You tower above the buildings in the sprawl of Chicago. With every movement, you can easily lay waste to the city. Buildings stand around you, but you tower over most of them. Below you, crowds of helpless people scream at the sight of you, and vainly run for cover. A traffic jam adds to the confusion, as confused drivers try to escape, but end up crashing into one another, further adding to the carnage. Panic has gripped the heart of the citizens of Chicago, and for good reason. Already, some minor blazes have started because of the arrival of the gargantuans, and the fire departments try vainly to control the fires. The Sox Stadium stands nearby, and is a scene of sheer chaos as fans run over each other, trying to escape. The Sears Tower stands nearby, taller than any of the skyscrapers. A cloverleaf in the highway system nearby is a scene of chaos as a couple of overturned semis block traffic for miles. The golden arches of a McDonald's catch your attention nearby. Crowds of helpless citizens cry out at your presence. A large skyscraper stands nearby. A power plant stands near the river. The citizens of Chicago are no match for the might of the towering titans.

Sabrewing has arrived.

Sabrewing whrrrrrs at our destination. Such lovely strands of civilization, his for the taking! "You've done well for one so tiny," he rumbles, settling you on his shoulder while he gets to his knees, arms propped up on a pair of apartments. "An all-you-can-eat buffet ..."

The small wolf grins and settles back in the hollow of your shoulder, his eyes wide and eager. Ahead of you is a street dotted with tiny figures, most of them just staring dumbly up at you, others starting to back away, still others outright running. The windows of the buildings upon which your arms rest are suddenly filled with miniscule faces all gaping out at your looming figure. For some all they can see is a scaled torso.

Sabrewing leans his head in close to you. "Look at them all," he purrs, as if he's telling you some big secret. "They have -no- idea. No whatsoever in their little heads." A small water tower stands atop another brick-covered complex, though not for much longer, Sabre picking it up and unscrewing the top to down the liquid inside, sloshing it around in his mouth. It gets spit to the side, sending people franctically away from the windows as the small wave splashes the side of a building. "Helloooooo, what have we here?" he muses as he observes a Greyhound following its route nearby. "Meals on Wheels continues its ... humanitarian services." A gleeful purr follows the emerald dragon as he persues the bus, catching it after only four thundering footfalls, picking the vehicle and holding it high over the ground.

The people staring from the many windows all around slowly turn their heads, following the colossal dragon as he sweeps down the street, as though all of this were some bizarre special effects show. Down on the street level it is a different matter, however, with tiny figures scrambling and screaming as the giant steps on them. Seemingly oblivious to their presence he crushes them like ants -- for indeed, that is what they are to him. Those on the bus are completely unaware of the peril right until the bus begins to tilt and lurch, and the landscape around them drops away. They shriek and cling to the seats, staring at the whirling scenery and at the flat, dark drapes that seem to be pressing on the outside of the windows.

Sabrewing snaps the bus in half like a peanut after a moment's effort; a few unfortunate souls have been gored in the middle by stray shards of metal, but the majority are divided evenly between the front and rear. Shaking them like a pair of maracas helps to disorient the people inside the compact space further, Sabre's jaws opening wide as he back of the bus becomes the first to slide into his menacing mouth, its occupants screaming in fear before being enveloped in darkness. "Grrrrrrrrrrrr ..." A thick lump travels down the dragon's throat to be carried into his belly, shortly followed by a second one as he swallows the front half of the vehicle. He even gives a condescending sucking of his fingers before continuing his trek into the city, now stirring up a panic from his obvious killing of the people around for his own amusement.

The sight causes fresh screams of dismay to rise from all who witness it: several dozen helpless citizens eaten alive, swallowed right along with the vehicle in which they had been riding. As the monster turns and begins to stalk down the street, wholesale panic ensues. The crowds who had formed are scrambling madly now to get out of the beast's path. To them it is still not clear what the dragon wants. Perhaps it was only the bus; perhaps if they can avoid his tread they will be spared, ignored in passing. After all, he seems to be paying no attention at all to the squealing bodies that are being squashed under his immense feet with every earth-shaking step.

