The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part V

-Hey, shit-for-brains, she said to Hunky Boy, go find me two large bowls. And make sure they’re matching bowls! Bring them to me ASAP.

-Yes, Ma’am.

Misty took a moment to flaunt her body again in front of the two lost souls. She teased and taunted them relentlessly, pushing them ever-closer to ultimate annihilation with the supreme power of her wickedness. Hunky Boy returned with the two bowls. Misty had him place one by each man and then return to his viewing spot on the sofa. Then she instructed Ollie to use his hands and scoop as much of his vomit as possible into his bowl.

-Whatever is left that you can’t get up off the carpet, she said, I want you to start cleaning up…with your tongue!

Oliver squeaked some more and emitted a more or less mangled ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

Turning back to Artie Lanier, who was still writhing and crying out in pain, Misty ordered him to shut his trap and get up. He seemed oblivious to her instructions as he continued to obsess over his shredded lip, which was pumping blood like a West Texas oil derrick.

-Oh Artie, dear. Can you hear me?

Artie groaned in the affirmative, but this was far from satisfactory. Misty grabbed his hair, pulled him up hard, and turning him in the direction of his bowl, slammed a jackhammer knee lift into his abdomen.

-Be a good boy, Artie, she laughed. Get it all into your bowl.

Buckling instantly in a full-body reflex seizure, Artie threw up violently in a big pool on the carpet. The instantaneous reaction to her kick denied him any chance of taking aim at his bowl. Misty stood over him mockingly, and as she pulled him upward once more by the hair his body jerked again and a second wave erupted from his mouth, a good portion of it splattering Misty’s lower body. She only laughed all the harder and it was becoming evident that it actually fueled her wrath and the fervor of her violence to be drenched in the spoils of her dominance, though how she could tolerate the stench was impossible to say. Clearly she was operating on some other wavelength and the more damage she wrought in the two men, the more psychotic and malevolent she became.

-Another insubordinate pig, eh, Hunky Boy?

--Yes, Ma’am. Yes, My Love, He howled tearfully.

-That was REALLY a pathetic showing, Artie, my boy. Doesn’t look like you got even a drop into the bowl, does it?

Artie only continued to heave.

-Idiot, she chuckled.

-All right, boys, Misty said. Now it’s time for me to teach you a new game. It’s called ‘Bobbing for Booty.’

She turned this way and that, flaunting her incredible big ass and upper legs dripping with blood and vomit and the sound effects being produced by Ollie and Artie kicked up another notch.

-Arthur, when you’re finished retching, I want you to get all your mess into your bowl, just like your dear friend, Ollie, OK? But hurry it up, or I’ll have to do something dreadful to speed you along.

Both men were basically vegetables by this time. They watched fretfully as Misty tortured them with the movements of her powerful body, both of them now fully ravaged physically and driven to sublime madness sexually. The sounds now were the freakish melange of squeaking, screaming, sobbing, howling and hysteria that one expects to hear only in the dark recesses of a madhouse. She stood over Artie, threatening to strike again if he didn’t get his vomit bowl prepared quickly. He scooped at it vigorously, in severe agitation as he continued to bleed while spitting out long strings of reddish-brown saliva.

-Into the bowl, dip-shit! Misty snapped.

Within a few minutes, both men had their bowls neatly filled with barf and blood and cowered on the floor in panicked anticipation of what might be coming next.

-Good boys, good boys! She said. Now, I think you’re going to adore this little game. As I said, it’s called ‘Bobbing for Booty,’ and the object of the game is just exactly that. We’re going to take a nice long walk around the house, you boys following behind me on your hands and knees, of course, and the object of the game is that, whenever I stop and point at my ass, the one who’s able to jump the highest on his knees will be allowed to kiss my ass cheek. But only one of you will be allowed the privilege, so you need to impress me with your desire and your devotion as well as your ‘bobbing’ ability. Because in the event that I can’t make a clear decision as to who has bobbed the highest, I will make my decision based upon your display of those two important qualities; devotion & desire. Now, you maggots yelp a little louder if you understand me.

Both men did exactly that. Hunky Boy joined in loudly now as well.

-Splendid. But the most important thing, the very most important thing is…Hunky, you tell ‘em.

He simply looked at Misty again and started to cry.

-Y-Y-You c-can’t e-ever touch her, he stammered, u-until she tells y-you t-t-to.

-Or else, what? Misty added.

-O-Or else…

-Or else, what, fuck-ball?!

Hunky began to blubber more loudly.

-O-Or else, she’ll-she’ll-she’ll fucking kill you.

He laughed a strange, guttural laugh that sounded more like someone choking on their own vomit than anything else. He was drooling.

-Thank you, butt-wipe. Try to get it out while we’re still young next time. Promise?

-Y-Yes, Ma’am. I p-promise. Hee Hee Heeee.

-All right, assholes. Ready? Here we go. Hands and knees. Aaaaaaaand, let’s go!

Misty began to walk, her incomprehensible body gyrating like some hi-tech CGI realization of movement in extra-dimensional space, like primal goddess, like the original god-queen of domination and death. Like Real Woman. Like Kali. The doctors followed behind, their bloody faces glued intently to the motions of her lower body, and already the enmity began to make itself known. The two were suddenly in competition with one another, and as Misty led them down the main hallway, they began to turn on one another.

-You fucking disloyal cocksucker, mumbled Oliver through his broken teeth.

-Fuck you, cried Lanier. I’m the one she wants. Just wait.

-Boys, said Misty calmly, bicker all you want, but if you look away from my ass at one another—even for a second—I will grind you both into powder, and nobody will kiss my ass!

-Yes, Ma’am, muttered the two poodles.

She led them first into the guest room, the first room accessible from the hallway. She walked arrogantly to the window, and then turned to face her new dogs. They stopped, peering at her from their canine postures, bleeding badly and obviously in severe pain. Laughing out loud at them, she feigned a turn, but as the two began to dig in, expecting the competition to start, she laughed again and walked between the two of them toward the doorway. As they turned back into the hallway, Misty called for Hunky Boy to walk behind the procession and to let her know if either of the grand docteurs turned attention away from the undulation of her glorious ass. The next room they came to was the bathroom. Misty turned as if she would stop before going in, but again, before initiating the ‘bobbing,’ she chuckled haughtily and continued on in. This was only a small bathroom, and as Misty stopped up against the shower doors, the doctors thought it must be time. But Misty only turned around again to face them. She laughed again at their ineptitude, and strutted past them back to the hallway. The bathroom was so small that the two had to struggle to turn around on all fours, and as they bumped one another, they became irritated and might well have gone at each other. But realizing that turning away from Misty’s ass would be the end of everything, they kept their composure while only snarling a couple more obscenities at one another.

--Hey babe. Take a walk on the wild side, Misty sang. Hey babe. Take a walk on the wild side.

Hunky choked out another hellish laugh.

--All hail the Queen! He cheered.

--Let’s go, boys, let’s go, Misty laughed.

Ollie and Artie crawled swiftly behind her, watching her ass intently as it swayed, and beginning to feel the horror welling up within the fervor of their obsession. Two bleeding, vomiting, naked dogs desperate to please the cruelest of mistresses. Misty led them on into the master bedroom. Here it was. The place where everything happened, or didn’t happen, between Oliver and Iris. She stopped to admire herself in the full-length mirror, and hitting a few hot, provocative poses, the hounds began to bay. Misty turned to admire her handiwork with an evil smile that embodied the life-and-death control she exerted over her mongrels.

--OK, maggots, she laughed. I think it’s time for the first level of your competition. Both of you SIT.

Both subjects obeyed perfectly, right on command. Peering arrogantly into their bloody, terrified faces, she laughed loudly and slapped each of them in turn with explosive open-hand blows that sent the blood splattering and the tears, wailing, and expletives flying. Their bleeding was excessive now, and just those two powerful blows had made the beautiful bedroom look like a murder scene. Blood was everywhere.

Miraculously, neither became uprooted from his obedient sitting position, and after surveying the blood spray with a cackle, Misty turned her devastating ass upon the two. Holding her hand up, poised to point, she prolonged their agony by waiting…and waiting. She looked into their pathetic faces; bloody, disfigured, sub-human, consumed by anxious anticipation, and she allowed the surge of orgasmic sexual energy to course through her body; the kind of high that only comes from the exercise of control at this level. At long last, she snapped her index finger out and pointed down at her ass.



The rabid dogs launched into action, doing their best to bounce upward from their kneeling positions. The resulting spectacle was utterly comical. Of course, neither mutt was able to rise even an inch off the floor from a kneeling position, but they were obliged to keep trying, desperate to be granted that kiss of Misty’s ass. As Misty laughed hysterically, she kept urging them onward…and upward.

--Come on, mutts! She said. You can do better than that! Come on, now! Up! Up!

Ollie and Artie kept at it, wrenching their bodies upward with everything they had. After a few bizarre minutes of this strange paux de deu, they both began to tire, eventually slowing into the most half-hearted efforts imaginable. Though there was no clear winner, Misty decided to torture Oliver further by awarding the kiss to Artie.

--Drum roll, please! She said.

Hunky Boy obliged with the vocalized sounds of a drum roll; Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…Psshhhhhhh!!

--And the winner is…Doc-torrrrr...Arthur Lanier!!

The realization set in. So did the hyperventilation. Not only did the prospect of actually putting his lips to Misty’s royal ass give him palpitations, but suddenly the entire import of the evening began to bang at his brain like a battering ram. An entire life—two entire lives, including the families—put on the line for one moment of ultimate decadence. He couldn't really even grasp the full implications of it all.

--No, No! screamed Ollie. She’s mine, you fucking piece-a shit! You weren’t even supposed to be here!

The words were terribly garbled through his battered mouth; lips ripped open, jaw dislocated, and eyes swollen nearly shut from the battering he had taken. He began to sob.

--Hey, dick-breath, Misty said. We’re not done. You’ll get another turn. Now shut your hole while Artie boy collects his prize.

She brought Artie’s face up close, just inches from the divine curves her exquisite ass.

--On 3. Ready? One…two……

Artie was electrically charged, quivering uncontrollably. Misty dragged it out, holding the two-count until Artie was outside himself.

--aaaaaand, 3!

Artie planted his lips softly, firmly, flush against her goddess-flesh, right in the center of her ass-cheek. It was only a second, but the energy was far too intense for him. He cried out at first, then segued into loud, sobbing moans, finally collapsing in tears of ecstasy onto the floor. Misty laughed hard, reveling in her dominance.

--Jeez, I don’t think he cared for that, she laughed.

Ollie was bawling like an infant. Hunky Boy sat on the edge of the bed, clapping his hands in childlike delight at the proceedings.

--He couldn’t t-take it! Heee-Hee-Heeeeee. See? He couldn’t take that! None of ‘em can! Not my wife! She’s the Queeeen of the Univerrrrrrse! Heee-Heeeeeee!

Then he broke down into sobs as well.

Misty took a look around and checked out the lavish master bathroom. Now THIS was something! It was the size of an apartment. With exquisite imported Italian tile for the floors and walls, a huge walk-in shower, plush fur rugs, and a fabulous sunken bath tub.

