Excerpt for Attack of the North Korean Giantess (Triangulum Episode 4) by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Attack of the North Korean Giantesses

A smutpunk story of Amazonian Women growing after a Nuclear Meltdown

(giantess, futa, five hive, a Triangulum stain episode, sci-fi, erotica, pulp)

Copyright Page

Copyright © 2014-2018 by Moctezuma Johnson


This eBook is the work of Moctezuma Johnson and Girls Carrying Books and is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this book with another, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting author copyrights.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is coincidental.

WARNING: This novelette contains strong language and graphic sex scenes

Girls Carrying Books
an imprint of
SPANKable Productions’

Triangulum Stain (episode 4)



Examination by unauthorized


is a criminal offense punishable

by fines and imprisonment

up to

20 years and $200,000


PROJECT: Faded Giant Kimchi Containment




SUBJECT: Radiation Containment, Political Containment


Rewind… 1975 somewhere outside Earth’s Orbit

Five latex-clad WiB agents with five different outfits and five different specialties, were chatting like good old friends on the USS Enterthighs ride into Earth’s atmosphere. The five agents were looking hot. Wet look latex sucked in booties, held breasts propped up like anti-gravity chambers, and slid tight up crevices.

Shayna was in the middle of a rant, “Hell, I was smart as a whip, so much smarter than my dumbass brother, but I swear to Jesus mama loved him more because he was a damn boy.”

“Enough bragging,” Joana said. “We were all the smartest around us. That’s how we ended up in The Five Hive, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t the smartest. I was just the biggest,” said Ava the BBW Five Hive sexpot as she shimmied her shoulders and made all the extra padding inside her breasts shake gloriously. There was wiggling, jiggling, and giggling.

“Well you’re big in all the right places, mama,” Shayna said. She squeezed one of her latex-wrapped breasts. “They’re like freakin’ watermelons. Geeze!”

“What ‘bout you, Mi Hee?” Tabitha said in her sweet syrupy voice with a touch of Texas and a wallop of estrogen.

The Five Hive girls were having a hoot and holler until Mi Hee said, “I don’t remember my childhood” and stood up and walked out of the mess hall and into her private quarters.

Back in her quarters, Mi Hee was on all fours, her little ass shaking, her thick black mane cascading to the ground softly. She wore only red boots that came up to her well-shaped knees. She scrubbed the tile floor to the shower stall aboard the USS Enterthighs, the latest and greatest starship built by the Women in Black.

On the USS Enterthighs bridge, Shayna said, “Let Mi Hee cool off. We should land the ship soon anyway.” Then in a loud public voice dripping with authority, she barked, “Assume the positions!”

The USS Enterthighs swooped back into Earth’s atmosphere just over Brooklyn, New York. It aimed straight at the Brooklyn Armory on 15th Street. The USS Enterthighs looked just like a woman laying down with her legs spread open. The “head” was the front of the ship. The legs were the ships rockets and boosters, where the hyperdrive was powered. The belly contained all the crew’s quarters, the mess hall, the massage therapy rooms, and the laboratory with Dr. Rock and his team of crackpot scientists.

The Armory was a big red brick behemoth that looked like it was transplanted from Medieval Europe. It was originally built in 1891 for the 14th regiment of the New York State Militia. It was expecting invasion as it was constructed with two huge defensible front towers with inner ramparts and observatories as well as eight smaller towers. The Armory had everything a castle would have, minus the moat. In this case, the moat was Brooklyn. Those streets were often a natural deterrent. You didn’t need turrets and ramparts.

On the top of the Armory, away from the two biggest towers was a hatch built by the WIB. It allowed alien aircraft to fly into the building undetected and drop into the inner sanctum that housed a hangar deep underground.

The Armory hatch opened as the USS Enterthighs approached. It swallowed up the ship, then closed automatically. Few saw anything more than a mosquito in the corner of their eye amidst the bustling New York City backdrop. The USS Enterthighs moved at an incredible speed masking the massive 20,000 square foot interstellar behemoth tasked with monitoring and policing sexual predators from beyond Earth’s atmosphere.

The ship parked in the underground hangar at the south tip of the Women in Black lair. WIB real estate stretched secretly from the Armory in Brooklyn to the WIB headquarters under the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel Air Vents in Lower Manhattan. Their fiefdom was below the subway, the gas mains, the water pipes, and the rats.


