Hazy New World Shrunken First Semester chapter 14 by maximally

Over the next twelve months, the world reached a strange new normal—largely thanks to the US government diverting a significant chunk of its resources toward keeping Hazel pacified. Once the former San Trasero Metro Area was cordoned off as the newly independent Hazel City, most of the city's original inhabitants quickly departed in droves—and a new legion of the buck-toothed giantess's followers arrived just as quickly to replace them. In the following weeks, her domain technically became the third-biggest city in California behind Los Angeles and San Francisco, both of which saw massive population drops. Many people left the state altogether, hoping to get as far away from Hazel as possible. 

Of course, the 19-year-old gooner of the moment was far less openly apocalyptic than most people made her out to be. On any given day, all she really wanted to do was eat, sleep, shit and goon—and with her every need seen to by the government and her new subjects, she rarely saw the point in venturing beyond her assigned borders. She'd also refused all overtures to participate in military exercises with the US or any other country and rejected the scientific community's repeated requests to study her remarkable physiology. In other words, rather than descending upon humanity like some kind of conquering goddess, she was more like the world's biggest deadbeat tenant—living off the goodwill of everyone else, making a point never to downplay their fears of what might happen if they curbed her supply of fast food, energy drinks and lube.

Meanwhile, Max remained her most devoted follower—at least, in terms of the time he spent in proximity to her person. While he'd now been back at his full, pre-shrinking height long enough that his brief stint at three inches tall was little more than a distant memory, he could count the number of times he'd been allowed out of the crushing confines of his 200-foot-tall mistress's ass since then on one hand. For most of the previous 365 days, Hazel's asshole had been the first thing he'd seen every morning and the last thing he'd seen every night—and in the face of that unshakeable reality, some part of him was starting to get used to it. Sure, it wasn't pleasant. But it also made him significantly better off than any of the dozens of supporters who tended to end up squashed under her feet — or press-ganged into becoming snacks and sex toys — every day. 

This morning, Max woke up the same way he always did—bathed in near-total darkness, pressed between two immense, warm, slightly damp cheeks. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Hazel's breathing was a seismic event, a tidal force that gently rocked him in his fleshy prison. 

Dozing in her usual resting place, a vast prefabricated steel structure in the center of Hazel City's central park that more or less mirrored the layout of her old dorm room, the buck-toothed giantess was already well on the way to sleeping past noon—and all of her subjects knew better than to try and wake her before she was good and ready. The only person on Earth who had any leeway in that regard was Max. 

Of all the ways Max had devised to wake Hazel up, only one seemed to work consistently—and while he didn't have much enthusiasm for doing this specific trick here and now, he knew that the alternative was being stuck down here, under his mistress's ass, for at least a few more hours.

Suppressing the urge to gag with long-practiced diligence, he pressed his face toward the giantess's rancid asshole. The smell here was profoundly intimate, a rancid, eggy musk that was uniquely and inescapably Hers. He took a shallow breath and began to lick, grimacing as he felt his mistress's powerful pucker twitching under his input, ignoring the taste of sleep-sweat and yesterday's digested burritos, focusing only on his task. It was a humiliating, degrading alarm clock, but it was his job. His purpose.

The response from Hazel was almost immediate, her backdoor eagerly reciprocating his advances and pressing itself up against his face. Then, feeling the wrinkled ring of flesh starting to balloon out a little, Max braced himself for the gust of morning gas to come.

BBBRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP

Again resisting his better instincts to disengage as the giantess's first fart of the day blasted out into him, Max kept going, pressing his face even further and doubling down. He was used to Hazel's gas by now, but this was really something special—so dense it was almost solid, a suffocating blanket of pure stench that filled every inch of the space, seeping into his pores and clogging his nostrils. He fought the urge to vomit, forcing himself to keep his mouth and tongue moving against her, riding out the storm. Only then did he feel his mistress finally stirring.

"Mmm," Hazel cooed. "Morning, miniguy. Someone's eager this morning, huh?"

