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Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Baddest Bitch in Town: Conclusion/Part VII

As Misty's python-like thighs clamped tightly around his head, Ollie thought his last thoughts, felt his last feelings. Though closer now to corpse than life form, the smooth elegance, the exquisite, plush quality of Misty's sumptuous thigh flesh against his face, the delicious scent of her skin and of her ass now lending its intense muscular power to the crush of her death grip; through all the horror, he yet felt all of this. This was the sensual rapture that made his own gruesome demise worthwhile. He wouldn't last long, and knowing so, he tried to experience Misty's awful wrath with the fullness of his being. Unable to breathe, forcing out the most pathetic agonized chirps, he managed to reach his good hand up and take hold of her leg. This sensation was the fulfillment of his last request, transporting him instantly to heaven's gate. His last earthly perception was one of having achieved perfection. He actually smiled as his skull was caving in, though it was only in his mind's eye, as his jaws had already been crushed to rubble.

“Watch carefully, Wifey dear,” Misty taunted, “and you'll be able to see his fucking eyeballs pop out!”

Hearing the horrifying cracking sounds of Ollie's skull actually being crushed, Iris's hysteria descended in to a silent incredulity. Her poor mind snapped, convincing her conscious mind that this must be nothing more than a terrible nightmare. With the next loud crunch, Ollie's skull crumbled flat between Misty's bone-crushing thighs. Through his eye sockets, mouth, and even through his ears, the thick flow of osterized brain tissue began to spill forth. Misty gave it one last hard squeeze for good measure, and Ollie's bowel and bladder control left him. As a pool of piss and the stench of shit issued from Ollie's body, Misty released him, rose to her feet, and stood back to look...and to laugh. His body twitched slightly from the last remaining nerve impulses, and the remnant of his head was more grotesque than anything imaginable in the most hard-core of horror movies. It looked for all the world like a steak, a flattened piece of red meat with brains served up around it. Add to this all the blood and internal body fluids Misty had beaten out of him, and it was as if his entire body had been systematically extracted of its vital materials in some sort of mad scientific experiment. Artie was virtually catatonic from beholding the frightful experience, and it was really not possible to know how damaged Iris was. One thing was certain; she had left her body entirely.

“Whaddya think, Hunky?” Misty asked, reveling in uncompromising arrogance. “Now was that a complete demolition, or was that a complete demolition?”

“Oh Yeeeeeeess, my divine Queen, my eternal Goddess,” he cried, “THAT was a complete demolition!”

Misty took a bow and then turned her attention to Arthur Lanier. DOCTOR Arthur Lanier.

“So, Lanier, tell me; What do you think of your evening so far? Was it everything you expected?”

She moved in front of him as he sat leaning against the wall and sensually showed off her legs to him, posing this way and that, and creating divine ripples from her ass down to her knees by stamping her foot lightly on the floor. Somehow Lanier managed to blurt out an answer that satisfied Misty.

“Oh, God!” he cried. “I love you! I love only you! I want you forever!!”

His theatrics sent Misty into a belly laugh.
“Good answer, dick-head; good answer! But why do I have the distinct impression that you're not being sincere? Hmmm? Just saying what Misty wants to hear? Is that it?”

“No!” Artie screamed. With all his strength he lunged forward, clasping his arms around Misty's legs. “No, No! I love you! More than life, I love you! Oh God! I'll do anything for you! Please! Please!”

Strong words. He looked up at Misty, the human viscera dripping from those huge legs, and began to cry. He was serious. Everything that had happened here tonight had made him realize what a real woman was, and he craved her intensely for his own. But Misty only laughed. She looked over at the Hunk and told him he could drop the catatonic body of Iris, and come in to help her.

“Hold him up,” she laughed.

Hunky snatched Artie under his arms and hoisted him into a standing position.

“Watch your head,” she said to her husband.

With that she reared back and put all her weight into an overhand right that landed flush in the center of Artie's face. The blood splattered all over, Artie's head bounced hard off the tile wall behind him, and Hunky released him, allowing him to fall flat onto his face on the floor.