1975 -- North of Pyongyang, North Korea

Water ran in little canals under the wood floorboards of a house set about a half meter above the dirty ground. A kindling fire heated water that filled the canals. The hot water traveled under the floorboards and heated the house. Inside, Da Hee prepared a breakfast of fried kimchi and rice. There were twenty-five women in the close quarters. They woke and ate their meals squatting on the floor in silence. Then the women slogged off to the labor camp where they harvested rice all backbreaking day.


Most comfort women from Wartime Korea were prostitutes serving Japanese soldiers in Seoul, but Da Hee played her role in the North. This was when Pyongyang’s new communist government was first propped up by the Chinese. She was a housewife to the local butcher. They weren’t madly in love but their marriage survived. Both worked hard.

The country had become more militant as the Americans and Russians were facing off on either side of the 38th Parallel. The Chinese backed North Korea. The Americans backed South Korea.

One cool February day, two soldiers busted through the door while she and her husband were drinking tea after dinner. One soldier tied up her husband, Seong Ju. Da Hee had on a white North Korean military officer’s blouse. She had become a bit of a career woman. This angered some men of ancient Confucian values who didn’t like to see women rising in society. The clean uniform was a symbol of power and integrity. It had yellow tassels on the shoulder pads that showed movement up the social hierarchy.

Tough green camouflage uniforms fit around these mean looking Chinese soldiers. Their strong, calloused hands ripped open Da Hee’s blouse. Her two big tits plopped out. Her breast skin was as fine as expensive china. Her husband moaned into his gag. Cock pushed against her lady bits. Da Hee’s eyes went wide. She felt a weird tingle in her belly and back. Little hairs on her neck stood up as she was entered. Hands groped her. It shouldn’t have, but fuck it felt good to have no say in it, to be nothing more than an instrument of use. She was no different than a bullet to a gun. She was a sleeve to a cock. A strange cock.

Lovemaking for Da Hee up until this point was only done with her husband. Each session was rushed and at awkward times. Sex was like doing the dishes or hanging clothes out to dry. It was a chore. It was uneventful.

Da Hee turned and looked at the soldier and smiled.

The gritty soldier turned to his younger friend, “Dirty bitch likes it.”

Da Hee’s aroused lips clenched on the dick in her and she moaned with deep pleasure, orgasming.

The other soldier held the hot mom’s tits.

“Kiss her!” said his superior. The younger soldier kissed Da Hee passionately as her moans climaxed and fell into little whimpers.


Fleeing across the bridge over the Han River was bang bang with lots of pushing and shoving. People yelled, kids cried, chickens clucked. Mi Hee was cold. Everyone was pushing across the narrow causeway, trying desperately to get out of Seoul. It smelled of sweat, manure, piss, and burning wood.

Mi Hee followed her mother, recognizing her from her long black hair. Mi Hee was trembling, afraid she’d get lost in the chaos of all these people, but everything was okay as long as she held a fistful of mom’s hanbok and stayed close.

They were on the edge of the bridge, avoiding the chaos of the middle where people were being trampled, losing each other, and getting stuck in a sea of people.

For a moment, Mi Hee looked down and saw the Han River bashing into the pylons of the bridge below. She still held her mother, but her mother moved to the right to avoid two men pushing and shouting at each other. They were about to fight. Men were always fighting in these days during the war.

Mi Hee let go of her mother for a brief second. It was the same time that mom’s foot slipped off the edge.


The Partial Meltdown

The same way god built an onion in layers, the North Koreans built this nuclear reactor. The layers were built as a failsafe in the event of a meltdown, but nobody expected this magnitude of human error. To have a disaster, seven errors would have to take place simultaneously. Seven areas of the protective onion shield would have to be left open. In other words, seven rare events would have to simultaneously occur. Otherwise the place was tip top. If seven things went wrong, nuclear radiation would leak out and kill everyone in the plant immediately.


Kim Min Ho was supposed to make sure the outer shell was locked, but he was out back going for a smoke when he passed out from low sugar. He hadn’t been eating well and was experiencing bouts of colorful dots dancing in front of his eyes. This bout formed an electric eye that closed, leaving him face down in the mud.


Park Jung Woo was supposed to close his section, but he had written a suicide pact with his childhood friend and was planning to melt the earth. Intentionally.