Hearing this, Max grimaced again. After a full year together, Hazel still hadn't bothered to learn his name. Either that or she just didn't care. Either way, it made it hard for him to find real solace in his position of uncomfortable proximity within her new world. He was Miniguy. A toy. A fixture. He'd long since stopped correcting her.

Hazel shifted, her immense buttocks clenching around him momentarily, threatening to crush him before relaxing. He heard the creak of her city-block-sized bed as she sat up. Light, faint and filtered through the colossal curtains of her ass, finally pierced his world.

"Now," she grunted, stretching. "What's on the agenda today?"

Reaching over to the floor beside her bed, she picked up her custom-made phone in one hand and a handful of supporters — followers so devoted to her every whim that they'd pledged themselves to her as bedside snacks — in the other. As she tossed her snacks into her mouth and started scrolling her feeds, one of her notifications was such a surprise that she almost choked. "Oooh!" Swallowing a haf-dozen of her supporters in a big, cartoonish gulp, she grinned. "Miniguy, guess what?"

Doing his best to form words after several lungfuls of his mistress's gas, Max found his voice to be more of a wheeze. "What?" 

Hazel's grin grew. "The government guys are coming with that new super toilet today!"

For the third time this morning, Max grimaced. Knowing Hazel, he had a feeling this wouldn't end well.

The only part of the world's strange new "Post-Hazel" normal that represented a significant problem for the rest of humanity was the giantess's bowel movements—which remained just as bad as they'd ever been, if not worse. With no toilet big enough to accommodate one of her shits, the 200-foot 19-year-old treated the outlying areas of her territory as one big bathroom, leaving the border with California dotted with piles of bus-sized waste. 

The resulting smell had rendered significant swaths of territory around the Republic of Hazel totally uninhabitable. On a windy day, it could be detected as far as the Bay Area. With a clear and present biohazard on their hands, the government's scientists had thus spent most of the last few months working round the clock to design a toilet capable of containing the giantess's waste—and according to a notification on Hazel's phone, today was the day they were finally going to have her test their latest model. Of course, all previous versions had been catastrophic failures, resulting in everything from backed-up geysers of sewage to structural collapses that had drowned entire teams of engineers. Only time would tell whether this one would be any different.

*

Ten minutes later, after a stack of massive breakfast burritos and half a giant-sized, specially-made can of Monster, the giantess had headed out to the edge of her domain, flattening several dozen former homes underfoot along the way. Each step was a localized earthquake, flattening already-ruined buildings and crushing the makeshift shrines her followers had built in her honor. Devotees scrambled out of her path, many not quite fast enough, their final screams cut short by the impact of her bare, dirty feet. Others, in a fervor of worship, deliberately threw themselves under her heels, begging to be absorbed by their goddess.

When she reached the outskirts of the city, she found several military helicopters waiting, as well as her new toilet—which looked more like a nuclear missile silo than a standard plumbing fixture. A massive structure of reinforced concrete, metal, and military-grade ceramic had been installed right on the border between her territory and the US, replacing the wreckage of the last "safe waste disposal system" they'd tried testing on her. A team of tiny figures in bright orange HAZMAT suits scurried around its base, making final preparations.

"Welcome, Hazel," came a voice from a loudspeaker on one of the helicopters, hovering a few hundred feet above the giantess out of an abundance of caution. "Allow us to familiarize you with the workings of your new toilet."

"Yo," said Hazel, nodding. "Sure, go ahead."

"Structurally, this is the same as all of our previous models. You sit on it, relieve yourself, and press this button to evacuate it." Using a high-powered laser pointer, the helicopter's pilot flashed a beam of light on a reinforced Hazel-sized button on the side of the structure. "After that, the waste goes down into processing." Again, the laser pointer flashed down to the structure's base, which seemed to include some kind of control center crewed by several dozen HAZMAT-suit-clad technicians. "Previous models handled waste treatment at a separate offsite facility. We're hoping that by handling it here, we can solve for the problems we ran into last time."