“Get him back up,” Misty laughed. “And this time, keep holding him.”

Hunky brought the bloody animal to its feet and held on. Misty unleashed another roundhouse punch to his face, knocking out more teeth, and adding another flourish of blood and guts to her bathroom mural. Hunky held him in place. Another roundhouse punch. Another. Another. Yet another. Now Artie's face was an unrecognizable mass of pulp.

“Artie can you hear me?” Misty sang, mimicking 'Tommy' by The Who. “Can you feel me near you?”

She unloaded again with one more massive fist to his face and told Hunky to let him go. He fell forward, hands helplessly at his side, and his face smashed full force into the tile floor.

“Get him up again,” she said. Hunky pulled him back up. “Let him go every time I kick him,” she said, “and then bring him right back up.”

“Kill him!” Hunky cried. “Ooooo, yeah. Kill him good!”

The onslaught continued with repeated knee-bashes into Artie's mid-section. As Hunky Boy pulled Artie up again, Misty pulled his head up by the hair to see if she could still detect any life in the poor slug. Didn''t look like much.

“About time to go home, Shit-for-brains,” she said to Hunky. “Now hold him steady, then let go.”

Forward again came that monstrous thigh, vanishing into Artie's torso as bodily fluids exploded forth from his mouth like Vesuvius in its hey-day. Hunky let go and Artie fell forward, completely helpless, crashing onto the tile forehead-first. The guttural heaving sounds he made were utterly inhuman, like something only heard in the very depths of Hell itself. The sounds of the living dead. Cackling sadistically, Misty ordered Hunky to pull him back up. He was heavy now, as he had already turned to dead weight.

“Must still be kicking,” she laughed. “He's still groaning, and he's still pukin.'”

Again came the massive knee blow, if anything harder than the last one. With this one, Artie heaved so hard that some sort of solid mound of visceral material popped out of his mouth along with the multi-colored spray of whatever hideous fluids were now filling his stomach and lungs. At the same time, the internal force of the blow was such that long, thin streams of blood shot violently out of his eye-sockets, from behind his eyes, you could only suppose, and his body went into the most extreme and frightening of seizures as Hunky again released him for his fall. Falling with full weight on his face this time, you could hear the bones crack. The fall broke and dislocated his jaw completely and a few more errant teeth came clinking out onto the floor. The body continued to convulse wildly and Iris, who had been too shaken to move, now tried to rise to her feet.

“Bring her to me,” Misty said.

Hunky dragged Iris into the bathroom, where Misty instructed him to sit her down on the toilet seat.

“Like I told you, you're watching this movie all the way to the end,” Misty said. “I know how scary some of these horror movies can be, but don't worry. This one's almost over.”

She told Hunky not to release her victim this time. Holding Artie up in a sort of half-nelson, Hunky braced for the contact. Right knee...left knee. More grotesque mixture expelled from his throat behind sharp, veiled shrieks and groans. Again and again. More of Artie's internal chemistry lay in splashes on the floor than remained in his body. Again. Massive streams of blood spurting from those eyes...those lifeless eyes. With Hunky still holding him up, she again snapped his head back by the hair and looked deeply into that face. He was gone. He was distorted, rearranged. He was subhuman. Now, just to finish with panache, Misty twisted his head sideways, shoved it between her powerhouse thighs, and executed yet another butt drop onto the tile, snapping Artie's neck like a twig. The crackling sound was so eerie it would have frightened the dead. And dead they were, these two closet masochists. Misty laughed as she slowly got up, looking now at Iris with evil intent.

Iris remained slumped over Oliver's still twitching body, shrieking in uncontrollable hysterics. What must have been happening within her emotionally from the experience of this nightmare was unfathomable. Now Misty stood over her, gloating arrogantly.

“Iris,” she said, “look at me.”

Iris was completely oblivious as she clutched at Oliver, apparently doing all she could to physically merge with this blood and with the unrecognizable remains of his body.