--Jesus, you could convene the U.N. in this fucker, Misty thought. All right, Dogs! Mutts! Mongrels! Animals! On with the competition!! Come on, Artie! Up, Boy, Up! Follow along, or you’ll be sorrrr-y!

Both men, if you could still call them that, were long lost in alternate realities, very much outside their normal minds. And yet, the real world continued to crash the gates, trying to get a message through. Thoughts came to each in rising to the occasion, crawling along after Misty as she led them around the large bedroom. Those thoughts, the voices of wisdom; Flee! Run! Run, and don’t look back! The end is nigh! Run! Run for your life! Things can be SALVAGED! But only if you leave NOWWWW! Of course, neither specimen was up to taking flight. Even if they could have summoned the emotional wherewithal, their bodies were finished. Both had been so badly beaten at this point that is was all they could do to continue being good doggies and following the beautiful Misty around the house on all fours. And even this took a Herculean effort.

After a scintillating excursion out onto the patio and back into and around the master bedroom, Misty led the dogs to the master bath. Entering upon the cool, smooth tile, Misty took them for one tight circle and then took her stance by the lavatory.

--All right, Maggots! Time for round two!

She shook her ass so sensually, and both dogs howled with delight and unquenchable anticipation.

--Here we go. On 3. Ready? One…..Two…..

Again she held the two count forever as both dogs began salivating blood.

--aaaaaaaannnnnndddd…3!

The hilarious and utterly pathetic ‘jumping’ began again in earnest, each man giving everything he had to rise up from a kneeling position in any motion that could even be considered a ‘jump.’ Watching their intense but utterly ineffectual attempts, Misty just started laughing her ass off again. They reminded her of two turtles trying to high jump. But again, since there was no way to declare a winner, Misty decided to frustrate poor Oliver once more and declare Artie the winner. The earlier scene was repeated, complete with Hunky boy’s drum roll and that fateful proclamation of the winner.

--Doctooooooorrrrr, Arthur Lanier!!

She flaunted her ass in his face and proudly took in the emotional devastation she was wreaking on the two. They were both in deep trouble, and growing angrier and more jealous of each other by the minute. Ollie was incredulous at Artie’s being chosen again.

--No, no, he wept. It’s not fair.

He looked woefully up at that marvel of a derriere, the ass that should have been reserved for him alone, and broke down into even more intense sobbing. Watching Artie again place his lips against Misty’s magnificent flesh sent him into a rage. Unable to contain himself any longer, he pounced upon Artie, who had just been rendered incoherent by the kiss and was in no position to defend himself. Ollie swung with lefts and rights, but at such close range and owing to the battering both men had taken, the blows were utterly ineffectual. Misty had a chuckle as she watched them go at it for a moment, but decided ultimately that Ollie was out of line.

--OK, OK, big boy, she said. That’s enough of that.



She pulled him up by his hair, forcing him to his feet where she had to prop him up with her left hand. Without warning she blasted a powerful right fist flush into the middle of his face that once again sent the blood flying everywhere. The blow sent Ollie reeling backwards, crashing into the sunken bathtub where he lay sprawled precariously, beaten to a pulp, and crying out in eerie bursts of excruciatingly pained but ultimately inhuman sounds.

--You worthless fucking ingrate! Misty yelled, looking down at his fallen body. How DARE you question my authority, my judgment! And how DARE you presume to take any action into your own hands without my permission! You just signed your own fucking death warrant, asshole! Now get up!

That wasn’t going to happen. In all likelihood, he could no longer even comprehend the meanings of the words, but if he did he was in no way capable of acting upon them. That punch nearly took his head off. It flattened his nose flush with his face, and knocked the majority of his teeth out in a splaying of blood and gristle on the bathroom walls. Upon crashing down with his full weight, he had broken his arm and cracked his skull on the hard edge of the marble bathtub. Even in the face of Misty’s vehement commands all he could do was lay there spitting out blood and fragments of teeth in quick, rhythmic bursts with each desperate breath he expelled from his battered body. All this made Misty even more enraged. She stepped into the sunken tub, dragged his dead-weight body up over the edge and slammed him down on the tile floor. She looked briefly and balefully at Artie.

--This is what happens to willful maggots! She said.

She stood over Ollie’s head and looked down into his bloodied eyes. She could tell that he could still see her big ass from the way he started to jerk involuntarily; first in quick twitches, and then into more frenetic bursts of convulsion.

--Better take a good fucking look, you dip-shit fucking worm! And you should be thanking god for allowing my ass to be the last fucking thing you see on this earth!

She allowed his frenzy to build for a minute longer before executing that enormous and deadly butt drop down onto Ollie’s head. She drove his head into that hard tile floor with her full weight. Sitting arrogantly upon his face, she glanced over her shoulder to check out his seizure. She smiled. Artie was sitting on the floor in shock near the lavatory, with Hunky still looking in from just outside the door, giggling demonically.

--That was a good one, eh Artie Boy? Heard his fucking skull crack on that one!

--Oh God, he moaned, hoping against hope that what he thought was happening wasn’t really happening.

Slowly she rose up off Oliver and stood over his head again, looking down at the scarcely identifiable melange of blood and tissue that was now his face. The carnage was sickening, and very much to Misty’s liking.

Stay Tuned For The Horrifying Conclusion in PART VI. It could be more than you can take!

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part IV

Just then, Hunky Boy returned with Iris and Dr. Lanier. They had been outside trying to figure out what to do next when the human siren started up from inside. Hunky Boy launched into his most severe hysterics now and the dissonant duet began to gain in intensity, soon becoming a most disturbing cacophony. The thought entered Iris’s mind that this was the weeping and gnashing of teeth described by Jesus in the gospels when referring to Hell. The sight of her husband, naked, bloodied, crazed, and sprouting a chubby bigger than she knew he possessed, was more than she could handle. Now, she too burst into hysterics, and instinctively bolted at Misty, fists flailing, and expletives flying. As she fell upon Misty, the powerful goddess merely brushed her off like a gnat and instructed Hunky Boy to sit her down and keep her in line. The whole scene grew macabre now with three voices wailing horrifically and chaos becoming the order of the moment.

-One more little treat for ya, Oliver Boy, Misty said.

She snatched him by the hair, his wounds still bleeding rivers and the squeal actually seeming to rise to a higher pitch, dragged him into the middle of the floor, and dropped him there on his back. Hunky Boy was holding the squirming Iris down in a seated position on the sofa.

-Hunky, said Misty, make her watch now.

Then, standing over Oliver’s head again, Misty dropped down with all her considerable weight, her big ass crashing like an avalanche onto poor Ollie’s head. Oliver’s body kicked like an epileptic in full throttle as Misty sat firmly upon his face, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of Iris going psychotic as she looked on.

-Artie!, she screamed. Do something! She’s trying to kill him!

Artie Lanier did indeed make a move toward Misty, but as he reached her, now pretty much mental himself, Misty smiled at him devilishly and fondled her tits with her hands, pushing them up into a massive cleavage for Doc Lanier’s benefit.

Frozen in his tracks, Lanier reached down toward her, his first impulse that of trying to pull her off of Ollie, only to then retract his hands as he fell to his knees before her, his mouth a barren desert, his breathing heavy and erratic.

-Artie!, Misty exclaimed. Nice to have you on board! If ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, eh Artie?

The reward for Lanier’s submission was a brutal open-hand slap across the face that left fiery red imprints of Misty’s fingers on his cheek.

Artie! Cried Iris, horrified.

-You’ve been a big disappointment to me, Misty said to Artie. You’ve stood there, as disrespectful to me as a man could be, as if you actually had to think about whether you REALLY wanted me or not. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shame on you Artie. We’ll have to think of some way for you to make it up to me, won’t we?

-Yes, we will.

Another massive slap across his face.

-Owww! Artie cried.

-Another faggot with no manners! How ‘bout a Yes, Ma’am? Were you raised in a fucking barn?

-Yes, Ma’am, Artie stammered, I mean, No, ma’am.

-Idiot. Take off your goddamn clothes. All of them, right now.

-Yes, ma’am.

-Artie! Oliver! Iris could certainly scream some bloody murder.

She kicked and writhed, slapped and punched at Hunky Boy until it was obvious he wasn’t going to restrain her without resorting to some sort of corporeal enforcement. Misty looked at Iris, becoming quite impatient with her carrying on.

-Bitch, you’re beginning to annoy me, Misty said, and you gotta believe me when I say this; you totally DON’T want to annoy me!

-Fuck you, you piece of shit whore! Iris cried. This is all your fault! I’ll kill you, goddammit! I’ll kill you! Let go of me goddammit!

Hunky Boy held her tightly, but Misty knew that something had to be done. While Artie was shedding his clothing and Oliver beginning to kick a little harder as his muffled groans became more audible under the smothering press of Misty’s ass, Misty stood up over Ollie and dropped her big knee into the center of his throat with her full weight. Bouncing right up off of him, she watched him go rolling and writhing wildly across the room, clutching at his throat, and gasping for air. Iris descended into full-on hysteria. Then turning to Iris, Misty took her by the hair and jerked her up from Hunky Boy’s grasp.

--I’ve had it with you, bitch, she said between barred teeth. You are really beginning to bring me down!

Iris was already swinging wildly at Misty, her hysteria intensifying with each rapid breath. Misty reared back and sucker-punched her squarely on the nose, dropping her like an anvil. Then, pulling her halfway to her feet by her hair, she slammed a bone-crunching thigh lift into Iris’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her and sending her crashing back to the floor like a rag doll. Misty noticed Artie looking over at her, a look of infinite sadness on his face. Oliver continued to gyrate around the living room area making desperate choking sounds, much to Misty’s delight. She kicked Iris over onto her back so as to have her lying face-up, and just as she had with Ollie, she dropped her fat gorgeous ass down on Iris’s head with the force of a Mack Truck. Now Iris’s body convulsed uncontrollably as Misty sat atop her face, grinning sardonically. She is the Devil Incarnate. Hunky Boy, amped up from the ruckus, began to howl, and dared ask his wife as contritely as possible;

--Are you gonna kill ‘er, My Love? Are you gonna smother her?

He was practically salivating at the prospect. Misty looked at him, and for the first time this evening gave him a knowing smile.

--Sure am, Bitch Boy. Sure am.

Hunky began to become seriously agitated at the prospect, and in his own weird way, with his incomprehensible guttural utterings, started cheering. Misty sat in place, her extraordinary ass covering Iris’s mouth and nose completely and quite firmly, and ordered him to make sure neither of the ‘suits’ interfered with her. Ollie, of course, had no idea what was even going on, but Artie only watched the whole thing in the most bizarre silence, knowing now that his soul was no longer his own, and that he was therefore helpless to act in any way on Iris’s behalf. After about 3 minutes, Iris’s body stopped kicking and the peaceful rest of death was granted her. Misty stood up slowly and gave a condescending chuckle as she looked down upon her fallen prey.

--Much better, Misty smiled. That bitch was really pissing me off.

