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.