“Iiiiiiiiiii-riiiiiiiiiiiis,” Misty taunted. “Better look at me.”

Finally she had to instruct hunky to force the woman's gaze upon her. As he held Iris'face sternly in the direction of his goddess, Misty began to flaunt her body at her. Her body, now ghoulishly covered in the blood, fluids, and other viscera of the dead doctors, had been the cause of the entire nightmare, and to put an exclamation mark on the whole affair, she wanted to rob Iris of her very last vestige of womanhood and indeed of her humanity by rubbing her superiority in the devastated woman's face.

“You see, bitch,” sneered Misty, “THIS is what a man wants! Look at my legs. Sheer beauty and sheer power. They're completely irresistible, don't you think?”

Iris only continued to bawl. Then, turning her ass toward Iris, she rubbed her hand smoothly over its broad circumference and laughed.

“Obviously, you NEVER had one of these!” she chided.

As Iris tearfully continued to gaze upon Misty's exquisite form, the life had almost gone out from her from sheer terror and shock. As Misty looked into her hysterical face, it was obvious she had lost all rationality.

“Poor little wifey,” Misty teased cruelly. “Guess there's nothing left but to put you out of your misery. I mean, it IS the humanitarian thing to do.”

She and Hunky yukked it up before Misty smashed Iris' face in with another titanic knee kick. Picking her up by the hair, Misty then delivered her deadly roundhouse right fist, which sent Iris crashing hard down upon the tile. Again Misty would force her to look upon her body as she snatched her up and nearly decapitated her with another jack-hammer knee to the side of her head. Then, just to end the entire show on a high note, Misty hoisted Iris up over her shoulder and inverted her body, head pointed toward the floor. And just like a championship lady wrestler, she positioned Iris carefully and executed a perfect pile-driver, dropping to the floor as Iris's head slammed with the full force of Misty's weight into the unforgiving tile between her giant thighs. Her body toppled over and bounced limply on the floor as Misty released her. The top of her head had been split wide open and crushed flat, her skull completely caved in upon her brain. Blood poured profusely onto the floor as a truly Satanic smile settled onto Misty's face.

“Check them all,” she said to Hunky as she rose to her feet. “Always remember that being sure is the most important thing.”

“Oh yes, my glorious owner,” he sputtered. “Right away, My Queen.”

Hunky was so worked up and agitated from the excitement of all this carnage that he was bordering on utter madness. He reminded one of Dr. Frankenstein's Igor the way he went helter skelter about the sordid business of checking the bodies. They were all dead at least twice over.

“That's a good little turd-face,” Misty laughed. “Our job here is done. Perhaps you'd enjoy your reward right here?”

Hunky began to weep even as he salivated openly. He indicated his agreement more with canine panting and begging sounds than by actually answering her. Misty pummeled him with a wicked right cross that sent him crashing to the floor, at which point she fell with all her weight on top of him. And there, lying amidst the blood, guts, and corpses, the stench of death all-pervasive, she proceeded to fuck his brains out in a fury of ecstasy. Hunky was obviously well-trained as he lasted long enough to satisfy his goddess. After they had each come deliriously, they took a bath together, gathered up Misty's clothes, and started for the car.

“It's almost daylight,” said Misty. “Let's go get some breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” Hunky repeated, dim-witted.

As Hunky drove along, Misty dug in the glove box and pulled out a small black palm pilot organizer. She scrolled down to find her itinerary for the upcoming week.

“Ahh, perfect!” she exclaimed. “I had almost forgotten. This Saturday we have that lawyer's convention I told you about.”

FIN


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Baddest Bitch in Town: Part VI

Ollie's body was twitching violently, his bloodied mouth gaping like fish out of water, and a flow of blood from the back of his head began to appear on the floor.

“Are you a gambling man, Artie?” she asked. “How many more do you think it'll take to finish him off?”

Arthur Lanier looked at the the huge, unstoppable machine that was Misty's body, her sumptuous flesh drenched in blood, vomit, puss, and bile.

“P-please,” he mumbled.

“Please what?”