Hunky Boy clapped and voiced his approval at his wife’s uncontested conquest, and watched with anxious anticipation as she returned to the living room and the two new Nancy-Boys. She clasped both hands firmly around the naked Artie’s face, still wearing its stunned expression, and gave him the kiss of his life. As her tongue explored the interior of his mouth, he surrendered completely to her and, clutching her body in delirium, slid down in front of her onto his knees. He was just beginning to break into tears when he felt the jack-hammer slam of Misty’s knee into his face, which sent him reeling in painful somersaults across the living room. Meanwhile, Oliver was just starting to slow down from his frantic top-spinning ‘round the room, and as he came to rest, Misty greeted him with further punishment. She pulled his face up between her thighs and again dropped to the floor with an full-weight atomic butt-drop on Ollie’s head.  The cranial shock from this incomprehensibly devastating maneuver scrambled the poor chap's brains into mush once and for all.  A concussion for the ages.  Misty's sexy, witch-like laughter reverberated eerily around the room.

Oliver can’t breathe, and he is squirming mightily now against the press of Misty’s exquisite fat ass, which has him pinned inextricably against the floor. At the same time Misty looks over at the moribund figure of Artie Lanier, now kneeling, naked, his prick extending in sections, telescopic, until it reaches maximum density at which point it most resembles an Olympic diving board.

-Ahh, poor Artie, Misty says. Perfect racket, and no one’s on the court to test it for you with a couple of volleys. Mmmm. Well, we’ll have to do something about that.

She lifted up slightly off of Ollie’s head, which caused him to gasp wildly for breath. He had been closer to deadly suffocation than he had imagined. The last big ass-drop onto his face had broken his nose, too, and the blood was far denser than it appeared at last sight. The big-ass God-Queen was indeed making quite a splash in the world of ordinary mortal affairs.

-Oliver Boy, she said, if I ask you to do something for me, something REALLY important, would you do it for me? You would, wouldn’t you?

-Y-Yes-s, Ma’am. Y-Yes-s, I-I would.  Nearly incoherent gurgling. 

He lay in an intense pool of deep red blood at this point, and as a result of the hold she’d put on him, didn’t fully realize it.

-Good, she said. I want you to go into the kitchen and make me a boilermaker. I also need you to tell me what kind of dog food, if any, you keep in the house. OK? Can dumb-shit be TRUSTED to take care of that for Mommy while I tend to a very needy Arthur Lanier here?

-Yes, Ma’am.(Gurgle, spew, & drool)

-Good. Then get your ugly balls in there and take care of it.

She turns back to Lanier.

-MMmm, Artie! Baby! Where ya been, Artie Baby? Look at this mother fucker! You got a goddamn slot machine handle growin'’outta your crotch, dude! You haven’t really been tested today, have you, meat? Well, it’s important to test for levels, you know. If there’s shit I can’t do with a guy, that I WANT to do with a guy, well, shit, might as well stay home, right?

-Oh, yes Ma’am.

-Ok, then. While Ollie’s getting my drink, I’m going to show you a little of what my own punishment is like. After that, you’ll be doing a lot of it on your own. So, stand up straight, and look me right in the eyes. No distraction. Right in my face, got it?

-Yes ma’am.

-Ok, here we go.



Artie did indeed look her right in the face as she placed her hands upon his shoulders and pulled a knee up from the center of the earth,  burying it into his stomach.

-Ackk! He hacked before crumpling straight to the ground from the power of the kick. Misty looked down upon him. He was close to throwing up, but his breath had definitely been fully expelled. He was in pain. Then, Misty lifted his sagging head up by the hair, just enough to get a perfect shot at his face.  She reared back and cold-cocked his ass with a brutal overhand right that totally cleaned Artie’s clock. He flipped over backwards and wound up in a fetal position, clutching at his gut, gasping desperately for air, and watching the pool of blood rise up beneath him as he lay there pumping it onto the carpet from mouth and nose, both split wide open from that power-packed punch. Hunky Boy, as if sensing a shift toward uncharted heights of delirium, began to wail a little higher as the bloodied Ollie limped precariously into the room, barely capable of keeping the drink held upright long enough to reach the Dictator, Misty. He managed to serve her, then gurgled something about could he have one, too.

-I need you to have something else first, Misty taunted . Then we'll see about that drink.

-Yes, Ma’am?

-It’s called Mommy’s Big Shot, and it goes just like this.

She slammed her massive thigh up with unprecedented power into the poor fucker’s mid-section, which doubled him over instantly, then sprung him back out straight as he proceeded to puke his guts out all over the floor.

-Aww, Oliver Boy. Whassa matter, hmmmm?  Cat got your tongue?  Well, so much for that drink, I guess.

He looked up from the ground at the most delicious, monstrous, powerfully perfect big, huge legs in the goddamn universe. They’d be the end of everything here before the night was over. He knew it now. Misty had it in her head to kill everyone. She had Hunky Boy light her another cigarette. She strutted haughtily around the fallen bodies of the two men, sipping her drink, smoking her cigarette, and flicking the ashes into their faces as they struggled against the ravages of Misty’s onslaught.

-What about the dog food, Ollie?

Between heaves, he shook his head agonizingly.  No dog food.  The beating was beginning to take a severe toll on Oliver. That last heavy knee blow had ruptured something inside him, or so he perceived at any rate. He continued to vomit as Misty stood over him, watching gleefully.

-Mmm, nice texture, said Misty. Color’s not bad, either.

She pulled him up by his hair just high enough to repeat the powerful leg blow and blasted it again right into the old breadbasket. Oliver’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and instead of crying out, he merely squeaked, like a child’s air toy. He buckled instantly back to the floor from the force of the blow, and then, looking up sadly at Misty, ejected another huge stream of vomit, some of which splattered across her lower body, the remainder adding to the color collage being created from blood and puke on the white carpet. Hunky Boy howled like a rabid wolf and even Artie joined the chorus with an outburst of impassioned sobbing. Misty laughed insanely, seeming to relish the sight and feeling of the grotesque muck of body fluids and blood that dripped from her legs. It was hard to say where Oliver was at by this time. He was obviously badly hurt, gasping desperately for air as he choked on the vomit that continued to be launched up from his stomach.

With Oliver fully incapacitated, Misty turned her attention back to Lanier, who was just getting back to his feet after Misty’s wicked punch.  She embraced him sensuously, arms around his neck, and looked him in the eyes as the blood dripped from his face down unto his chest.

-Artie, my dear boy, she cooed, did I mention that I just LOVE a man with a nice bloody mouth, and sensuous thick lips? Hmmm?

-N-No, Ma’am, Artie mumbled, you didn’t.

-Well, it’s true. And your mouth is looking VERY SEXY.

She was within an inch of his lips.

-Mmmm, but I DO wish your lips were a little fatter. You know, like Mick Jagger’s. Even better, like Steven Tyler’s.

Artie trembled, wondering what was next. Swiftly, and with great force Misty slammed a vicious head butt right on target into Artie’s mouth. He fell back against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen area, then slumped forward onto his knees. Misty was right there, catching him by the head and immediately driving her big knee straight into his face, pummeling his mouth and lips even harder. Backing away a couple of steps, she watched as he collapsed forward flat onto his face on the floor, the blood splattering everywhere.

-Get up, she commanded, and I mean right now!

As he began trying to raise himself up, along with the blood he also spit out three of his front teeth, broken by the intensity of that knee blow.

-Oops, Misty laughed. My bad.  Looks like somebody's on liquid diet for a while.  Now, come on.  Up, up.  Don't keep Misty waiting.

He had no choice but to hold onto Misty’s body in pulling himself up, but managed to be standing wobbly before her in decent time. Again she looked into his eyes. That face, so sexy, so irresistible. Artie Lanier began to cry softly. Blood was gushing from his mouth, so much so that Misty was awash in it as well. She obviously loved it. She surveyed his face, his lips now splayed wide open, bleeding severely and quickly swelling.

-Mmmm, she purred. That’s more like it.

With that she caressed his face between her hands and kissed him. She stayed with it, spurred on by the blood flow, biting his lips hard as he alternately screamed in pain and moaned in ecstasy. All the while Oliver writhed on the floor, unable yet to speak. While Misty worked on Artie Lanier, the hideous, eerie sounds of Oliver’s involuntary squeaking filled the room as he watched the proceedings.

-Why, Artie, Misty chided, you’re some kisser! And I thought all you had to offer was money. Well, just goes to show you.

Her face smeared with his blood, she indulged herself one more time. As she finished kissing him this time, she bit down hard and sheared a section of his lip completely off. Artie screamed out in agony as he dropped to his knees clutching at his mouth. Misty sucked on the section of flesh momentarily, blood now dripping steadily from her face, and then spit it at him contemptuously. Oliver was just recovering from his intense heaving, and now lay balled up on the floor continuing to squeak repeatedly with an odd and painful moaning thrown in here and there. As Artie screamed out, Hunky Boy went into his most bizarre concatenations, as if singing harmony with the horrified and battered doctor. Misty’s Fun House had indeed become a surreal and morbid nightmare.

Stay Tuned for PART V. Blood-Curdling.

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part III

Misty stood up, Oliver still seated on the floor, and taunted him with her ass, which was just barely concealed by the hem of her skirt. Oliver began to whimper a little louder, and as if on cue, Hunky Boy's whimpering ramped up just that much louder. Stereo cry-babies.

Misty looked down over her shoulder into Oliver's tear-filled eyes.

-Wanna kiss it, big boy?

Oliver was a mess. Of course, he wanted to kiss it. He wanted to die in its massive press. But what about Iris? What should he do about poor dear wifey, just down the hall, probably sobbing and definitely madder than a cornered badger by now? Worse than that, probably so hurt by all this. Where had his mind gone that the fact of her pain could not penetrate the fortress walls Misty had built up so solidly around his very soul? This was the end of everything, and he had no way of doing anything about it. As he sat there mumbling and whimpering, Misty turned on him; pissed. Without a word, she slapped him across the face so violently that he went down onto the floor on his back, still blubbering as he stretched out there before her. Misty stood right over him, looking down into his pathetic, red, tear-drenched face.

-I asked you a question, you fucking pig! And NOW I'd like to hear an explanation as to why you sit there, dumb as a fucking stump, and refuse to answer me?

Oliver looked up at the extraordinary vision that was Misty, standing over him with that over-sexed face of hers, the HOT just dripping off it, the big, solid body with the massive, gorgeous breasts popping out of her tight dress, and most of all, those indescribable, monolithic legs, rising up above him now like twin towers of destruction. All he could do was break even harder into uncontrollable tears. As he did, Hunky Boy also began crying harder. It was as if he were petrified to make any louder noises than those Misty was allowing her evening’s quarry. Realizing that he was basically a lost cause at the moment, Misty decided to take a more oblique approach to Oliver’s destruction.

-Look at you, she said. What a fucking disgrace. Big, important, hot-shot doctor, can’t even control his own mousy little wife, and has no idea what to do with the hottest fucking bitch he’ll ever lay eyes on when she’s RIGHT HERE WITH HIM in the goddamn flesh. Some big fucking deal you are. Well, Oliver boy, it’s like this; first, take those goddamn clothes off, and I mean within seconds! Bawl all you want, but get them off NOW!