Han Ji Min left his section open because Byeong Yeon, who had left his section open as a sexy mouth, was kneeling there giving him a blowjob. The two boys were secretly in love. The complex was built in a way that leaving the section open let them both hide from the security camera, so nobody would know of their homosexuality. This was the problem with years of Confucianism. Although homosexuality ran rampant, especially in the cold lonely military, it wasn’t at all publicly accepted. “I’d prefer a nuclear meltdown,” reasoned Byeong Yeon in typical staunch North Korean homophobia, “to being outed as a faggot.”


Yeong Seok Ho forgot to water the fuel rods. This was an unacceptable schoolboy error. Nuclear maintenance 101 was to feed the fuel rods their drink and keep them cool. Everybody knew that once a nuclear reactor got too hot it started to melt.


Seok Soo Jung didn’t realize the steel containment vessel had melted. It sounded an alarm, but he was listening to Hye Eun Yee at full volume. In fact, he watched the video on his VHS deck that he kept on the desk and jerked off to her shimmying childish sex appeal and long straight black hair. The orgasm made him sleepy. The haze and the loud music made him oblivious to the blaring alarm.


Jung Yeong Jin didn’t monitor the radiation levels. Not on this day. Not on the day before. Not on any day ever. Not everybody was good at his job. Yeong Jin should have been relegated to a desk job nobody cared about or stuck with a mop and ordered to clean the squat toilets. He had never monitored any radiation but nobody had ever died before so he still was the monitor. North Koreans weren’t crazy about rocking the boat, so even though his colleagues knew he didn’t do jackshit at work nobody said a word. This kind of unthinking adherence to hierarchy is how planes crash into mountains and uranium rods fry nuclear plants into disintegration.


The reactor had very few women in the inner sanctum, another clear tactical error put in place robotically and erroneously by all male North Korean brass. Misogyny had real world consequences. It was like how American football teams relegated women media members only to the sidelines. Women in North Korean nuclear power plants weren’t given positions of responsibility and security.

The tower outside the reactor had plenty women working as secretaries, but not one was employed as a manager or a scientist. The female secretaries were in the second floor of a small five floor tower just outside the main reactor. It looked somewhat like an airport tower. Inside the reactor was one hundred percent manned by men. Korean culture favored men greatly. So when the radiation leaked out, the men were turned quickly into glowing green homosexual jelly and died instantaneously. It was only women within the first kilometer of radiation and these women were smart enough and focused enough to act quick. Jong Eun used an emergency code to sound the sirens, red lights swirled up on high walls of the facility and a final seal was created around the plant to avoid a full meltdown. However, Jong Eun and her overqualified cohorts were simultaneously zapped with heavy doses of radiation, enough to kill them ten times over. Everybody else at the plant was already dead.

The secretaries walked out the doors to the train station where they waited for the train peacefully.


The global spy community was concerned with high levels of radiation and the specter of a nuclear holocaust. The North Korean military police collected the dead bodies and secretly bulldozed the young men into a mass grave. The Americans went nuts about safety protocols and the ills of communism. It was 1975 and communism was the enemy of the day. It was the ‘terrorism’ of the 70s. If it was 2017 and not 1975, Fox news would have some conservative blowhard explain some provincial opinions as fact, incite some gun-toting middle Americans to senseless violence on some unsuspecting pizza shop cashier, and create a new ripple of racism into a culture in the midst of a tidal wave of it.

Trump, expert twitter tweeter that he was, would have claimed it a win for his administration, not that anybody would have a clue what he meant by that or how he came to that conclusion. However, this was 1975 and things were calmer and gentler.

Nobody tweeted out:

North Korea you’re fired #MAGA.

Nobody made memes saying “#MAGA - Make America Giantess Again” with carefully detailed drawings poking fun of all the world leaders, featuring a very fat and very radioactive red Donald.

In fact, the news of 1975 covered it calmly, professionally, and elegantly. There were no talking head panels, no venomously opposing public viewpoints demonizing the other side. No curses uttered over social media accusing the other side of copulation with his own relatives while putting his head inside his own digestive track.




OBJECTIVE: Containment / Eradication Radiated Elements

AUHTORIZATION: Full Force (nukes IAEF)

President Ford was flown into Itaewon airbase in South Korea to bring in the infamous Claire “Puff” Lynch, the newly appointed head of The Five Hive. She was not one-part alien, but all parts bitch. Any alien who crossed her better be-fucking-ware. The Five Hive weren’t too thrilled to meet Claire, either.

