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 down on her face 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.
--I should, but no, Bitch-Boy, I'm not gonna kill her. Not now, at any rate. I have more to show her later on...MUCH more.
Misty rose up from Iris' thrashing body with a look of ghoulish satisfaction upon her face. She instructed Hunky Boy to find something with which to tie her up and gag her. He ran off as though shot out of a cannon at her command. Returning with some packing tape he found in a kitchen drawer, Hunky secured her hands firmly behind her, bound her ankles together, and placed a large strip across her mouth. Misty, who had returned to her side-show atrocities, looked on from the living room.
--Much better, Misty smiled. That bitch was really pissing me off.
She then 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. 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, 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. 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.
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