Ollie looked up at her again, and the thought came to him that maybe salvation lay in her presence here after all. Let go of all that’s familiar, and go for your bliss! Yes, that suddenly sounded right. And since he was being forced to strip anyway, what difference did it make? He decided right then and there that he belonged to Misty. He would do whatever she required of him. With that realization, a strange smile came over his face, even as he continued to cry. He ripped at his formal clothing, slithered out of his coat, thrust his shoes from his feet in swift flicking motions, and pulled his pants down, his crying and whimpering morphing into a strange, haunting fit of laughter all the while. Misty, sensing that he was entering the Twilight Zone, decided to ratchet up the intensity; pushing him ever-harder. With a gleeful smile she squatted down straight above his face, pulling her dress up around her waist. As she locked into her position, she drove poor Ollie into a rather psychotic outburst. Looking up at her ass, covered only by a skimpy, see-through thong, he became hysterical, laughing, crying, utterly out of control.

-Shut your goddamn face! Misty exclaimed. You’re not following orders, you dick-brain! I said, get your fucking clothes off! NOW!

Ollie still had his shirt, his shorts, and his socks to go. In spite of his delirium, he knew ‘serious’ when he heard it. Meanwhile, Hunky Boy had started up, his own moaning and crying getting louder and more intrusive. It was quite the surreal scene having him sit there, basically mimicking Ollie, yet obviously going through his own personal hell watching his wife cuckold him before his very eyes. With his stern mistress monitoring his every move, Ollie quickly shed the rest of his clothing. Now, he lay there completely naked, but for his Rolex, with a hard-on the size of a 200 year-old fir tree throbbing intensely and oozing pre-cum in generous globs.

-Hmmm, Misty laughed, looks like someone hasn’t been laid in a while. Well, for being so obedient, I think you deserve a reward. I want you to exhale, and then, when I fart, right into your stupid face, I want you to inhale for all you’re worth. Don’t waste a single molecule! Got it?

-Thank you, Misty, the good doctor answered, still in that strange O-zone between laughter and tears.

Again with a laugh, Misty cut a huge, gassy fart right into Ollie’s face. As programmed, he inhaled deeply, sucking down every last nuance of her divine flatulence. When he had filled his lungs, Misty made him hold it, like taking a hit of weed. Upon that command, Hunky Boy broke into loud, unrestrained sobbing. His presence was becoming quite unsettling.

-That’s right, Misty laughed, looking down between her legs at Ollie’s face, hold it in, hold it in!

As he finally exhaled, Lanier and Wifey Iris emerged from the hallway, taken aback at the scene unfolding before them. In their already disoriented and traumatized conditions, what they now beheld sent them—wifey Iris in particular—into what can only be described as a state of shock. Iris tried to cry out, but the sounds stuck in her throat. Dr. Arthur Lanier managed a little better;

-O-Oliver! Jesus Christ!

That was Hunky Boy’s cue. With the tension so thick you climb into the sky upon it, his macabre baying intensified to a melodramatic wailing that cast an even more surreal aura over the proceedings.

-Ahh, look who’s back, said Misty, still crouched ominously over Ollie’s face. Oliver boy, show little wifey how much fun you’re having, hmmm? Take that cattle prod you’ve got growing between your legs and jack it off for her. Don’t worry, I won’t let you cum yet. But keep your eyes focused on my ass. You do love Misty’s ass, don’t you?

Oliver’s attempted reply was nothing more than incoherent, hysterical gibberish as he snatched a hold of his burning cock.

-I didn’t get that, Oliver boy, Misty chided.

-Y-y-yesss, Ma'aaaaam! He wailed.

-I thought so. You know, ‘Artie,’ I really wish you’d consider joining in all the fun. I’m sure your whole mood would change in the space of a moment!

Misty’s laugh was again so sinister, so demonic.

-And poor Iris, it’s all been such a shock to you. You could sit there with my husband and enjoy the show. You two could be of great comfort to each other. Wouldn’t you love to have wifey Iris sit with you, Hunky Boy? Someone to hold your hand? Feel what you feel?

Hunky Boy completely lost control at the question.

-Oh, yes ma’am, he cried. Yes, ma’am! Please make her sit with me! Please!

Just then Misty farted loudly into Ollie’s face again and broke into laughter.

-Uhh-ohh, she said, that one slipped out! Hurry, Oliver boy, hurry! Make sure you sniff up every bit of it!

As Ollie, now jacking himself off ferociously, began inhaling wildly, Iris finally broke. She burst into hysterics and bolted out the front door. Out of her incoherent shrieks came the occasional lucid cries of ‘Oliver, My God! Oh, Oliver!’

Completely freaked by the intensity of the moment, Lanier stood there frozen, unable to decide whether to go after Iris, to rip off his clothes and join in the depravity at hand, or to simply run to his car and get the hell out of there. As he stood dumbstruck, Misty stood up above Ollie and pulled her tight tube dress up over her head and off. Now she stood before the three in all her glory, her fat, gorgeous body adorned only in intensely hot nothings of black lingerie. Hunky Boy cried out again at the spectacle of his fabulous wife, dominating 3 men at once, and ripping his soul to shreds with her phenomenal body and her contemptuous disregard for him.

Misty commanded Ollie to stop jerking before he came, and then walked over in front of Hunky Boy, turned her ass to him, and holding his head firmly in place, let loose with another blast of gas right into his face.

-Breathe! She shouted.

As Hunky Boy sucked the fart down in what can only be described as jubilation, Misty turned to face him and, still holding his head in place by the hair, reached back and slapped him across the face with the force of an atomic blast. He shrieked loudly before breaking into a tearful litany of submissive accolades.

-Thank you, ma’am, thank you! I deserve your wrath! Please don’t give up on me!

-Give up on you? You fucking moron, I gave up on you long ago. I have no interest in teaching you anything. You’re a fucking toy, get it? And a pathetic one at that!

Misty then spit in Hunky Boy’s face with brazen contempt, for which he nonetheless continued to give thanks loudly.

Staying right in step, as if performing a finely choreographed routine, she cozied up to Lanier and before he even had time to react, planted a huge, ultra-sensual kiss on his lips and then, perfect sex kitten, purred irresistibly into his face, all raunchy bourbon and cigarettes; and ALL WOMAN.

-Take your clothes off, asshole, Misty demanded, and go sit on the couch.

Lanier almost broke, but instead darted out the front door after Iris. Misty smiled and turned her attention back to the still prone Oliver boy.

-All right, faggot, she said, get your ass up. Get up onto your knees.

As he was moving into position, Misty drained the rest of her drink, and then came back to stand before Ollie, her powerful thighs directly in front of his quivering face.

-Read ‘em and weep, Oliver Boy, she said. What do you think, hmmm? These gorgeous legs, or wifey’s? Which do you want?

-Oh, g-god, he stammered, yours! Only yours!

Misty snatched him by the hair and punched him hard in the face, bloodying his nose.

-Where are your FUCKING manners, douche-bag? You can at least do as well as Hunky Boy over there! It’s MA’AM, asshole! Yours, MA’AM! Now you try it.

-I’m sorry Ma’am. I want your legs, Ma’am. Pleeeease, Ma’am!

-You see? Now that wasn’t so fucking hard. You wanna kiss my thigh? Way up high here at the juiciest, fattest part? And if you do, I want you to pant like a fucking dog and beg. Now, do you?

Oliver boy immediately stuck out his tongue and began to pant vigorously. Then, he alternated between puppy dog begging and human begging.

-(Whimper, whimper) Oh, please, Ma’am, please let me kiss your lovely thigh. Please, Ma’am!

Misty stood over his pathetic figure, contemplating her decision.

-No deal, she finally said. But I’ll give you the nose.

She grabbed him again by the hair and forced his face into the fat flesh of her upper thigh, more or less rubbing his nose there. She pulled him away as quickly as she had brought him to contact. For Ollie, it was a millisecond in heaven. Or Hell, according to taste. When she pulled him back, he came unglued, crying out in loud screams, and yelling ‘Oh no, no! Please, no!

Still holding him by the hair and getting quite a chuckle out of his outburst, Misty reared back with that leg and brought it forward with a vengeance, slamming her powerful thigh into Ollie’s face and knocking him for a double somersault across the living room, and up against the brick wall next to the fireplace.

-Better shut your trap, dick-for-brains, she said. In my presence, you will stay under control. And I warn you, Oliver Boy, don’t fucking test me again!

Hunky Boy started wailing louder.

-Go to the front door, Hunky, Misty said. See what the hell’s going on out there. See if wifey and Doctor Dufus have left or what.

-Yes, ma’am, Hunky cried, rushing to the door in obedience.

Misty stood over Ollie’s fallen body, watching now as he bled profusely from the nose and mouth. His cock was still an oaken wonder.

-All right, pig, she said, let me ask you another question. Do you think that such behavior as this is going to make me want to grant you privileges, or punish you harder? You may answer now, please.

-Oh, shit, that hurts, he groaned, holding his face. It’ll make you want to punish me, ma’am.

-Very good! So why’d you do it?

-I-I, because I’m a stupid shit! I’m so sorry, Ma’am!

Oliver Boy was crying real tears now. He was hurt.

-That’s right, pig-man, you’re a fucking dumb-shit. I didn’t think you could get to be a doctor being that fuckin’ stupid. You must’ve cheated on your tests.

She held her glorious, massive thigh again directly in front of his face.

-I’m not as heartless as you think, you know, so, I’m going to give you one more chance. Now go ahead. One nice, sloppy kiss. Right on my upper thigh.

Ollie dug in ravenously and kissed her thigh. In the process he smeared a good deal of blood on her leg, which actually seemed to excite her considerably. But it was far too much for him. As he pulled away, he looked at her body with the most far-away look of astonishment and his body began to quake. His mouth was wide open as if to scream, but nothing was coming out. A perfect Francis Bacon portrait if there ever was one. Misty looked down at him, ready to burst out laughing at whatever was coming. He spit out some more blood as he sat slouched against that brick wall, quivering wildly, until finally he began to emit a high-pitched squeal, like some bizarre high-frequency electronic feedback. Misty stared into his gyrating eyes, casual and curious, almost mirthfully watching him disintegrate. As the squeal intensified, Misty laughed harder and harder.

Stay Tuned for PART IV

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part II

They arrived at the doctor’s house, and Hunky Boy quickly parked the car, running ahead in order to be ready and waiting for any instructions Misty might have for him. He smells of vomit, which amuses Misty not in the least. She slaps him across the face so hard that he falls back against the wall of the doorstep, just barely able to keep from going down.

-This is how you present yourself to me? She growls. Get your goddamned, pea-brained ass to a fucking garden hose and clean that shit off of you! Then join us inside.

-Yes, Ma’am

-And hurry the fuck up!

As the doctor lets her into the house, she smiles slightly, thinking about the fun she is going to have here tonight.

-Misty, the doctor begins, pardon my asking, but why is your husband joining us?

-I told you to shut up! She barks. One more outburst from you and you’re going to enter a world of pain. Now fix me a bourbon, and come join me in your lovely living room.

