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Wednesday, September 24, 2008

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

Saturday, September 6, 2008

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.

Monday, September 1, 2008

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.