Nothing more. Lanier just began sobbing harder.

“Not even a guess?” she laughed. “Well, we'll just have to find out, won't we? Oh, Olliiiee...Ollie, dear....Earth to Oliver....”

No evidence of acknowledgment. Misty sprang off her feet again and crashed her ass down again on Ollie's head. A direct hit. This time there was a noticeable crunching sound and his body went into an irregular pattern of full-on spasms. This was bad. Again Misty remained in place, her weight crushing Ollie's head into the hard floor with unrelenting force. Unable to breathe, his body began wrenching harder and harder until she actually had to secure herself to keep from sliding off.

“Hey Artie! This must be what bronco-bustin' is like! Yeeee-Haawwww! Ride 'em, Cowgirl!”

She gyrated hard seated atop his face and further cracking sounds could be heard. It had to be poor Oliver's head. Artie, though stripped of most of his rational faculties, still feared for what might present itself this time when she rolled off of Ollie. When she finally did, it was indeed a horrifying sight. His skull was strangely misshapen, a little too flat on one side. His facial features were all but completely unrecognizable, all basically crushed flat down into his shattered cheek bones and washed over with blood. The pool of blood from the back of his head poured freely now, and some sort of grotesque mixture of dark, thick fluid was oozing out of his ear onto the floor. The savage giantess stood looking down into his face again. She examined him with a lively curiosity, as one would await results from a lab experiment. Her face beamed with a gleeful smile all the while.

“I don't think that one did it,” she said. “But his head sure is fucked up. Think one more might smash it flat. What do you think?”

Although Artie and Oliver were technically competitors in life, they and their families had nonetheless maintained a solid, lifelong friendship and now, on account of this unfathomably powerful beast of a woman, Artie was watching his colleague being tortured to death before his very eyes. He couldn't say a word. Misty walked over to him as he huddled farther beneath the sink.

“What the fuck is the matter with you? I ask you a question and you sit here like a fucking deer in the headlights? Now once again, what do you think? One more time for fucking Pancake City?”

“Yesssss!” he screamed. “Yes! One more time!”

“Don't you fucking yell at me, you limp-dick, pathetic piece-a shit!”

She jerked him out from under the sink by his hair, and burrowed a right fist into his face with the force of a cannon. Blood spurted in projectiles from his face across the mirror and down the wall next to it. Another heady stream of it splattered onto Misty, which of course, upped her thrill level another spike or two. Hunky Boy had crawled to the doorway by now and began cheer leading. He clapped his hands and chanted his cheer.

My True Love is the Goddess pure
Only She will e'er endure.

Artie grimaced in pain from the force of that wicked punch, and as his head sprang back from bouncing off the wall behind him Misty caught him flush between the eyes with a massive knee-kick. The good doctor had never had his brains scrambled on this level and as everything went black, he let out a wimpy sounding groan of acquiescence and fell forward, face first, onto the hard bathroom tile. This powerful blow also caused a fresh river of blood to flow from his nose, ripped a huge gash in the center of his forehead, and sent yet more nightmarish viscera spraying in profusion around the once-elegant master bathroom.

“That oughta shut your fuckin' pie-hole for a while,” she said.

Returning to the quivering body of Dr. Oliver, she looked down and spat on his face contemptuously.

“Pig. And you thought you were man enough for me. Well, look at you now."

Misty dropped a devastating knee into Ollie's throat, then bounced back up quickly to admire the results. Despite his proximity to death, he couldn't escape the excruciating pain of this blow. Clutching at his throat with his remaining good hand he began to vibrate around the bathroom on involuntary muscle movements. Bulging out of his head like a Big Daddy Roth illustration, his eyes now came clearly back into view. Seeing a man riding along this exquisite borderline between life and death was what Misty lived for. To be a woman; a REAL woman, was to have and to exercise unlimited power. And that meant complete physical as well as mental and spiritual power over the so-called 'stronger' sex. Bullshit. No one was stronger than this woman named Misty, and she stood back now for just a moment to revel in that truth. Two prominent, 'powerful' men lying on the bathroom floor, beaten senseless and rendered powerless in her wake. A lady-killer; gorgeous, athletic 'get-any-girl-he-wants' dildo-brain of a husband who won't even fart without her approval and permission. It was all here. The incontrovertible evidence that she ruled her world with a hand of iron. This, this alone was what was important. The maintenance of unchallenged power and authority. But the job wasn't complete just yet.

