Jake's Big Day
_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car
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The buildings loomed so tall ahead, the trees of the park could never grow tall enough to shield them completely. The leaves could never grow thick enough to blot out the ceaseless cries and shouts from the city. The sounds never seemed to come from a soul, never carried the warm and vibrant tenor of something produced by a mind that thought and felt. The din was characteristic only of the cold, flat, inhuman sounds of buildings. They seemed to shout down from over the trees, broadcasting their reputation, their power.
That is, essentially, what a skyscraper does. Some of the buildings had antennae at the top that broadcasted signals about stocks or news, or whatever, but the buildings themselves were antennae broadcasting a sense of power. Never a power of the city, never a power of the people walking down on the ground, as Jake did in his battered sweatshirt, his hands comforting each other inside the front pocket. Those buildings towered over the people. They used people like him for their blood. They dominated the people. They swallowed them up, spit them out, and had the audacity to tell them to drink Pepsi along the way.
What's the most potent symbol of freedom in America? A flag, a document, or a pile of rubble?
Jake felt a little self-important when these thoughts entered his mind, and that as much as the brisk cool air put a blush on his cheek. He locked his fingers in with each other, rubbed his palms, held his slight arms close to his slight body. He felt insignificant, swaddled in his sweatshirt, walking with a brisk pace with his eyes to the ground only to avoid looking at those goddamn buildings. "You can't even look up if you're anywhere near a city," he muttered to himself with defeat. He looked up and shrunk, if only to confirm that he would shrink. His arms felt a little less powerful, his chest felt a little less svelte, his legs almost seemed to wobble like toothpicks. Brick, stone, steel over the trees, and soft cellular matter inside him. His stomach growled, an almost timpanic sound for how tight the skin beneath his white fur stretched over the insignificant trunk. He neck craned to highest heights, and he felt shriveled. Though he stood with an almost lackadaisacal indifference, his shoulders slumped if anything, he felt as if he were curled up on the ground.
He walked on, his nose back toward the ground, his ears twitching as they picked up the ineffable white noise of the buildings. His little ears were too small to not be dominated by the horrible cacophony of the looming structures. He wondered if other people couldn't hear them. Maybe he imagined it. But the assault was relentless. It pounded into his ears, imagined or real, it terrorized him. He tried to walk, he knew he couldn't get away from the sound but hoped he could sublimate it, but it persisted. His ears beat with the indecipherable bassline of brick stone and steel that surrounded him. It drowned him like an ocean, swelled like a symphony, and forced him onto his knees clutching his head. Now he was curled up on the ground, twitching nervously as he struggled to escape the mindless tenor. He wondered if he really was shrinking. He wondered if all of the city were stacking on top of him, squishing him, flattening him, driving him into the ground and shrinking him up into the size of a bearing, so round and polished. He wanted to be bigger than that. He resisted, he struggled, he dug his claws into his fur and wracked his slight body, his senses dulling and ceding to the powerful desire to grow, to be bigger than that which dominated him. The sounds began to recede. Or rather, they didn't recede, they grew weaker. They became higher, until the booming bass sounded like a simple beat. That simple beat shrunk into an almost sibilant hiss, like the vacant sound of a silent TV that sinks into the back of your ears.
He opened his eyes and saw the pebbled rooftop of a bank. His heart leaped into his throat, and began to beat quickly, deep thudding beats like the ones the buildings had harassed him for so long. He looked around, looked downward, and the buildings stood together like plants. From this perspective he could almost sense their swaying in the thick breeze, like blades of grass that bend in the wind. Standing up to his feet, the mighty fox saw their foundations shake as he planted his paws. He looked at his arms, thick now as tanker trucks, his feet would barely fit in the streets between the buildings. His clothes had torn from his body, and his cock hung over city like an eclipse. Though the park was large, it seemed now no bigger than a small backyard, and at arm's length were all those buildings, steel brick and stone.
His shadow cast over the city. A smile spread on his muzzle. His fur bristled with anticipation.
His arm rocked back, grew tense like the string of a bow, then battered the side of the nearest building. The stone exploded into fine powder, crumbled to the street below. A hole punched out of the wall revealed the guts of the building, its blood and lifematter. His heart still beat fast, so deep and heavy that it seemed to shake the buildings. Still testing his abilities, he drove his knee into the high rise, and with that it crumbled into a pile of rubble. It was a beautiful sight, dust rising up like steam or a soul.