Claire Lynch was a career military officer who was contacted by an alien in 1963. Afterwards, he got many cases dealing with extraordinary things before she ultimately got touched by the black ops. Everything about her job became covert. She essentially disappeared. When she reemerged years later it was as the head of WiB, and thus the head of The Five Hive.

WiB acted when they heard of radiation. Aliens lurk where radiation leaks. Claire pressed the red button which told the USS Enterthighs to go to report for assignment.

Claire had a hard-on for rockets. From pocket rockets to jet fuel powered ones with warheads she was always ready to make one buzz and burn. Here was a chance for her to fire up the phallic attack.


The zapped North Korean secretaries were a beautiful, organized sight that would make any authoritarian regime proud. They were like clones. Each dressed in similar fashion with heels, stockings, beige skirt, white blouse with lapel for the Great Leader, and a little beige beret. Up close they had slightly different faces, but they all had black hair and similar slim builds so at the train station it was like looking at clones waiting for the seven o’clock back to the Pyongyang compound where they all lived at the outskirts of the city.

Growth started slowly.

Itchiness at the armpits. Then feet got hot. Ass crack started to burn. Soon there were cramps. Cramps in the thighs, calves, buttocks, neck, hands, and breasts. Then the sound, something like a slippery Doppler effect in the rain. Something like crushing a brown paper bag. Something like prairie dogs kissing.

The tits were the first things to grow. Then the shoulders, back and waist kept up for support. The thighs and ass started growing. The feet, the face, the hair! The toes! The whole body was growing huge. Body parts crashed into building parts. The nipples, the size of normal human heads, knocked down communist light fixtures. A family could comfortably live in each ass cheek but it would be like rooming in a wrecking ball capable of razing this train station just with a little sexy sway in her walk.

Choi Eun Mi, the secretary standing waiting for the train at the outdoor platform with her colleagues, felt the transformation. She saw her own body grow out and up. She looked at her co-workers and saw the same thing happen to them.  She heard the lights crashing, the bricks shattering, the puny humans screaming and running as the Giantesses grew. First, the regular human commuters stayed frozen like deer in headlights, staring at her massive body. Then as the destruction came, she snarled. She stomped her foot down and all the humans scattered. All except one. There was always somebody with a fetish and he was staring up at Giantess Eun Mi rabidly jerking off his tiny cock with his three little fingers. Eun Mi grabbed him and lifted him up to her face. She stared at him. He looked back at her. She was so tall, so thick, so sexy. Jizz spewed out of him. She held him by the head while his legs dangled. She smiled at him, then popped him into her mouth and swallowed him. When the long metal train came, Giant Eun Mi snatched it like a toy from its track, waved it in the air, and hurled it toward the DeMilitarized Zone (DMZ).

Busu busu busu,” Giant Eun Mi screamed. The other sexy Giantesses followed her command and fanned out toward civilization. Destroy destroy destroy.


The young boys of the fourth floor stood at attention, buck naked. They were standing for inspection. The General, the man chosen by the Great Leader himself, had designed and set up the virginity test. One by one, the boys were examined by state doctors. One of the doctors was a German Jew smuggled in right after the war named Dr. Andrew Leibling. He was the nephew of the great researcher in the field of hypersexuality, Dr. Peter Engle. The doctors ordered the boys to bend over. With white gloves they checked to make sure each of the boys was being a good government FUTA.

The sexy all-female secretaries stationed on a different floor in the same tower had gone through a similar inspection. The doctor checked their naughty bits for any signs of penetration. If they tried to cover up their naked breasts they were thrown out and sent to a work camp. If the state doctors found one hymen broken, the lady in question was dismissed (often after the doctor and officers further checked her in a new private room where she was tied down and gang raped). The girls had to be virgins.

For the boys in line it was a little different. The doctor checked that their cocks and balls were cum-filled, that their tits were big, juicy, and leaky with milk, and that they had perfectly functional and sopping wet pussies under the balls. They had to be fully functioning futanaris or they were dismissed (often after the doctor and officers further checked his futa parts in a new private room where he was tied down and gang raped while spewing all over the floor).