She sits down on the sofa, her nothing of a little black dress riding up almost to her crotch. She crosses her legs so sensually, and her big, shapely thighs are fully revealed for the good doctor’s good pleasure. Just as he is returning with drinks, Hunky Boy comes through the front door.

-Are you presentable now, dip-shit?

-Yes, Ma’am.

-Fine. Now find a bathroom and a towel, dry off and get your ass back here. When you get back, sit your stupid ass down right there in that chair.

-Yes, Ma’am.

Oliver hands Misty her drink and slowly sits down next to her, obviously quite confused as to what is permissible and what isn’t.

-It’s alright, Oliver, she says, you may speak freely now. I will forgive you, at least for the time being, for your failure to follow proper etiquette with a woman. I completely realize that you’ve never been with a real one before.

-Yes, well, er, that’s right, Oliver stammers, and I do apologize. If there are other areas in which I am ignorant, I will learn to correct them immediately.

-I’m sure you will.



He stares down at those monstrous legs, gulping his scotch and trying to compose himself.

-Might I ask again, then, about him? I just feel a bit confused. Why is he here?

-Why he’s going to watch, of course. It’s my way of punishing him continually for his sins.

-His sins?

-Yes. The sin of being born a Male. Don’t worry. He’s quite harmless. He’ll just watch and cry like a good boy. Or else.

-I see…

-Do you? After all, you were born a male too. Your sins are as prolix as his own, probably measurably worse. Do you fancy that you yourself are here for anything other than atonement for the endless litany of misdeeds that have stood on your behalf? Do you imagine you’re here for ‘love,’ my good little Oliver Boy? A rollicking good time with the strange, fat devil-girl that showed up in such peculiar fashion in such a peculiar place tonight? For toasts and penny cheer and all’s well at the end of a bloody good time?

-I don’t know.

-Well, no. Of course you don’t know. Naturally, things have moved far too quickly AND EMOTIONALLY for you to have entered into ‘deep thought’ with regard to my motives and your perks and enjoyments.

Misty moves close into Oliver’s face and teases him, offering her lips, then pulling them back with a wicked smile.

-But, it might serve as a guideline for you if you simply realize that my directive has a double meaning. I am a servant of justice, of fucking COSMIC justice, but I am also a crazed, sex-freak of a woman who can’t be happy unless she’s FUCKING SATISFIED, OK?! Now you’re the one I’ve chosen to take care of that happiness and satisfaction part. Goddamn, dude, it’s a BIG fucking job.

-So, I’ll be paying for my male-related sins, as well?

-Indeed you shall.

-Will I enjoy any of it?

-That depends upon the nature of the sins, and of your own level of commitment. For some, it becomes a Hell on Earth. For others, it is a journey into new and beautiful worlds, the extra-dimensional plane. The realization of ones’ true identities and purposes; a romp in fucking Paradise.

Oliver looked over at Hunky Boy.

-How does he stand it? You’re his legal wife?

-Yep. He stands it because he knows it’s right. He knows I’M right. If he thought it was wrong, or that he himself had some sort of claim to righteousness that had been usurped or left unlegislated, he’d have let his dissatisfaction be known and he’d have been gone. Shit, Hunky Boy’s a big strong man. I’d put him up against almost any human male. He’d come out on top. He’s young, strong, trained in martial arts to some degree, and possessed of a serious temper. Just look at him wrong, and he’s ready to rip ya limb from limb.

-So where does all this leave me?

-Well, it leaves you in pretty good shape. You’re mine. You’re my preferred plaything. That’s big! You’re going to pay your penance through me and through my decrees.

-And do I pay mine as he pays for his?

-More or less, but you are going to be receiving a GREAT DEAL of direct attention from me. Something he only gets to dream about. Of course, cuckolding is simply a part of the whole ritual. It makes Hunky Boy WILD with unrequited desires. I feel it’s a lovely irony that you should be playing our double role tonight.

-Double role?

-Why, of course. I’ll cuckold my Hunky Boy by using you, and you in turn will use me to cuckold little wifey.

-Iris!

-Mmm. Unless I miss my guess, poor dear little wifey should be coming through the doors any minute now.

-That’s right. Ogod.



Amazing the simple realities people don’t grasp during states of religious ecstasy. Just then, Hunky Boy makes his return, and sits down in a comfortable embroidered chair facing the sofa. His expression leaves no doubt that he is near to breaking into tears.

-I think we should let them hold hands and watch the action together, don’t you, Oliver boy?

-Together? Hmmm. God, I simply haven’t been thinking this thing through.

-No, and you’re not going to, either. You start thinking, and I might just have to bury your ass. I don’t think you want to get into that realm. It’s an ugly world, Oliver. Ugly.

Misty laughed and took a sip of her drink. The scene was growing tense when the sounds of car doors closing and voices were heard from outside.

-Shit, she’s here, Oliver said, trembling.

-Yes, I think she is. Do bring her in and let’s introduce her to dear little Hunky Boy.

By now, Oliver is split in two. He is entirely Misty’s, but there’s still that part of him that realizes the import of what’s happening and is having difficulty coming to grips with the situation. His mind is on fire, anxious, electric with worry. But all he has to do is look at Misty’s fully exposed, crossed legs as she sits there in her imperial majesty on that sofa and he knows which way things will ultimately go. Getting there will surely be the hard part.

To Oliver’s astonishment, it is none other than Dr. Lanier that has brought his wife home. White knight in shining armor come to the rescue and all that. He even had designs on her once. Maybe such intentions are still within him, thinks Oliver. Could actually become saving grace at the moment.  They come through the door and poor wifey is beside herself at the scene in the living room. Oliver is up and down, first pleading with Misty for some sort of help, and then back to wifey trying to explain to her that he’s not evil and that he can’t explain what’s happening.

-I don’t understand what’s happening to me, he tells her. She’s got some kind of hold on me. Like I’m hypnotized.

-Oh, please Oliver, says Lanier. Surely you can do better than that. Trying to plead insanity? Is that it?

Wifey only stares holes through Oliver and proceeds slowly into the living room. She glares sternly at Misty.

-I want you out of my house, right now. I don’t care what’s been said, what’s been promised, what’s been arranged. You are most certainly not going to play your ridiculous little games with my husband in MY HOUSE! Now get out, before I call the police and have you arrested.

-Arrested? Misty laughed out loud. For what? Oliver invited me here of his own free will, so I’m not trespassing. You say I go, but he says I stay, so the owner of the house is not insisting I leave, are you Oliver boy?

Oliver stands next to wifey now, utterly unable to make sense of the mess at hand.

-Oliver, get her OUT OF HERE! Wifey screams.

Misty laughs again, and ever so sensually crosses her legs. Oliver is noticeably shaken by her every powerful move.



-Oliver, Misty says, this whole thing is quite simple. Either she sits down there next to Hunky Boy and watches us together, or she leaves, I don’t care which. But she’s going to do one or the other. Now tell her, Oliver. Tell her how it is.

Misty winks at Oliver and flashes her crossed legs by kicking her foot sensually up and down. Oliver hasn’t the power to resist her. Not even under these circumstances.

-Oh, Iris, I’m sorry, he cries. I want her, I can’t help it. I have to have her.

-Oliver, wifey begins.

-I’m sorry, Iris. I have to do this. Please leave us now.

-Leave you? Look, I don’t care what you tell me, that woman is not staying here, and believe you me, when I call the police to come and get rid of her, this whole mess is going to look quite bad for you. Is that what you want?

-Oliver, Misty says, come over here and kneel down next to me. Right now!

Misty snapped her fingers and Oliver fell instantly to his knees, worshiping her giant, gorgeous legs in tears.

-Tell her, Oliver, said Misty. Tell her I want her out of here, and you better hurry up!

Wifey started up again, but Oliver, now nearly insane, screamed out from next those powerhouse legs;

-Get out, Iris! Get the hell out of here!

-Tell her you want me, Oliver, whispered Misty.

-I want her! I want her desperately!

-More than anything in the world.

-More than anything in the world, I want her, Iris!

-Oliver—

-GET OUT!! Don’t you see, Iris? I want her! I want her! I don’t want you, Iris… Oh, God…I want her, and nothing else.

He slumped down now, clinging to Misty’s thigh, bawling like a little baby.



-Get out, Iris, he mumbled softly. Get out.

Misty looked at wifey, gloating deliriously, a wicked smile stretched across her countenance.

-Is that good enough for you, IRIS? She laughed. She rubbed Oliver’s head like a little dog. I think Oliver boy has made his choice quite clear, don’t you?

Iris and Lanier look on in horror at the improbable spectacle that the evening has become. Meanwhile, Hunky Boy, his emotions stirred badly by all the turmoil, begins to weep softly. Lanier turns to him in hopes of some sort of assistance.

-Is there anything you can do to put an end to this? He asks.

Hunky Boy just looks helplessly into Lanier’s eyes, then looks back over at Misty. He’ll need permission to respond, after all.

-Go ahead, dip-shit, Misty chuckles. Be polite and answer the nice gentleman.

-No, Hunky Boy cries, nothing! There’s nothing anybody can do!

Wifey Iris has officially had enough.

-Well, I’m going to do something, she says. I’m calling the police.

As wifey heads for the phone Misty breaks into hysterical laughter.

-This should be good, she said. And what, pray tell, Oliver boy, are you going to tell the constable when he arrives, hmmm?

-That I want you! He bawled, not her. That I want her out!

-Very well said, Misty laughed. Now there’s my good boy!

-I’m afraid he’s right, said Lanier. It’ll just be you against him, they’ll call it a domestic quarrel, and leave you to straighten it out on your own.

Then Misty stood up and pulled Oliver up to join her. She walked him across the room close to Iris.

-Kiss me, Oliver boy, Misty said. Show little wifey what a man really wants!

Instantly, Oliver fell upon her, still sobbing pitifully, and embraced her with great passion, kissing her long, and kissing her hard. Misty fueled the fire, jamming her gorgeous leg between Oliver’s, and pressing it into his crotch. She did all she could to hold back her own laughter at the grizzly predicament she had caused; having her kicks while ruining two people’s lives in the process. Viewing this spectacle, Iris put down the phone, held a pained expression for a brief moment, and then burst into tears herself, running down the hallway toward her bedroom. Oliver turned to look, but Misty forbade him.

-Oh, no you don’t, my little doggie Dr. Boy. You’re staying right here. Now, come over here and sit by me, at my feet. You can tell me some ‘Doctor’ stories.

They went back to the sofa, passing by the almost ghoulish presence of Hunky Boy as he sat in his chair blubbering steadily. As they resumed their positions again, Lanier, who was completely stunned at the bizarre scene to which he’d been privy, eyed them with seething contempt.

-I hope you can live with yourself, Oliver! What a miserable, disgusting thing to do to such a fine woman. You’ll surely live to regret this, old man. And sooner than later!

Misty broke out in laughter again.

-Hey Doc, she said, why don’t you lighten up and come over here and join Oliver boy? I’ll let you sniff my farts while he watches!

Lanier wouldn’t dare let it show, but he was powerfully tempted at the suggestion. He stood there stupefied, staring at Misty's intensely hot thighs, which she continued to flash brazenly, pounding away at the sexual defense systems of all 3 men.