“Yo, DickHead,” Misty said to Hunky Boy. “Go get me the biatch.”

Hunky was practically salivating as he scurried back toward the living room to drag poor wifey Iris back to watch the grand finale. As he was going, Misty dragged the two near-corpses over against the long bathroom wall and propped them up in sitting positions side-by-side. Colleagues to the very end!

Oliver had only the vaguest remnant of consciousness left; just enough to make out the magnificence of the female form confronting him. He only choked, heaved, and bled with his Marty Feldman eyes. Artie was badly impaired as well, but his injuries were not nearly as severe as Oliver's. Misty slammed another knee into his face, causing him to scream out in agony and exacerbating his own helplessness.

“Do you idiots have any idea what you've done tonight?” she asked. “Anyone capable of hazarding a guess? Well, though you're too fucking stupid to know, you've sacrificed your lives tonight in the service of religion. In the service of absolute religion. As Jesus admonished his followers, you have renounced family, and everything else close to you in order to follow God. You have given your all to follow The Divine. And she is Misty. And now, you believe you shall receive your rewards for your uncompromising loyalty. But of what loyalty are we speaking? What measure of so-called dedication do you fancy will win you freedom? Well, you can take this much to the bank; it doesn't happen through momentary lapses in judgment. That's all you hypocritical fucks have accomplished today. You've proven that male craves ultimate experience far beyond the experience of loyalty, monogamy, family, or anything else. All Male REALLY cares about is submission to his fat mistress. All else is of distant secondary importance.

Indeed, what had started as the most exciting feeling a man can experience had turned to disaster; an hour so horrific that the real lives of 2 prominent individuals had been utterly destroyed. Now it seemed as if the individuals themselves would succumb to that same fate


"Arthur, my boy, I'm still waiting for an answer from you, and I'm at the end of my rope from it. Now, for the last time, do you think that one more atomic drop on this idiot's head will crush his skull once and for all? Will it be the death blow?”

'Y-yes, ma'am' Artie cried hysterically. 'I think it will be the last.'

Misty turned back toward Ollie's still gyrating body.

“Whaddya think of that, Big Shot? Artie's bettin' you're through with one more jump. Care to make it interesting? Aww, come on, Ollie Baby. Bet him that you'll last at least two!”

There was no sign of acknowledgment on any level. He only kept clutching wildly at his throat, heaving and gasping desperately, and flopping around the floor like a beached sea bass.

“All right,” Misty laughed. “Whatever.”

Hunky Boy returned, presenting the bound and gagged Iris to his goddess. Iris was understandably beside herself; grief-stricken with horror and in a state of severe shock. She looked in to see her husband—now basically nothing more than a massive bloody pulp—bouncing off the walls in the most excruciating agony imaginable and she went limp in Hunky Boy's arms.

--Take off her gag, Numb-Nuts, Misty said.

Hunky Boy did as she commanded and Iris groggily focused again on the horror that confronted her.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God...!!” she screeched. She then did her best to keep her eyes shut, but she couldn't. “Oh God, this can't be happening! Oliver!! Oh my baby!! OOOOliveeeeer!”

“Your BABY?” Misty laughed. “That's a fucking hot one, Iris! Your baby. Your BABY has chosen death at my hands over whatever he had with you! I've given him something since 8 pm this evening that was worth more to him than his whole fucking LIFE with you! Doesn't that tell you something, you pathetic idiot? Doesn't it tell you something very important about MEN? Well, if it doesn't it should. One true adventure is, to them, worth dying for...and worth sacrificing an entire lifetime of whatever god-forsaken, boring bullshit you and he had together.”