This top-secret building was on floor 4 inside the tower where the North Korean secretaries had sounded an alarm due to a breach in the main reactor. None of the boys noticed they were being zapped with radiation. The boys didn’t know anything. Dr. Andrew Liebling knew the women had left and everyone else was dead. He kept the boys in the dark on the radiation leak.

They were sealed off from the outside world and the radiation didn’t zap them. Not at first.

Why could these boys hide in plain sight on the fourth floor? Sa, the number four in Korean, was the floor of death. Bad luck. Like the number thirteen in America. North Koreans had some death superstitions that they took quite seriously like writing their names in red ink. Most thought that if they wrote their names in red, they would die. Thanks to the mystery of superstitions, Futa Fourth Floor came in under the radar and the boys were hiding in plain sight. The boys were locked in the facility, caged property of the Dear Leader. Nobody outside of a few select few ever knew they even existed.

The radiation started to seep into the fourth floor a little.


Although the global community was having hissy fits over the reported Nuclear meltdown. North Korean brass just held it as a secret. The North Korean government went about their business. They were never too concerned with a few deaths (less mouths to feed) and military personnel knew the risks. Anyone in that plant was expendable.

In fact, by the time Claire Lynch was in Itaewon, South Korea, Eun Mi was the size of a B-52 bomber.


Mi Hee still tasted salt from her cry earlier. Not a day went by that she didn’t see that scene run through her head. It was as fresh in her mind as if it happened yesterday. She was a pretty upbeat young lady most of the time, but she was damaged goods thanks to her past.

A sensor alarm in her room blinked. She touched it and a message came up.

“To the bridge, Miss Kim!”

Mi Hee got to the bridge and dropped in her chair like a sack of rotten potatoes. “What is it?”

“Radiation Detected Pyongyang”

Radiation. Mi Hee saw babies with two heads in jars buried in the desert, see-through skin, keloid scars. Her heart beat a tick faster.


Weightlessness and Agnieszka the Giantess

The USS Enterthighs swooped down. Theoretically, entering North Korean airspace should have been difficult since the country was technically still at war with the South, but the truth was it was no harder than cutting butter. They slipped right in undetected and approached the site of the high levels of radiation.

There was a Nuclear Power Plant and a train station and not much else. The countryside was green as far as the eye could see. There were no houses, no cities, no towns. Only train tracks cut up the endless green. The roof of the train station was in tatters. Clearly something had happened here. That’s when The Five Hive agents saw them.

Nine women the size of buildings ambled through the rolling Green Tea fields. They were Giantesses, Amazonian women over twenty times larger than humans, but in the same proportions. They were each dressed differently, wearing outfits of soju models, flight attendants, and old-fashioned pre-war Joseon Dynasty women.

“Oh my god! It’s the radiation. It should have killed these women,” Ava said. “Instead in made them...grow!”

Shayna ordered the USS Enterthighs to slow down and just watched the Giantesses stomping down the countryside. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

They flew North in a straight line following the train tracks.

“What is that?” asked Joana. There were fields and ramshackle housing in the old wooden style.

“Looks like some kind of labor camp.”

One of the giantesses wearing the cute green cap with a red star of a North Korean military officer was smashing the camp. Prisoners ran away from her screaming. They looked like ants dispersing at the sight of a human foot.

“She’s killing them,” said Tabitha. Her chest heaving. Her breasts were wrapped in the sheer garments of her alter ego Destiny’s Pussydolls.

“No, she’s not,” said Shayna. “She’s freeing them.”

“Oh my god.”

Mi Hee chimed in. “Let’s go help them.”

At that moment, the USS Enterthighs was struck in the hull, the part of the ship that was its back and shoulders and knocked off course. Agnieszka the Giantess, a tall Polish-Immigrant Giantess with a big tennis racquet, swatted the WiB Spacecraft. She lined the craft up expertly in the sweet spot of her racquet and struck.

Among the North Korean secretaries were a few foreigners, mostly from poor Eastern European countries, women who would obediently do anything. Agnieszka, called “Agi” by her jealous North Korean secretarial counterparts, was one of this foreign entourage. She had long black hair and the bronze tan of a tennis player. She held a racquet and swatted at the spaceship. She was quick as a ninja and knocked the ship clear out of Earth’s atmosphere. It came as a surprise and left the people inside the ship in weightlessness.

Before the call to check out the radiation surge, The Five Hive was returning from planet Futanaria with some precious cargo. That precious cargo had decided the ride was dull. Only a little hanky-panky could liven things up. A futa orgy was taking place in the ship. After the ship was knocked off course and lost its stabilizers, things got very interesting.