Sabrewing watches the spot in front of him, just where he's about to take more steps. Goodness, it's so refreshing to have to work for one's meals for a change. Far under you, the sinews and proteins that make up his gargantuan frame strain and creak, pavement being reduced to rubble. He squeezes between a pair of skyscrapers, sheets of glass falling to the ground in twinkling showers that starburst outward when their foundations collapse in useless debris. "Mmmm, such a banquet," he growls to himself, catching up to the fleeing ground in little time at all, his hand scooping up many little writhing bodies. The few who loose their grip and get pulled by gravity are soon forgotten, his feet pulping their limp bodies further.

There is still a hope -- a desperate one -- that the dragon is simply passing through, or perhaps interested only in vehicles. A few, though, realize the truth when they see that the dragon is looking down as he walks, gazing right at the tiny upturned faces before they vanish beneath his long toes. Any doubt is erased as the pounding feet catch up to the crowd and the beast bends down, plowing up untold numbers of people and trapping them in his hand. They are carried off, their limbs flailing from between his fingers as they are pressed into a screaming ball in his fist. They continue to struggle, their minds whirling, wondering what the dragon wants with them, why they have been captured but apparently spared, while far below the dragon walks indifferently over the crowd. Red footprints are left behind, and the air is filled with the terrible crunch and splat of bodies being pressed flat.

Sabrewing brings the unfortunate chosen up to peer over, seeing how there's a great deal of blubbery people included. He's always been a fan of getting a nice, filling meal. "Wriggle around; you're good at that," he orders the gathering of humans, although all they hear are low threatening growls just before his fangs part, his nose shoving itself into his palm. Most of the crowd gets forced up into his dank jaws, his cheeks pushing just as many off of his hand where they fall, some being recaught and left stunned in his free palm. He lifts his head back and pins the little bugs to the roof of his mouth, purring hard at how they tickle his tongue like this, saliva rushing over them before he takes several large gulps, consuming the gathering in a matter of seconds. The "leftovers", he's much more deliberate with -- he plucks them out of his hand one at a time and treats them all differently. One of them is held between his pursed lips and sucked on like a Gobstopper; another is flipped and lands in his maw to be swallowed straightaway. Playing with one's food never goes out of style.

The entire city goes nearly mad with terror as the invader's intention becomes horribly clear. Those gaping wordlessly from the tall buildings watch as the people in the dragon's hand are eaten alive, the callous beast ignoring their pleas as he swallows them down. The street below becomes a boiling sea of activity with people trying to escape by rushing into buildings, where they are bowled over by people who think to rush out. Chaos reins, humanity running in all directions at once, while the dragon stands in their midst and eats. Like a cat he toys with his prey, seeming to enjoy their howls of agony and terror before they vanish into his gullet.

Sabrewing hrrrowls in contentment, the pangs of his belly being answered in due course. One last dip of the hand later, he has finished picking out his last of his entree in the form of two motorcars. He turns and props himself back against an elevated train track, arm lying lazily along its length to drum his fingers as his teeth work themselves into the tough aluminum comprising the first cart. The little ones in the back seats get to watch in horror as the driver and passenger are separated and carried into Sabre's throat, who lets out a rumbling purr before sending the other two to join them in his stomach. Down the train line, a commuter is heading towards his hand, its engine chugging along at a fast clip. Sabre smirks and steadies himself against the bridge, preparing to catch it.

Spared for now, the crowd slowly retreats away from the dragon. Slowly being a relative term, of course. They are running for their lives, but from the monster's vantage point they might as well be a trickling puddle slowly spreading away. Thinking they are out of reach, some turn to watch, transfixed, as the behemoth devours the cars like treefruits, swallowing meat and metal alike. Is there nothing this creature does not view as food? Then, above the screams of the city rises the equally panicked scream of a train horn blaring in a single loud blast. The train has emerged from around a curve; the driver, as usual, has begun to accelerate. Only too late does he see the huge, clawed fingers rising before him. He slams on the brakes, but the train, packed with rush-hour commuters, can barely slow down before it reaches the point of doom.