"You mean..." Again, Hazel grinned. "Me clogging it up?"

"Yes." The pilot's subsequent sigh came through loud and clear. "Now, are you ready?"

"You know it," said Hazel, giggling. Around her, the crowd of Hazel City residents who'd come out to watch their leader do her business let out a big unified cheer. For the buck-toothed gooner's most devoted followers, this was like getting a front-row seat to one of god's own miracles.

Without another word, the giantess settled her vast hips on the top of the structure, provoking worrisome groans from the concrete. Then, in a rare moment of mercy, she plucked her closest shrunken companion out of her ass and switched him into her cleavage. "Just between you and me, Miniguy," she giggled, "I think this one's gonna be a doozy."

"Oh," said Max, his eyes squinting against the bright light of the sun and his lungs almost stinging from all the fresh, fart-free air. "I... uh... thanks."

"Don't mention it," scoffed Hazel, biting her lip. "Anyway, here goes..."

BLLTLTTLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP

As the giantess started to let loose into the toilet, the whole structure shook. Her first log, easily the size of a bus and just as thick, settled down into the steel bowl with a satisfying slam—and was quickly followed by another, and another, and another. The odor that followed was enough to leave many of the unprotected Hazel City residents around her woozy, and several began passing out. Unfortunately for them, their goddess was just getting started.

BBLLRLFLFLLFLFLRLRLRRTRRTTTTRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTT

Once the first few logs had passed into the bowl, the deluge that followed was more liquid than solid, an overwhelming flood of shit that quickly began spelling problems for the government technicians trying to manage the giantess's release inside the structure. Already, cracks were forming in their heavy-duty disposal piping, and the smell inside left anyone not in a HAZMAT suit catatonic. It didn't help that this was the exact moment that Hazel decided to re-settle her hips on the seat, earning several worrisome creaks of structural un-integrity from the toilet. 

"Hazel," came the voice from the helicopter again. "We're getting some worrisome readings from processing. We may have to stop and try again some other-"

BBLLRLBBFBFBFFFFLFLLFLFLRLRLRRTRRTTTTRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTT

Hazel ignored him, a look of intense concentration on her face as she pushed harder. "Almost… got it…" she grunted.

With another mighty wave of shit, she effortlessly overloaded the already-weakened structure, filling the interior with waste and flooding the processing crew. Cracks spiderwebbed up the sides of the concrete silo. From the ventilation shafts, a geyser of raw, untreated sewage erupted, spraying a foul mist across the desert.

Then, all at once, the toilet gave up. With a sound of tearing metal and shattering concrete, it overflowed. A tidal wave of brown sludge poured over the rim, flooding the testing zone, swallowing the access ramps, and trapping the orange-suited figures inside their now-flooded control room. Their frantic pounding on the reinforced glass was silently swallowed by the sheer scale of the disaster.

Hazel stood up, turning to look at her handiwork. The toilet was a broken, overflowing monument to failure, sitting in a newly created lake of her own waste. She laughed, a loud, genuine sound that shook her chest and jostled Max between her breasts.

"Whoopsie," she said, not sounding sorry at all. She gave her ass a casual shake, sprinkling a few last droplets onto the scene. "Better luck next time, guys." Her gathered followers, watching from a "safe" distance, erupted into cheers, as if she'd just performed a miracle.

Wedged in the humid, perfumed canyon of her cleavage, Max let out a long, weary groan. It was a disaster, just like all the others. Predictable, avoidable, and utterly catastrophic. He watched a single, HAZMAT-suited arm flail once above the rising brown tide before slipping beneath the surface.

And yet, as the familiar, comforting—or was it just familiar?—stench of Hazel's body washed over him, he felt a grim, shameful flicker of gratitude. His world was hot, smelly, and profoundly humiliating. Still, it was a world that, for now, did not included being drowned in a lake of shit—and in Hazel's new world order, he knew that was the closest thing to a win he was ever going to get. 

THE END

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