The streets rattled with his footsteps. Cars flattened under his paws, ecstatic sirens dying to a low dead whine under the towering fox's steps. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of power. He pushed his paw against a skyscraper, and it bent. It creaked and strained as the massive fox pushed easily against it, the moans of the steel supports almost like begging. "Ohhhhh," the building moaned in pain as its walls were bent. Faint cracks could be heard like distraught gasps, and he imagined the building was pleading with him, assenting to him, asking for mercy, because it almost seemed to resist. It almost seemed to writhe under his paw. With an indifferent thrust, he toppled it, and laughed as it smashed to the ground below, making a warzone of a once quiet street.
And his cock swung like a wrecking ball, half-stiff, bending downward as if overcome by its own new weight. He fondled himself idly as he marched through the city, one hand invariably on his cock, the other turning brick and mortar into dust. The city seemed to swell around him, as if the skyscrapers parted to make way for him, as if they were crowding back against one another, trying to leave as much space between themselves and the fox. Thus it seemed, at least, to the stomping snow-white fox whose power was suddeny unchecked. Those buildings had once represented dominance. They'd once embodied everything that made him weak. They had money, influence, they stood fast where they were were decades and decades while the people below were forced to scurry around to whichever spot would keep them warm. Suddenly, he realized, that while there are so many different kinds of power, there's never really a substitute for being big enough to push the other guy over. And he did. He smashed high rises to rubble, he crumpled billboards in his paws, he bent satellite dishes and radio antennae between his fingers. He clapped his hands together against glass facades and watched the shining bits fall to the ground like snow. He was decider and destroyer, and soon his cock didn't swing like a wrecking ball, it stood like a battering ram. Drops of pre splashed violently on the street.
He was openly stroking himself now, his tongue sticking just barely out of his muzzle, his pleasure immense. He smacked his cock against the front of buildings, cracking the wall with the heft of it, feeling stone and steel break and bend under the mass of his dick, before either driving his knee into the building, or pushing it over, or squishign it from the top, or if he was feeling particularly flashy, kicking his legs high to send the roof flying down city blocks. Nothing hurt him, nothing proved difficulty. Anything he wanted to be a pile of wasted material became one. Half the city laid in ruins, banks, offices, government buildings, all of it piled together indiscriminately. He realized the inherent equalizing force of destruction. The bank that had denied his student loan, the power company that had shut off his electricity, the offices where dominating corporations pillaged the pocketbooks of millions... you couldn't tell one from the other when they were all just piles of rocks spilling over the street. Every office was a corner office. And it all happened at the simple flick of his paw.
He moaned with satisfaction as he stroked himself vigorously, his balls swaying as he did, a river of precum running along his fingers. When he came to a building that he couldn't see the top of, the glittering jewels of the former skyline, he threw his shoulder into them and laughed with divine pleasure as pieces rained down onto his head. The top of a skyscraper smashed open against the top of his head, its dust settling into his fur, and all the while he only smiled and stroked himself.
He picked up the rubble and tossed it like sand. He aimed for buildings down the way, practicing his skills until a chunk struck and chipped away the front. He was playing. A city at his feet, and it was all play to him. His heart still beat like the constant sound of a distant bombing.
Finally their stood only one building. He put his paw on its roof and pressed, only enough to hear it strain, as if a premature death gasp. In his other paw he stroked himself still, his typically average cock massive thanks only to scale. He teased the building, teased himself. He promised the building destruction, only to relent, with all the playfulness of a child with his last french fry. He milked everything out of it that he could, savored the final sensation of absolute power. He moaned loudly, the toothy smile on his muzzle emanating complete bliss. His hips rocks back and forth as he pleasured himself. Finally, he gushed his seed with powerful jets against the glass front, hearing the windows crack under the pressure of his massive load. His paw dug into the roof, crushing it, but he left the building standing as he drenched it in his cum, his eyes shut tight and his moans unrestrained.
As he finished, he was gasping, inhaling the city's smoke. He sat down, blindly, trust that wherever he chanced to fall rubble would cushion him, as he hit the ground, his placid peacefulness seemed almost overwhelming. He had the sensation of floating in warm water, and when he opened his eyes he was lying in a scar in the earth, surrounded again by those trees that once couldn't contain the buildings or their torturous sound. Now, only one building survived, dripping from its side the thick creamy cum the fox had blown on it what felt like only a moment ago, but could have been days for all he knew.
As the last building's foundations buckled and crumbled with a distant roar into the rest of the madness, the fox smiled, and resumed his peaceful walk through the park.