-Come on, Misty continued, I think I’m woman enough to handle both of you maggots!

-This is ridiculous! Lanier finally huffed, turning back into the hallway to attend to Iris.

-Artie, cried Oliver, take her somewhere, please! Take her to a nice hotel...wherever she wants!

-She wants to be here, you idiot! came the response.

Misty sipped on her drink and had Oliver boy light her a cigarette.

-My, my, she said, such high drama! I don't know how you stand it, Oliver boy. Well, it's probably time we did something to take your mind off of all this.

Stay Tuned for PART III. Shit gets deeper.

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part I

A Perfect Kali-Incarnate flexes her social muscles.

-I need you to get your pathetic fucking ass over there into that corner and sit down. And you stay there! If I look over at any time and you're not sitting there, I will come and find you and I will beat your fucking ass to a pulp! Do you understand me, asshole?
-Yes, Ma’am.
-Good. Now get the fuck away from me and let me mingle. There are a quite a few good-looking guys here tonight, and I want to meet them all.
-Yes, Ma’am.
_Yes, Ma’am, she mocked cruelly. Get out of my sight, pig. Just remember to stay put over there.

It is hard for many people to believe that the man in the conversation just recorded is an exceptionally handsome former actor and model, a man who has always been accustomed to having any girl he wants. Everywhere he goes, he gets hit on constantly. The woman that has just degraded him with such abject malevolence is a fat, gorgeous bombshell of a woman named Misty. Not exactly your run-of-the-mill Hollywood starlet. The scene unfolding before us is provocative indeed, as we will quickly begin to wonder what keeps such a desirable man, with so many prospects, groveling at the feet of a massive bitch that mainstream culture would generally consider a BBW curiosity at best. Well, that’s part of the point. Public perception and the real world of sexual violence and domination don’t always walk hand-in-hand.

To begin with, we should point out that Misty is no ordinary Fat Chick. She is, in fact, a perfect Kali-Incarnate. She is a rare creature indeed, as Kali comes in perfect incarnation almost exclusively to women of color. We know then that Misty is a most special kind of woman. What qualities does a white woman need in order to be possessed by Kali? It always depends on the situation. But whatever she’s got, it is most certainly something that is key to the destruction of Kali’s target. Perhaps Kali has been seeking dominance over this man for reasons of her own, and knowing that Misty is possessed of the necessary qualities for ‘landing’ him, she is come in this particular form. But here, this scenario is unlikely. Her victim here has never been known to be attracted to big girls before, and has certainly never shown any signs of interest in domination. Perhaps we shall learn more simply by letting the story unfold.

Misty is decked out in a skin-tight black cocktail dress that is obscenely short, especially for a semi-formal occasion such as the one they’re attending. She wears matching black vinyl go-go boots with scandalously high stiletto heels, and trims her look with accessories of red. The Devil’s color scheme. Her gargantuan breasts threaten to explode from the confines of that little nothing of a dress at any moment, and her spectacular cleavage is doing a number on the whole room, ladies included. Her fat, sexy body wrapped so tightly in that black spandex, her big legs wreaking havoc with each powerful step she takes, Misty’s incredible total package dominates the scene with an ease and arrogance that is laughable.

As she scans the room for her prey, she naturally gets the most vile looks from the other women, women who know exactly how badly they’re being outclassed, and who also know they couldn’t do anything about it if they tried. One makes a comment to her friends who break into a fit of snobbish giggling. Misty turns and moves toward them with purpose. She addresses the loud-mouthed bitch.

-How would you like me to rip your fucking head off your shoulders and let your pussy-assed friends here drink the blood? Don’t you think it would make a lovely little exhibition? Here, in front of all your fans?

Her expression says she means it.

-Or, if you prefer, we can take it outside and I’ll plant your fucking ass upside down in the garden. How about that?

The catty bitches disperse immediately.

Misty makes the rounds, flirting with the men and intimidating their women. Every so often, she looks over to make sure that hunky boy is where he belongs in his corner. No problem. He’s cowering there, scared shitless of doing anything that Misty might perceive as insubordination. It doesn’t take her long to find her target; a wealthy doctor, average looks, a very attractive wife. That’s the perfect combination. She can do this any way she wants. She could walk right up to him, step between him and his wife, and simply walk him out the door if she wanted to. Instead, she decides to take it slow, to tease him and torture him until he’s begging her to allow him to be a good little puppy and follow her home. She’ll get to torture the wife this way, too. It starts easily enough; dark, sinister, sexual glances across the hors d’ oeuvres table. He’s already ensnared from the first satanic smile. His eyes desecrate her fat, glorious body and she laughs to herself, thinking how ridiculously easy this is. She begins to wish there were more of a challenge to it. Misty flaunts her mind-fucking legs, turning ever so sensually this way and that. Within minutes he’s practically drooling, complete with shit-eating grin and nervousness beyond description as he gets the picture, worries about the wife. For her part, Misty just keeps ratcheting up the heat. Suck on a strawberry, burn through with the Devil’s eyes. Work him into a frenzy effortlessly.

Now it gets pathetic, in a hilarious sort of way. Ole Doctor tries to make his move. Excuses himself from wifey. Bathroom break, check in with his old friend (whom he hates) Dr. Lanier. Talk and talk and say nothing and eyes following this monster of a woman, the most glorious thing he’s ever laid eyes upon. She stalks him, teasing mercilessly, flashes of cleavage, hikes of skirt, undulations of exquisite ass. It doesn’t take long. He catches up with her at the bar. Dumb chit-chat he starts. Not for Misty.

-Give me 60 seconds, she says, and you’ll be divorced by Wednesday.

Oh shit. It’s for real. She pushes her phenomenal fat thigh up into his crotch and breathes hot whiskey into his brain.

-How do you want to do this? He asks.

-For starters, introduce me to your wife, Misty answers.

-Excuse me?

-Hard of hearing, Doc?

She leans into him, inviting a kiss.

-I can’t do that.

-Mmm. That’s a shame. Could’ve been very nice. Oh well.

She begins to walk away.

-No, wait!

Misty smiles knowingly.

-Yes…

-Why would you want to meet my wife?

-Well, I think it’s only right that she should know who you’re fucking tonight. And why.

-Why?

-Yeah. Why? Why are you fucking me tonight?

He looks at her, incredulous, trying to put something together.

-Who are you?

-You know who I am.

-Oh God.

-Say it.

-Shit!

-Go ahead.

-You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen.

-That’s it?

-What else is there?

Misty laughs at his candor. Throaty, bourbon-laced rasp.

-Mmmm. Nothing like an honest man. So you’re into arrogant fat girls, eh?

-Can’t say I’ve ever even met one.

-You should know, Doc, that I am VERT demanding. A supreme bitch, really.

-I need you.

-More than you need her?

-A hundred fold.

-OK. Then introduce us, and let’s get this thing over with.

-I can’t.

-Shall I just go tell her myself, then, or do you want to go home with her?

The good doctor needed to walk away. Right here, right now. But he made the cardinal mistake. He kept looking at her. Flaunting that magnificent body, that bombshell sexuality.

-Feel my ass, she said. Go ahead, she won’t see.

The good doctor reaches behind her, trying desperately to be discreet. His hands make contact with the most incredible flesh ever to grace the physical plane of earth. He trembles; nervous, near-destitute. It becomes a violent shaking. He can’t control his body. He knows he is lost, but doesn’t yet know how to surrender. He guesses the introduction is his next move.

-What’s your name? He asks.


Proper little wifey is making small talk with acquaintances, and has already taken on an attitude from what she considers her husband’s extreme rudeness in failing to be attendant to her. She is accustomed to having her fragile little ego fed at these socialite shindigs by the good doctor’s continual fawning over her. Tonight, he’s been A.W.O.L. and it’s got her pissed off. Now she sees him coming with this fat fucking harlot in tow, and she goes steely. Eyes of Ice. Deep blue.

-Darling, he begins, I’d like you to meet a patient of mine. This is Misty. She’s—

-He’s lying, dear, Misty interjects. We’ve never met until tonight.

Both women give doctor the evil eye.

-You want to try it again, sweetie? Misty asks.

-Well, darling, he stammers, the truth is that…well, the truth is that I’m going to need to spend a little time with Misty this evening.

Deafening silence.

-Because I…because I…

-Will you say it? Asks Misty.

-I-I

-Because I’m going to fuck his goddamn brains out, dearie, that’s what he’s trying to say. We thought you should be the first to know.

-I see, says wifey. Oliver, is this some kind of a joke?

-I’m afraid not, he says contritely.

Misty looks the elegantly slender wifey up and down.

-You see, she says, ‘Oliver’ here has finally come to the conclusion that he needs a little more ‘substance’ in his life. He’s quite right in thinking he’ll get it from me.

Misty laughed her devilish little laugh and took Oliver’s arm in a sort of grand gesture that was sure to be noticed by many in the room.

-I think you’d better take your sleazy hands off my husband, ‘dearie,’ and right now!

Misty smiles at wifey with supreme contempt. She could squish this little pencil-neck like a snail.

-I see, she laughs. Or what? You’ll huff and puff and throw a glass of Dom Perignon on me?

Come on, Oliver. Let’s go.

-Oliver! Protests Wifey.

-I’m sorry, dear. I’ll try to explain it to you later. It’s not what you think.

Misty leads him away, mouthing the words toward wifey; ‘Yes it is!’ She parades the good doctor around in front of the partygoers, clinging romantically and proudly to his arm. He is well-known by almost everyone here and the spectacle of Misty’s utterly unexpected presence has caused an uproar all around the room. People are circling around wifey now, who can only continue to watch in disbelief as her husband makes his way to the exit arm-in-arm with the God-Queen of Women.

-I just need to pick up my husband before we leave.

-Your husband?

-Of course. You don’t think that I engage in such trivialities as cleaning, cooking and the like? No, no. That’s what a good husband is for.

Over in the corner, Hunky boy has been sitting faithfully, awaiting the return of his owner. Unfortunately for him, a woman has stopped to engage him in chit-chat at just the wrong moment.

-What the fuck are you doing? Misty demands. You know better than to be talking to strangers!

-I’m sorry, Ma’am. She just stopped here and—

Craaaaack! Misty slaps the living shit out of him, knocking him off his chair. One glance at the woman and she is off and running.

–Why do you do this? Why? I try to be nice to you, to let you sit here and watch me, and this is the kind of shit I have to put up with.

Misty jerks him up by the hair and slams a massive thigh into his mid-section. Hunky boy screams out briefly and then goes silent as she has completely kicked the wind out of him. He begins to struggle, and as he does, she thrusts his head between her plump, gorgeous thighs and drops to the floor, crushing his brain in a powerful head-scissor hold. It doesn’t last long. Within a few seconds the force of her big legs on his skull causes him to throw up violently. As he pukes out some very bizarre-looking multi-colored excretions, Misty bursts into demonic laughter, especially amused at the horrified looks on the faces of the stuffed-shirts and blouses all around. For them, it is like a scene out of some unimaginable nightmare. Misty quickly finishes Hunky boy off with a flourish, giving the last few seconds a substantial tweak in psi, and causing his body to convulse wildly from the pain and the almost certain cranial damage. The crowd is standing back, keeping their distance from this beast of a woman. She agilely picks herself up, straightens her skirt, and looks down upon her husband. He’s in bad shape. He is still throwing up a little, and doesn’t seem to have recovered yet from the big knee bash that robbed him of his breath. He lies on the floor, twitching uncontrollably.