Sabrewing hisses with a rather wicked grin, watching the train come closer ... and closer ... As the front careens by, his hands slam down on top of the following cars, bashing them into the wood and metal underneath the tracks, derailing the transit system beyond any hope of escape. He grins a gleaming smile as he stoops by a dangling pair of railcars, batting at them to stir the people inside, who fall on top of each other and struggle to get anywhere away from him! "This was, most tasty," he rumbles, licking his lips free of any redness. "Excellent choice, and the 'sangria' had a good nose ... among other parts."

The scream of metal now mingles with the scream of terrified voices as the cars are smashed down, embedded in the very trestle, the train halted instantly. As the undamaged cars tilt and dangle, the people are hurled forward, and then brutally flung about as enormous claws smack and batter at the hull, jerking the car from side to side. In between impacts the people within are treated to a paralyzing view of the dragon's huge face looming outside, his teeth gleaming in a heartless grin, eyes reflecting their own terrified faces as the monster peers in at them.

Sabrewing lazes about in that proper post-feeding fashion, lying out on his side, the train's position turning all the more precarious as it lies over his shoulder. "Now, what to do with the lot of you ..." He rumbles under his breath, making the helpless cars sway all the more with idle flicks of his fingers. Suddenly, a bright grin crosses his lips. "S'more than one way to satisfy a hunger," he growls, snapping off the lead car and holding it by itself, his other claws working to shift out of his taut shorts.

Those in the street fall strangely silent. It is the classic train-wreck syndrome -- complete with a real train wreck. Faced with the overwhelming horror, they cannot turn away, cannot even grasp what is happening. They watch in numb horror as the giant squirms out of his shorts, sliding them down over his powerful thighs. All the while he grips the lead car in his fist like a mere toy. The crowd can see the people inside being hurled about as the dragon's hand sways and jerks in the air with the motion of his body. A few faces can be seen on the vestibules of the car as they frantically try to work the escape mechanism. Sadly, these are infamously poor in design, and the foot-dragging of the executives to correct the problem has now trapped every single person on the train, including those in the cars still resting on the trestle.

Sabrewing's bared self becomes the newest thing to gawk at, the dragon tossing his garment away, where it lies in a heap over the roof ... nay, the entire body of a small diner. Contented growls leak from his mouth in a waterfall of sound as he gets on all fours above the staring group, bringing the car around behind him to get a most interesting view -- his backside. Flaunted reptilian ass appears to be this 'lucky' group's future, and with a swift heave, Sabre has shoved the first few feet up his tail, bellowing a yowl of ecstatic pleasure as his ebony rod pushes out of his sheath in due course, the big guy getting aroused rather fast from all the spectators.

Squeals rise anew from the crowd below as the great dragon suddenly crawls over them. A few are trapped beneath you, corraled in the canyon formed by your shins. They cower beneath you as your mammoth penis begins to emerge, swaying obscenely over their heads, a great monolith of black meat that dwarfs them all into insignificance beneath its virile bulk. Further behind you the crowd remains transfixed. Their glassy eyes rest on the magnificent curves of your ass, and then a singular moan -- a sound of dispair and disbelief -- whispers from thousands of throats as the monster displays the depths of his scorn for the puny beings around him. The rail car, along with its struggling passengers, is stuffed rudely into the giant's ass like a grotesque pleasure toy. The thin metal groans and deforms slightly as the powerful anus clenches around it. Horrified faces at the train's windows disappear as the car is shoved in deeper, the ring of muscle swallowing them from view.

