-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.
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