-If you’re not in the car in exactly 3 minutes, mister, I’m coming back in for you. I don’t have to remind you what that means!

With that, this giant powerhouse snatches Oliver on either side of his face, pulls him toward her and plants a luscious, wet kiss on his lips. She practically devours him as the crowd looks on, gasping. The good doctor struggles only slightly at first, quickly giving in to the most incredible kiss he’s ever had in his life. Misty doesn’t stop. Tongue, teeth, and lips in a virtuoso performance. Hot red lipstick adorns his face and he clutches at her now, desperate for what she’s got, and completely severed already from the world around him, his world.

They take their leave, arm in arm, and Dr. Oliver is all hers. Misty points out her car and tells him to drive around to it. Having obviously been through this drill numerous times in the past, Hunky Boy arrives at the car just under the gun. He is staggered, still heaving to fully recover his breath, and noticeably agitated, fearing he wasn’t going to get to the car on time. The doctor pulls his car up and Misty commands Hunky Boy through the window.

-You’re damn lucky you got out here on time, Jackass, she said. I am VERY disappointed in you tonight. You’re going to being staying home for quite a while because of this. Now I want you to follow us to Oliver’s house, park the car and await my orders. Do you think you can handle that, dumb-ass?

-Yes, Ma’am.

-Good. Now you stay right behind us and don’t you dare get lost. If you do, call my cell phone. But know that I will be seriously pissed if that happens.

-Yes, Ma’am.

-Fucker’s becoming downright insolent any more, she says to Oliver.

-He’s your husband? Asks the good doctor.

-Shut up! You will speak when you’re spoken to, and not before.

Her gruff command took him aback, but also had a strange effect on him. He didn’t stand for such talk from women, and yet he now found himself feeling aroused and fascinated. He had never before been attracted to domination, at least not consciously. But this powerful woman’s unqualified control, not only over him, but over his wife, the others at the gathering, and not least this poor good-looking fellow who was her husband, well, the whole thing had his cock throbbing in anticipation. In anticipation of he knew not what.

Stay Tuned as The Horror Continues in PART II

Kali Among The Tribes: Life In The Spirit

-That's not right.

-Yes it is.

-It's not. There's a feel about the thing.

-The place?

-No, but--well, yeah, that too. But I meant with her. I don't know exactly how to--

-You said that before.

-About her?

-Right. I still don't see it.

-You totally missed it.

-How could I? We were both here.

-But not the whole time. I think it happened while your mind was wandering.
And I think you daydream too much. That’s some fuckin’ imagination you got on you.

-That’s got nothing to do with it.

-We’ll see. C’mon. Let’s keep going.

Farther along the corridors. It’s a short walk but seems to take forever. A kind of shadowy golden light laminates the doors and walls. From another time. Just old enough to remind one of home, of origins. Two young men of sound mind in search of experience; in search of their own depths.

-God, it was fucking glorious, I tell you. There were—there ARE—other places, man.

-You and your ‘other places.’ Are you done?

-Why did you come, then?

-I’m looking for something, too.

-How do you remember it, then?

-I’ve already told you. A vision, pointing us toward something else. Something we haven’t found yet.

-But you say you didn’t see her.

-No, I said I didn’t RECOGNIZE her! Why are you having so much trouble with this? All I’m saying is that she couldn’t have revealed herself like you say, that’s all.

-She did. And it was fucking glorious.

-(Shakes his head in frustration) C’mon. Just a little bit farther, I think.


-That’s right, you fucking ugly piece of shit monkey, take it! Take all of it, goddamn you. See? You like it, don’t you? Fucking stupid monkey likes sucking cock! Don’t you fucking gag, motherfucker! You take it deeper, c’mon, all of it.

She rams Paul Bunyan’s dick all the way into his mouth till it's tickling the back of his throat. He can’t help gagging.

-Speak up, bitch! She taunts. Let’s hear you speak now. Go on!

Muffled grunts, TV gorilla sounds. She thrusts her hips forward so hard this time that the force nearly jerks his head off and the gargantuan, big-ass strap-on dick may well have punctured his lung, judging from the way he went into seizure mode. She jerks it out with a swift whipping of her regal hips and the fucker throws up all over the place. Strung upside down and blindfolded is one hell of a hard way to puke your guts out. She slaps his puke-drenched face back and forth with the massive dildo. Beat ya senseless, motherfucker, that’s what’ll happen to ya. Slap welts and a fuckin’ harelip onya with this big hard fucker! (Where do you get a dildo this big? Gotta be for mules, for chrissakes.) Guy could be dying from throwin’ up upside down, choke to death or some shit. He’s definitely kinda spinning out here, but big girl just laughs and laughs. Points at him, taunting. Spits on him. Oh, she LOVES spitting on him. Total contempt when you spit right in his worthless fucking face. Repeatedly.

She turns her big ass on him and sticks it in his face. His face perceives those divine, massive orbs, smooth as silk and stronger than dirty bombs. Nose fulla puke, he can still smell the animal bouquet of her asshole. She shoves that meaningless nose deep into it. He’s still not through puking and it’s running down her leg as she grinds her beautiful fat ass into his face. Growing bored, there’s nothing left to be done but to cut him down and fuck his ass up royally. She flips a lever on the wall that releases the ropes and Pig-boy Shit-balls falls straight down on his fucking head: Really hard. Twitch, kick, spazz, flip and flop. Super funny shit and she’s laughing her ass off. Reaches down so arrogantly and pulls him up by his hair to a sitting position. Rips off the blindfold.

-You’re gonna watch this shit, motherfucker, she says. Now get your ass up.

He’s like fucking stunned from the whole trauma, and she has to help him to his feet. No problem, jerk his fucking hair up even harder. Omigod, he’s just standing there trembling, hardly able to stay upright. He’s naked, with puke all over his face and HIS cock is almost as big as Paul Bunyan’s dick. Well, not quite that big, but springboard steady, to be sure. She laughs at him again, the ultimate humiliator, She.

-Keep those hands down, now, she says. I’m gonna show you what it means to be a woman!

She rears back and sucker-punches him, all she’s got, bare knuckles, right in the middle of his face. Blood spurts, puke flies, and he goes down like a $2.00 whore.

-Awwwwww, he moans.

He shivers on the floor.

-Get up, she says, standing over him. Get up right now, or I’ll fucking kill your ass!

He tries, but that blow was massive. His nose is bleeding badly, and split lip for sure. Again, it takes some hair pulling to get him up. She gets him to his feet, still yelping, and VERY SHAKY.

-Hands down, motherfucker! She yells.

Here it comes again: Straight right fist hard to the mouth and he almost flips over backwards as he hits the floor.

-Ohhhhh! Ahhwwwwww!

His groanings punctuate the triple blood flow she got out of him with that one. Knocked out the fucker’s front teeth. Lip looks like someone cut it open with pinking shears, and the nose: broken sure. Writhing epileptic style on the floor in blood pool, puke-laced and scarcely knowing. She isn’t finished. The afternoon drags on longer.

-Get up! She keeps yelling, but no response.

So, for who knows how long, she keeps picking him up by that hair, propping him against the wall, raining punches like mortar fire, and watching him slam to the floor again and again, gurgling pathetically. Beating him to a bloody pulp with her devastating bare fists.

-I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to kill a man with my bare fists, she says. Well, fuck-boy, (slams another uncontested roundhouse into the wretched remains of his face, disfigured beyond recognition) maybe you get to find out, too, hmmmm?


It’s so cold out here. Godforsaken except for the stars. Beautiful multitudes of them, sharp and crisp as crystals, strewn to the outer limits of eye-grasp. Unseasonable, this near-frost in the brambles of the 4-corners. Spirits of slain red warriors dancing through our minds as we seek to hook one and curry a ride into dark and dazzling higher dimensional space. Not so easy, but what an arena within which to make ones' stand! The moon is full and beats like a musical heart exuding its energy in spades.

-Goddamn, aren't you freezing?

-Definitely cold.

-It's eerie out there. Too quiet.

-It's supposed to be quiet. It's the middle of nowhere, for chrissakes.

-Not even a fucking cricket.

-Probably frozen. Besides, I don't think they're out this time of year.

-Guess not. Hey! Check out this bedroom. We didn't see this one before, did we?

-I don't think so.

They turn this way and that, snooping by the moonlight that spills through the curtainless window.

-Nothing in here. Look out there, though. Man, I'm tellin' you, it's fucking creeped-out out there. If you just keep looking, you can see something. Something moving, just a little bit.

-Where?

-Different places. Just look for a second, will you?

-See, this is exactly what started the whole thing. You kept talking about seeing spirits.

-No, I didn't. I said that YOU were. And you were confusing them with this so called 'perfect woman.'

-No! That's not right!

-Whatever. Are you looking?

-I'm looking.

Do they really exist, all those shadows he sees moving? Now that it's dark, the familiar glow of the afternoon sun abandons him to the quantum vagaries of the desert night. Looking out onto the stark landscape, there's a feeling that grips you. LOTS of extra-dimensional shit going out there, even for the unbeliever.

-There! It's fucking Indians, man. I'm tellin' you, it's like spirits and shit out there!

-(Frustrated) C'mon, now you're the one not making any sense. There's nothing out there but scorpions, and it may be too cold for them, too. There's nothing in here, either. I thought you said it wasn't much farther.

-I didn't think it was. But everything is different now. Now, I don't know.

-Look, here's the hallway. C'mon, let's try to find another room.

Dimmest sliver of light some ways down. In his head the vision of Indians shifts to hot legs and ass. Moving, moving. Mmmm. Provocative.

-I think I see it, he whispers. A girl's legs and maybe her ass. Really nice.

-Fat or skinny?

-What?

-The legs.

-Ahhh, sorta medium.

-That's not it. But try not to go back to Indians.

-OK.

Closer to the light now. So faint, such a sliver, but sure. Groping, groping, feeling for wall. Then...

-Omigod, there's the door.

-Jeezus.

-C'mon. Slowly.


They push it open, and there she is. In the dim light of a small table lamp. That face; unspeakably fat and beautiful. She sees them peering through the doorway, and wicked witch-laughter, shrill and terrifying, fills the thick chill of the air. She is lying on a buffalo rug, a man's head buried between her huge, gorgeous thighs, his face shoved up tight into her ass, only a small shock of hair lying limp against her sublime white leg-flesh. She wears black thigh-high stockings, held in place by the delicious straps of her garter belt. On her feet are skyscraper high heels, and her voluptuous upper body and luscious fat arms complete a vision of omnipotence incarnate in female form. The man's body has long ago gone still. She continues to crush his skull just because it amuses her. The two lads hear the cracking sounds as those powerful legs bring their immeasurable pressure to bear.

-I told you, goddamit, I told you!

-I didn't remember. Shit! I'm sorry. Why couldn't I--?

-But I kept telling you! Fuck! Let's get outta here!

