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