Above all, naked in the gigantic girl's clutches, Akira needed help. It was hard to admit, but despite her training, she couldn't stop a big bikini model alone. She had to call on her superiors to get extra forces flown in.
One problem: the helicopter, with its communication equipment, was still stuck in the massive bikini bottom.
"What are you looking at?" Riho kept smiling, her upturned lips filling the soldier's field of vision. "Hello, you're with me, dolly! Hmm, wonder why they gave her these parts...?"
The mighty fingers began running over her puny chest, making her moan. Akira turned her head to the side, unable to bear the jolts rushing up her tiny frame. She moaned in agony and pleasure, completely at the mercy of the groping digit's dexterous flexing.
Taking long breaths, and turning on her stomach, Akira eyed the chopper below. She did her best to block out the distracting, molesting touch, and aim for the communication device. "Gotta send a message... Or at least start recording..." Only one chance. With a quick lunge, she threw the knife into the cockpit.
It passed through the windows, and landed in the dashboard.
"Y-yes!" The tiny girl, still being manipulated, felt a little lighter.
The radio sparked. Electricity ran over it. A voice popped up on the other end...
...A DJ's voice.
"This is FM Narai, playing the best hits today. Just relax and let the beat carry you - up now is that super hit, Zettai Idol Sengen!"
Overly-peppy, sweet lyrics poured out. The radio was tuned to a pop music station!
Akira slammed her face. "I'm fucked." But gently, the pressure on her tits lifted.
In the middle of squeezing her toy soldier, Riho suddenly stopped. She held a hand to her ear, behind caramel hair. "Hmm? That song..." Her misty eyes floated to the clouds, lost in the rhythm. The world began to twitch below - as her hips swung back and forth. "...I love this song!"
Fully engrossed in the rhythm, her grip loosened - one giant finger after another. She danced to the peppy music, swinging her arms in wide circles. Every step created a new crevice in the soft ground.
As for her handheld captive - Akira stumbled down her neck. She gripped the girl's swaying bosom, the sky-blue material crumpling in her fist. "I don't believe it..." She gulped, seeing the island shaking and jumping before her eyes. "... is this Futaba... distracted by the radio?"
Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth (and not wanting to look in Riho's mouth ever again), she leaped from the heaving breasts as they bounced. She slid on the sturdy, flexing abdomen, landing in the stretched underwear. Tearing through some twisted metal, she reclaimed the scanning device, and the terminal it attached to. With only a moment to breathe, she climbed out, and began descending the left leg.
On a heavy beat, Riho kicked out. Her body and mind were fully engaged in the groove.
"Woah!" The sudden kick turned her limb into a ramp. The pilot shot off, launched flying into the distance...
THUMP
...Landing on the beach's soft dunes.
Akira wiped sand off the Trace Beam, then from her face and hair, sputtering it out. Thanks to the sticky saliva dripping off her, the coarse, irritating grains got everywhere on her naked form. The continual beat of Riho dancing reminded her: she had to keep moving. Rubbing her eyes, and stretching her legs, she spotted a large cruise ship in a nearby port - filling up with the last stragglers fleeing Minako Island.
Rushing forward, exhausted, clutching the data drive, she screamed out to the crew. "Wait!... Wait... I need to go to the mainland..."
A mustached official at the dock smiled sideways to her. "Hm. We're fresh out of seats." His eyes drifted to her exposed crotch, as. "...But if you were to do a favor for me, perhaps..."
From behind, a large, dark man in a uniform grunted, helping more passengers aboard. "She's the crazy helicopter pilot who bought us time. You'll make room for her. No conditions."
The first man tossing a panicked grimace over his shoulder. "Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Darrow! Right this way, ma'am..."
Akira nodded, thanking him breathlessly. As she climbed up to the deck, Darrow took off his jacket, and offered it to her. It had the insignia of the Earth Defense Forces. She whispered: "How did you know it was me?"
He shrugged, and whispered: "I didn't." With a smile, he patted her back. "Stay safe, we're in this together."
As the packed cruise ship left, drifting, Akira stared at the island she left. Silhouetted in the horizon, Riho stopped dancing, and stretched - looking around. Her voice echoed in the distance, rocking the seas: "...Huh? Where did you go...?"
"Riho Futaba?! This is just a publicity stunt." The American representative leaned in his seat at the conference.
The local Japanese Diet member slammed the table. "What do we tell taxpayers? We wasted their money chasing a model, based on a phony story and some pictures?"
Yokoi rubbed his forehead. He prayed: "Please. We've been politicking for hours. Give me something to work with..."
Suddenly, the doors flew open. Akira marched in, stone-faced, and placed a computer terminal on the desk. "Data. You wanted data on The Daibijin. Here it is, sir." She plugged it into the projector. Sets of vital statistics, image recordings, and miscellaneous information popped up.
The officials all stared, shocked. They murmured among themselves, exchanging notes.
"...Terrifying - what is she doing? What's she thinking?"
"They're so large...!"
"It's a risk to everything we stand for..."
Yokoi nudged her. "Good work, Akira. I think we'll have a plan soon. But, erm..." He averted his gaze. "...Could you put some pants on?"
The soldier blinked, and slowly looked to the floor. She was still clothed in nothing but the jacket. "I was in a hurry. I'll get in uniform right away, sir."
One delegate sniffed the air: "Does something smell like... fish? Or... drool?"
Akira glanced away. "...Riho Futaba is a remorseless enemy. I'll get in uniform after showering."