Legs flutter ineffectually. Going nowhere, and now the cold reaches the bones and marrow. It happens in dreams, too. Running, running, struggling with everything you've got, but you can't move.That wicked laughter. The strange flicker of light from that bedside table lamp. Terror grips the heart as it all begins to add up.

-Ogod, it can't be her. I can't move!

-You've got to! C'mon!

-Shit!


Morning falls on the red soil in and around what the White Man calls Monument Valley. A small dwelling in the remote desert is surrounded by legend, by tales of a Woman so powerful that she crushes men like cockroaches, of strong young male bodies broken into halves by the press of massive legs, so beautiful and so strong that no one who has ever come into their presence has lived to tell about it. All around the world, in cities large and small, the spirit of this fat goddess is alive in violent women who control their own destinies with their iron wills and killing-machine bodies. She is Kali, Eternal God-Queen of Destruction and Death. You may recognize her on sight in one of these exquisite women. If you do, you will just as quickly catch a glimpse of your own fate. But there is nothing you can do to alter it.

Study #1 for Makeda

-Bet you don’t know this one, Makeda said, addressing her protege. Then she turned, glaring balefully at the terrified young man standing at attention before her.

-On your knees, pig! Now!

Her naked subject fell at her feet on command, but he didn't get there fast enough. Makeda slapped him across the face.

-Don’t you ever disrespect me, maggot. We clear?

She slapped him again. Hard.

-You sit right there and look at my thighs. Breathe deep through your nose, and don’t stop looking straight forward at my legs until I tell you different.

Another violent crack from the palm of her hand across his reddening face.

-Don’t you know how to address a lady, asshole? You say ‘yes ma’am’ when you’re spoken to!

-Yes, Ma’am.

She turned back to the exquisite young woman in the smokin' hot lingerie who was taking in the scene with rapt attention. Her name was Senta, and she was a big exotic black girl from Amsterdam.  This blessed child of Satan had it all, a perfect, fat power-body, unbelievable sexuality, a gorgeous face, and an attitude that was pure venom. Makeda was here to take her to the next level. To show the new dog some old tricks, as it were. Makeda was past her physical prime, but that made no difference. Experience, sexuality, and beauty were in such rare combination in her that she could easily have been considered the most powerful Kali-Incarnate existent in the present. Only the rarest of new incarnates would have challenged the suggestion.

-Now I know you’re no stranger to leg worship, Makeda continued. But what you probably don’t know is that you can keep this up for a long-ass time, and if you do, some strange shit will start to happen. How long do you usually demand leg worship?

-Mmm, I don’t know. A few minutes, I guess. Until the fucking dick either obeys or disobeys.

-Exactly. But what you need to do is just let it ride. No if’s, no consequences, and a minimum of threats. Just make him stay right in front of you. Tease him as hard as you want. With the fat on your legs, like mine, your slightest movements will make your thighs shimmy, and trust me, he won’t be able to handle it for long. Then, you just let things take their course. I like to just hold the situation for as long as possible and see what kind of shit starts happening without my doing a damn thing.

-Like what?

-You never know. That’s what’s so cool about it, the element of surprise. I had an idiot once stayed perfectly composed for almost 45 minutes. Got a little teary-eyed, but no major reactions. I just kept it up, shifting position, jiggling my thigh meat, making him smell my gorgeous flesh and perfume, the scent of my wet cunt. I knew I had to be getting to him, but still he held firm. Then, all of a sudden, he lost it. Jumped to his feet screaming and crying, you know, hysterical! He ran headlong to the open door to the balcony and, girl, I mean to tell you he flung himself right over the railing! And guess what? We were 23 stories up! Fucker splattered onto the pavement below like a goddamn bug on a windshield. Unbelievable.

-No shit!?

-Oh yeah. I could tell you some stories. Look. This one’s already starting to get the shakes.

It was true. Meditating on those big, powerful legs he had begun to make transition.

-Shakes are pretty standard here, said Makeda. He’s starting to realize some heavy shit right about now. Most of all, he knows he’s mine. She addressed her subject again. You just keep your eyes locked on my thighs, shithead, and everything’ll be all right.

He obeyed, and Makeda stamped her leg again, just slightly, causing her leg-flesh to quiver enticingly. The young man bristled noticeably and let out a slight whimper. Makeda snickered at his growing subjugation. She kept it up, just standing before him as he worshipped her, adoring her meaty, gorgeous thighs. Senta had never seen anything like this. She watched in amazement as the young man became increasingly more agitated, while Makeda did basically nothing. He soon began to tremble harder and his whimpers turned to a steady pulse of soft crying.

-Come closer, Makeda said, so you can smell me better.

She laughed gently as he moved slightly forward, her unrelenting, divine scents ravaging his soul in their floral elegance. His crying became louder, and again the shaking increased in intensity.

-Looks like he’s going to explode, laughed the young apprentice.

-Mmm, I don’t think just yet, said Makeda. I think he’s still got room to ‘grow.’
Looking down between his folded legs was a pulsating cock the size of a horse’s, dying to find expression. The flesh of Makeda’s thighs was wondrous. Soft, but still shapely; fat, with the outer texture of black satin, and obviously still possessing the power to crush the poor subject’s skull to powder if she so desired. She continued to stand there, a living altar, as his silent prayers for mercy soared, in rapid fire succession, into oblivion. As each eternal minute passed, the subject grew more agitated, his crying increased in intensity, and his shivering escalated toward the point of convulsion. At one point, he attempted to lessen the torture by furtively closing his eyes. A useless ploy.

-Look, said Senta, the dip-shit just closed his eyes on you!

-I know, Makeda answered calmly. And you’d normally slap the shit out of him here, wouldn’t you?

-Absolutely! Or worse.

-No, Makeda smiled. You’d have then missed the point and value of this technique. Let’s watch what happens.

She let him keep his eyes closed, but ordered him to move his head forward slightly. He obeyed immediately, tears flowing now from his closed eyes, and blubbering like a baby. He was almost touching her now, but of course, she’d make sure he didn’t QUITE get there. He was so close he could almost feel her flesh, but the main thing was that her glorious scent was increased again by his added proximity, and that began to cause further problems. He shook even harder, the bawling kicking up another notch. This was a man in sexual and religious agony, his devoted worship leading him further and further into the purifying fire of transcendence.

-You may keep your eyes closed if you wish, Makeda said softly, but if you touch me with your pathetic little spasms, believe me, you have no idea what torture is until you do something to piss me off like that. It’s your choice, of course.

The poor bastard’s brain began to disintegrate under the strain of such a choice. In the end, his fanatical need to behold her majesty won out and he opened his eyes again. The returning sight of those thick, gorgeous legs caused him to erupt. He began to bawl hysterically now, losing all control. His body appeared to have made contact with some unseen, highly-charged electrical force-field.

-Omigod, laughed Senta, stick a fork in that motherfucker. He’s done!

Makeda remained somber, holding her mood.

-Oh no, she said. Not yet. Hold steady, you goddamn pig! She commanded him. Get yourself together, and I mean right now! You’re not going anywhere, and if you think you can shirk your responsibility to me by acting like a fucking child, you’re sadly mistaken. Now sit still and shut the fuck up.

He tried to calm himself, but without much success. He clasped his hands in prayer, then, overcome by his agitation, reached out shakily with them as if hoping to hold on to Makeda’s legs for stablity.

-Don’t even think it, she said.

He folded them in his lap again, but could not quell the seizure that had gripped him. All the while, he continued to stare right into the eye of the hurricane, where her luscious upper thighs met with her naked, fragrant, wet cunt. Try as he might, he could not calm himself.

Crraaaack!! Makeda slammed a powerful slap across his face.

-I mean it, she said. You’ve got three seconds.

She ripped another brain-scrambling slap across the opposite side of his face.

-1…2…

The force of the blows was sufficient to jar him back to his senses just enough to gain some measure of control over himself. He managed to bring it back to the steady gentle sobbing and sustained, but less violent, quivering.

-Back to your prayers, shithead, she said, and don’t think for a second that this willful behavior of yours won’t be counted against you. It will.

The scene was beginning to turn surreal as the subject remained on his knees at Makeda’s feet, sobbing, trembling and offering up occassional streams of jibberish as his mind continued on its way to ruin. Gradually, everything began moving again toward code red. He burst into a weird and frightening mixture of howls, crying, indecipherable mumblings and ramblings, puncuated by actual screams; loud and terrifying. At the same time his shaking returned to the level of severe convulsions.

-Keep focused, motherfucker! Makeda admonished him. Don’t you dare turn away from me. Look at these legs!

Now, she turned them slightly, this way and that, flaunting them even more sensually and powerfully. The subject actually began to jump up and down slightly from a kneeling position! Then Makeda shifted back and forth, causing each thigh to jostle deliciously just inches in front of his face. His face had turned alabaster white except for the slap marks on each cheek.

-NOW, he’s ready to explode, Makeda laughed.

Then, gyrating in place like a human juggernaut, wailing incoherencies like some alien schizoid, he suddenly fell almost silent and still. He knelt there for a long second before his body started to heave involuntarily. Out of nowhere, he began to throw up. It was not a violent vomiting spell, but actually almost gentle in contrast to the intensity of his convulsions just prior. He vomited down the front of his body, then heaved again, most of that landing on Makeda’s legs. The vomiting episode lasted a few minutes until the subject gagged on a couple of dry heaves, sighed loudly, and then fell into a quiet stream of gentle sobbing, still staring straight ahead at Makeda’s legs, which had rendered him virtually catatonic without ever even having touched him.

Senta was stunned at this display of omnipotent power, having previously no conception of the existence of such sophisticated psychological mastery over a man. She smiled in amazement as Makeda now shifted into the mood of Kali-in-Celebration, reveling in another lop-sided triumph. She began to laugh loudly, demonically, overjoyed at her subject’s state of abject compromise. As the tears rolled down his face, she commanded him to begin licking the vomit from her legs. At the same time, she taunted him mercilessly.

-What’s the problem, you fucking maggot? Big woman too much for you? Go ahead! Tell me I’m God-Queen! Confess me as Lord and Savior, asshole!

As he began licking at her legs, the contact, finally, with her divine flesh was too much. He most likely was confessing her as Savior, but all that came out of his mouth were more and more other-worldly bursts of incoherent babbling.
He continued to lick and scream, becoming increasingly agitated and presently began vomiting again. As the scene continued, it became a grotesque and horrifying affair. Vomit splattered everywhere, especially on Makeda’s lower body, where the now crazed subject continued to wail like something inhuman, trying to lick her clean even as she laughed and taunted and shoved his face repeatedly into the puddles of his own puke. Senta stood looking on in disbelief. Even so precocious a Kali-Incarnate as she had not before born witness to this brand of dehumanizing destruction and humiliation. Makeda had turned this man into a thing before her very eyes; an unrecognizable life form so far from human it made her a little edgy. And all without doing a thing! Simply standing before him and watching him disintegrate in the very act of worshipping his goddess. Heady stuff indeed for a young woman new to the ways of Transcendental Religious Ministry. Nearly breathless herself, she knew at that moment that she still had a lot to learn.