Ao licked Sasha’s bulging futa balls. The skin was euphoric around her tongue as it pulsed alien-like around her. The lack of gravity made the balls as firm as a pre-pubescent bull. Ao licked ravenously like she was ten years younger and in full possession of perky tits. Sasha titty fucked Ao. Ao was in the air vertical to the floor like she was standing and levitating. Her tits were levitating too which made them deliciously surround Sasha's leaky futa cock which was dripping dicksauce that was hovering in the air. Sasha was parallel to the floor and looking at her cum. She had never seen cum for what it really was. She always saw landed cum, on faces, hands, and bellies. Now she saw transitional cum, frozen in the act of shooting, looking like a raindrop suspended in time. The cum droplet was beautiful if you studied it. It was as pretty as a church or a masterpiece painting.

If you looked at them from the side their bodies formed a T.

Sasha had another gorgeous futa behind (and above) her entering her from behind and stuffing her full of cock. She was simultaneously getting it from the back and enjoying Ao’s luscious futa titties. Sasha moaned. She was getting further pleasured by the moaning from Ao during her ball-licking because Ao had a floating futa facing the ceiling stuffing Ao’s sweet little tight honeypot. This futa fucked Ao with long, hard upward strokes that made Ao hum into Sasha’s gorgeous pert balls.

With the futa fucking Ao, they looked more like an F.

It was total futa weightless mayhem until Shayna regained control of the spinning spaceship (think Darth Vader after Han Solo blasts him out of pursuit of Luke trying to score in the Death Star’s tight little hole). Shayna, an expert helmswoman, righted the spacecraft and re-entry to Earth was pretty smooth. The orgy crumpled to the floor and they finished fucking like normal Earthlings with all obedience to gravity and Earthly physics.

“Now, how the hell are we supposed to deal with these giantesses?” Shayna said, letting years of annoyance come out of her voice. “I mean one bitch has a tennis racquet, one’s got a Komdo sword, one is doing taekwondo on government buildings. Look at this shit!”

Shayna was right.

A Giantess was hitting home runs with the heads of statues of Kim Il Sung, the original great leader, and Kim Jong Il, the young son. One Giantess remained in sexy Korean secretary clothes: short skirt, black stockings, high heels, and sheer white blouse. One was an Korean Airlines flight attendant. Another wore a Koryo air uniform. The two flight attendants from the North and South’s airlines were bowing aggressively at each other. Essentially, they were headbutting each other and smashing houses in their wake. The houses crashed down like thunder as all the bricks ended in piles on the ground.

Another Giant Woman wore a hanbok, err, sorry, in North Korea it’s called joseon-ot. This was the traditional dress of Korean women. The Korean kimono, if you will. Korean language had a rift since the war. The North Koreans refused to assimilate Western words into the culture. In South Korea people borrowed loan words like ‘ice cream’ but the North Koreans said traditionally ‘ice peach flower’. This traditional joseon-ot wearing giantess had a vendetta against all things modern. So this joseon gown wearing woman was attacking modern things: televisions got smashed, cars were obliterated, phones were ripped from their wires and cradles and used like ninja stars to decapitate folks.

When the Amazonian, nuclear-charged woman in the traditional joseon-ot saw the spaceship, sleek white lines and rockets, cut with the sultry curves of a hot woman on her back with her legs spread, the ultimate symbol of sexual liberation and technology, with a tail fin painted with a big stripy American flag, the ultimate symbol of progress and decadence, she went nuts and pelted it. Phones, TVs, microwaves attacked the spaceship in a flurry. This traditional Giantess was quite the spectacle with her face painted white and thick red dots on her cheeks. The garment wrapped silkily around her tight bust and then just under it the clothes cinched and flowed out in an A-line. It sat much higher up than Western clothes and gave the Giantess an elongated, regal look.

“She’s beautiful,” Shayna stammered.

“But she’s going to kill us with those improvised ninja stars! Evade! Evade!” yelled Mi Hee.

The Joseon Giant hissed and whipped anything she could find at the USS Enterthighs. The ship kept coming and the traditional joseon-ot Giant picked up a big old-fashioned boxey TV and hurled it at the ship. It was a direct hit and the ship was again knocked into weightlessness.

