much longer, before lowering his boot some more, walls cracking heavily now. A few more tonnes of pressure, and it collapses totally, a dusty little stain on his boot now, and a pile of scrap on a small lawn. His boot planting the ground, he grinds it back and forth, making sure his job is done, before taking another step foward with his other foot.
With this most recent display, the heavy cracking and crunching as the house fell together, the gentle thump of the boot closing down on the ground, people were beginning to suspect a change in tactic from the giant. A few of them do begin to abandon home, running as fast as they can through lawns and hedgerows, away from the jackbooted titan. He can spy a few of the mewling ones as they flee, not paying much mind to these small frys. He looks around a bit, spotting little flickers behind blinds and curtains, and grins, lifting his foot, and unceremoniously thumping his heel down into those little bungalows, the shattering sound ringing in the ears of those who remain. He manages about 4 or 5 more destructive steps, before people are fleeing en-mass, a sea of ants running away from the spaniel.
*MARK*
The spaniel gives a little bit of a wince as he spies the micros, but not for an external reason. He stops, planting his boots atop a few struggling souls, the heavy leather pressing them down into the ground, leaving them alive, their limbs flailing, clawing for reprive, as the spaniel opens his zip. The sound rings out, echoing ominously, as he opens his jeans, fishing around and pulling out his tool. The titan is definitely enjoying his trip out, so much so that aiming his hose downward is a little bit of a struggle, but he does manage. Soon after, he makes a loud sighing, lidding his eyes slightly, as he releases. His tip is soon a torrent, a heavy stream flying downward, the first to be hit is plastered under several gallons of urine, the spaniel spraying his tip around carefully. Hundreds are washed away, plastered into the soggy ground, their houses are smashed under the concussive impact, the simple act of marking his territory causing mass hysteria and panic. He stops soon afterward, wiggling his member a bit to dry out, before continuing his stomping movements to the centre of town, and it's tantalizing skyscrapers.
*MARK*
His boot steps continue, chasing the runts as they scurry and flee, the spaniel getting a few little flashes of light in his eyes. The tall glass towers sparkle against his eyes, as he gives a rather wide grin. Not paying much mind, yet still trampling dozens flat into the pavement underneath his heavy, slightly messy boots, thick chunks of concrete and mud plastering the ground as his boot sails over the air. The little abodes are starting to get taller, his foot sailing through them, rending them to dust as he keeps going for the real catches. Walking down a wide road, he pancakes the cars and their panicked owners, as he stands up in front of a rather large skyscraper. Maybe 40 or 50 floors high, it only comes up to the giant's knees. Smiling wide, he squats down, and plants his hands at the base of the glass tower, his fingers rolling over and crushing many trying to escape it, before he digs his fingers underneath it, and tears it upward. The first floor is left o nthe ground, those on it screaming in a maddening panic, the roof over their heads ripped away, left with a gargantuan spaniel staring back at them. He purses his lips again, and spits on this collection of little runts, bellowing out a curse afterwards, the tower's glass cracking in places as he does. He stands up again, holding the tower in one arm, making a rude gesture to those in the wreckage and the thick fluids. Many manage to claw their way upward, out of the sticky, thick sea of saliva, before a heavy, dirty boot tread closes down on their little souls, and flattens them out of existence.
Still keeping his catch in one hand, he stomps around the wide pavements around the tower districts, most fleeing by now, but the odd crunching, squishing sound ringing in his floppy ears still made the spaniel rather happy. After a few more rounds of this, the spaniel lifts his right foot, balanced on the left one, as he plants it against the side of one of the skyscrapers, and pushes. A hideous, screaming, shattering sound of metal ringing out as it bends over. After a few more moments of pressure, it topples, the tower sailing down and crashing into a few smaller buildings adjacent to it. The tower, being of slightly more expensive construction, survive the fall, the other buildings and people it lands on don't fare so well.
A large part of the work force remain in the tower. Almost everyone is given intense vertigo, lying on their sides against the walls of their office or cubicle, a few planted against the glass, staring up at many hanging onto fixtures. The ones near the giant's boot can see him, standing over the tower. Once again, he curses at the small people he dominates so easily, grabbing his crotch and shaking his hand, in a provocative gesture, before stamping a boot down on it. The mud-caked, concrete-packed tread, occasionally dotted with the odd micro, surviving or not, crashes down on the upward facing part of the toppled scraper, mashing down on the base of it. It makes the cracked and broken part of the skyscraper even more wrecked, metal and micros crunching and creaking as the spaniel growls out rather harshly. He steps again, flattening this tower methodically, until only a few insane, panicked runts are left near the top. He leans his head down, grinning wide, baring his teeth before licking the glass. The simple act makes them wail and beg in an even more manic manner, before the spaniel laughs out deeply, standing up straight again, and leaving them.
*MARK*
With the tall glass tower still in his arms, the spaniel stomps off again, his steel-toe boots kicking clean through blocks of houses, vapourising them and their inhabitants to dust. After a few long, destructive, murderous steps, he's standing near the suburbs again. Tipping the building upside down, he plants the sharp, pointed top of it into the ground, the building just at his knees still. With the wide opening staring back at his face, the spaniel undoes his zip once more. Still just as excited as before, he squats down, aiming his member carefully into that wide opening, and lets loose his torrent. He groans loudly, pushing hard to evacuate his bladder, millions of gallons flooding the tower. Almost everyone is left drowning in the spaniel's fluids, the tower filling up rather quickly. Soon, the fluid spills out, the spaniel standing up and spraying everywhere he can reach, micros splattered underneath gallons of fluid, leaving them soaked in his release.
*MARK*
The spaniel looks back at his handiwork, his heavy tool left hanging out. Still throbbing a bit, he gives a devious grin, rubbing over his rather long member with a hand, letting it swing around as he stomps back to town. He spies a small swarm of the micros, these ones are, for some reason, fearless of the booted giant. He stands over them, his heavy footfalls causing a cloud of dust to float over them, as he grins down at them. He starts to pull on his mammoth member slowly, back and forth, as his other hand reaches down, grabbing a few of them in one pinch, as he dashes them against his member, gripping them with his fingers and squeezing them tightly against the thick, fat, throbbing flesh. He keeps pulling himself, a thick drop of precum forming on his slit, hanging onto his bobbing foreskin for a few moments before flying downward, splattering some of those underneath him. They get a rather minor contact with the giant's fluids, left up to their ankles in his thick, heavy pre-release. He keeps going, grabbing a few more micros from outlying sections of town and squeezing them into his fat member, pawing harder now. Droplets start to rain down on them, however, they remain steadfast as they get washed in thick, musky preseed. A few try and run, realizing the gesture the giant is making, but they're left stuck in his fluid. Still pawing himself, the spaniel grunts a bit, his tip twitching, as he pulls back hard, and aims directly downward. A rope of cum splatters downward, crashing into the runts at his boots and washing them from view, as massive waves of cum plant down on them.
After a few waves of white, the spaniel rubs his tip with a finger, and licks himself clean, before zipping up. He takes his boot, and smashes it down on the white splatter and grinds it into the dirt. The spaniel stretches a bit, and groans out a yawn, before taking his heavy, dirty boots, and stomping out of town, behind some mountains, and out of sight.