Misty looked down at the rolling vegetable.

“Look at him, Iris! Look at what you've spent your whole life believing in.”

“Artie!” she screamed. “Artie! Do something!”

Artie was still lying face down, but was trying to pick himself up.

“Yes, Artie,” Misty chided, “Why don't you do something? Poor Iris is begging you!”

Now Artie began to bawl helplessly. He was utterly powerless and he knew it.

“I can't!” he bawled. “I c-caan't!”

“Well, Iris, Artie and I were just in the midst of a wager which will interest you very much, I think. The bet was whether or not your dear husband will survive one more atomic drop. You wouldn't have known this, but his skull is already severely fractured. He will certainly die of even these wounds. But, I am determined to continue punishing him for his transgressions. And so, the question is; will he survive one more drop? Artie says he won't. And looking at him, I'm inclined to agree. So, what about you? Will your darling husband survive my ass rocketing down onto his head one more time, or will he not?”

Naturally, Iris was in no shape to venture any kind of answer. She looked down again at Ollie's misshapen skull, at the still-living corpse into which Misty had transmogrified him, and tried desperately to break from Hunky's grasp. At this point, she wanted to kill him herself, in hopes of being merciful by putting him out of his hideous misery. But Hunky Boy held her tight.

--Don't worry,” Misty laughed. I fully intend to be merciful. However he meets his end, he will have experienced much less torture than he deserved.

She reached down and grabbed Artie by the hair, jerking him up and dragging him over against the bathroom wall. Meanwhile, Ollie was finally coming to rest from his involuntary bounce-fest around the bathroom.

“Eyes open, maggot!” she said to Artie.

Walking haughtily now around Ollie, who was spitting out multi-colored fluids not even recognized by most people as even possibly human, an idea dawned upon Misty.

“You know,” Misty said, mostly for Iris's benefit, “It just occurred to me that maybe another drop on poor Ollie's head is not the best way to end things for him. It'll be a quick 'lights- out' and that's it. Maybe I should give him the true thrill of his life and finish the job with these.” She indicated her thighs. “Wouldn't if be fun to watch his head pop between them instead of beneath me on the floor where you can't see what's happening?”
Artie was too compromised to give so much as an indication of his opinion, Hunky Boy's opinion didn't count for shit, and that left only Iris herself.

“Why don't we let little wifey decide?” Misty chuckled. “What do you think, wifey dear? How do want to see him go, crushed between my thighs, or ground into the tile like red grout?”

Iris was beyond communication.

“Come on, little wifey-pooh,” laughed Misty, “make a decision. Ollie is going to die, OK? It's up to you HOW he dies. His quickest death will come by the atomic drop. But it is also the most painful method. If I crush him with my legs, it will take a little longer, but it will be an infinitely more pleasurable way to go. He will leave this world with a smile on what's left of his face, rather than with no face at all.”

Iris wasn't in any kind of emotional state to be discerning, but she certainly wasn't able to assent to any mode of death through which her husband experienced profound sexual pleasure on his way out. She refused to answer, opting instead to keep bawling uncontrollably.

“In that case,” Misty chuckled, “I will be forced to make the decision myself. And knowing the joy that the good doctor experienced by ogling my gorgeous legs, it is my judgment that it is by these very thighs that his demise should be accomplished. I therefore decree that one Oliver Solomon should be crushed by my thighs until dead in accordance with universal law.”

Misty stood over Ollie again and cackled. “A little added discomfort, though, will give the finish its proper dash of panache,” she added. “Everyone can say their good-byes now.”

With that she went ahead and dropped full force again, this time on his chest just below the rib cage. All air was immediately jettisoned from his lungs along with a foul geyser of blood, vomit, pus, and bile. He heaved in a horrifying, involuntary series of spasms. Another huge load of the bloody miasma burst out of him as Misty slid upwards on his body and locked her thighs around his head. At this point, the scene was too hideous to describe. Like a bomb going off in a slaughter house.


Be sure and join me for the gruesome conclusion, coming up in Part VII