In the orgy room, askew faces were knocked into upside down crotches and twisted tits hung up impossibly perky. Everything was all out of whack!

Shayna again steadied the ship. “Fuck going in again. They’re too goddamn strong.”

“Tabitha, radio the US military!” Shayna ordered. “Request permission to land USS Enterthighs," commanded Shayna.

Tabitha, fear leaking from her vocal chords, said, “Requesting permission to land…”

A static filled communique came back. “Permission granted, Itaewon base 37.5400° N, 126.9921° E. Over”


“The Nuclear Football” was a briefcase with codes called the Permisive Action Links (PAL) that would let any US president fire Nuclear Weapons. The president’s launch order would go to the Pentagon War Room where top aids would verify the president’s identity (like your bank does when you report a disputed charge) and then minutemen on the ground would type the ultra-complicated launch codes of 00000000 to tell the weapon of choice to launch. Five two-person groups of minutemen will be given the launch order. To prevent mutiny, only two of the five two-person groups have to carry out the original order to move the missile’s target from a peacetime ocean target to the target of the president’s choice and launch.

That’s how a US president would launch a nuclear assault. Most countries have a NO FIRST USE rule and have to have a consensus in at least two committees of parliament. But not the US. The Wild West mentality was built into the Nuclear Stance as much as the gun laws were built into the culture.

This would all take five minutes.


The Giantesses took full control of the North. These women had been pushed down by male-dominated Confucian society for thirty years. In a few short days they exacted revenge. They tore down statues of men, destroyed government structures, and suffocated men in their work clothes by sitting on their faces. One of the men was the Great Leader himself who had been cavorting with a prostitute in a hotel room when the Giant ripped the roof of the building.


The Giantesses were on a rampage. They were no longer walking idyllically through the rolling hills of the green tea fields. They were tramping to the capital city Pyeonyang. They were pissed off. These ladies had been marginalized since the development of their boobs. The Confucian values of the society held women down. Now they were out for revenge.  

Satellite images delivered to Itaewon airbase showed the carnage. They were attacking statues of the Dear Leader, power plants, factories, labor camps, and were headed toward the city.

DELIVERY METHOD: Yongsan Garrison / PACV / HMS Resolution

PUBLICITY: None / POTUS plausible deniability

TYPE: Airstrike


Claire “Puff” Lynch authorized a US Military strike at 05:00 hours. She radioed it in while resting the high heel from her thigh-high latex boot on the back of President Ford. The president was wearing a gas mask. He was on his hands and knees with “the nuclear football” under him, like he was humping it. Claire held a military book that she was leafing through. She also held a riding crop. Whenever the president shifted his weight, she struck him on the ass. “Stay still, hon!”

Claire Lynch read from the US Military Standard Code of Conduct for Dealing with Hostile Giantesses and/or Foreigners.

If you don’t know what’s happening, bomb it

If you’re in a Foreign Land, use excessive force

If you don’t speak its language, exterminate it

If your genitals are smaller than its genitals, exterminate it.

If exterminating it doesn't work, jail it.


On the USS Enterthighs, Doc Rock grabbed Mi Hee by the elbow. “What do you think?”

Mi Hee spoke slowly. “This is serious. Remember, not only are these women mad at North Korean men, they are mad at all the Japanese for colonizing them before World War Two. Essentially, they want revenge on anyone who ever raped them.”

“Right. They will get off the peninsula and go to Japan. Then all hell will break loose.”

“They must be contained!”


“Grace, you have to tell the others about this.”


Never mind that Claire “Puff” Lynch had authorized, sabotaged, and created the nuclear meltdown with her backchannel CIA work. She was evil. She wanted power. Unmitigated power. Did you think she used her time during her disappearance baking cookies? Nope. She learned how to stage coups, destabilize democracies, and how to finance black ops missions with profits garnered in the illegal multinational drug trade. She used her backroom dealings to penetrate North Korean society and get all the people she wanted to man the atomic facility. Then she put the homosexuals, the lazy guys, and the idiots on the site and waited and needled their weaknesses with gigolos, alcohol, and crystal meth (yep, it was rampant in the North). The meltdown was inevitable. It was all by Claire’s cunning cloak-and-dagger design. Her job was to destabilize the North. She was fucking great at her job. It’s why they called her “Puff”. She could huff and puff and blow you the fuck of the map.

Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-17 show above.)