Sabrewing's purrs are strong enough to make that emerging missile of flesh tense and pulse a little, the dragon already testing the limits of the train's construction as he thrusts it deeper and deeper under his tail. Night becomes day, and back to night with his rhythmic pumping, tremendous crunching sounds being heard as his insides bear down like a hungry leech on the cylindrical thing. It's rough going in and out of him, not as smooth as an airplane, but then, beggers can't be choosers. Whales could be put to shame by Sabre's mammoth erection that now stands proudly out from his groin, his free fingers closing around it, beating its surface as he starts cramming the rail car as deep as it can go into his bowels, snarling in frustration.

the car is battered and twisted as it slides in and out of the terrible orifice, until at last, as you are thrusting it in, part of it collapses within you. You can feel the bulk yield against your clenching, and then a strange and enticing tickle that grows in intensity, as the passengers tumble out of the darkened car and writhe about against the fleshy floor of your rectum. Below you a small army is trapped, dodging the great globs of precum that splatter down amongst them while high overhead the dragon's hand strokes lewdly at his member. It is not that they do not want to escape down there -- it is a matter of which way to try to run. Blinded by panic, others are pushing in all directions, some trying to go forward, others back, others getting mired by thin syrup crashing down from on high. the demonstration is not lost on the spectators afar, some of whom faint from sheer horror. The monster is not acting on instinct alone. No, this is deliberate. This is a demonstration of his contempt for them and of his utter domination over their city. He is showing them that he can use them however he pleases, and they can do nothing to resist.

Sabrewing leaves the car like a plug up his backside, turning with a savage, feral glare to the remaining train cars, where most of the commuters are still trying to get out before falling to their deaths, or worse! Sabre gives them an alternative, even if they may not like it. Snatching the closest one, he pries the roof of the train off like a sardine tin's lid, pouring the inhabitants into his palm with increasingly agitated snorts and growls. Once enough have been collected, he tosses the car thoughtlessly away, ignoring the fireburst when it slams into a building nearby, and crams the writhing terrified souls into his hard-on, pawing along the black blood-filled spear of flesh with his newfound toys. Steely rumpcheeks flex around the mangled fuselage buried inside as he masturbates with abandon, gobs of crystalline syrup gushing on the asphalt under him, slightly tainted by red as some of the people he's using prove to be too fragile, ground into mush in his fists.

A wet mashing noise begins to mingle with the sound of the rail car slowly being crushed within your ass, the metal walls collapsing inward. The survivors who spilled out remain alive within you, thrashing about and beating at the muscular walls with their fists in a desperate attempt to find some escape from the prison of your body. They cannot know the horrible fate that awaits those in the next car. The people spill out into your palm, their bodies entangled with one another in a writhing, squalling mass. They can see the dragon's nightmarish face high above, and then the sight is blocked out by the titanic bulk of a black cock as large as railcar from which they were just shaken. They barely have time to squeak before they are lifted and pressed against the hot, moist flesh, and then ground brutally up and down. There is no hope for salvation, no menial task they can perform to win their lives. They are simply scrubbed roughly along the massive penis until the dragon's grip crushes their bodies, and they are turned into warm, slick lubrication.

Sabrewing's excitement has been building up for quite some time now, his panting accented by heavy grunts. Being so big and enduring so great a meal of living, breathing beings can do a lot to a male's stamina, even one as grand as himself. And those small ants feel so -good- around his shaft, teasing him and touching him in ways that few can. Before he knows it, the efreet has just given a bank a new paint job, enough semen to fill a good-sized lake pumping from his loins and splashing messily over the urban sprawl. He milks himself for more, growling in bestial need, not caring who he floods out in the process, only concerned with ejecting that mounting need in his balls. Each jerk of his claws adds another gush of whiteness to the mix, his cock smeared in a candy-cane coating of red and white.

For those directly in the line of fire there can be no escape. They vanish beneath a veritable torrent of thick cream, their bodies twitching as they are suffocated. Those who had been reduced to lubricant are gone, unrecognizable now, their bodies torn apart by the grinding and friction. The sound of crashing waves of semen rise over the groan of metal as the rail car within you is squeezed harder and harder, its shape deforming.