The Demands of Devotion

She was a high-powered young blonde, dancing her gorgeous ass off. But she wasn't just having good clean kiddie fun. No. She moved as one of the rare ones; as one filled with clear and complete knowledge of her limitless power. The moment I glimpsed her exquisite ass peeking out from beneath that obscenely short little nothing of a so-called skirt, I was totally possessed by her. Her body was not only perfect, it was also being wielded with flawless expertise. Every so often, she’d look around, arrogantly, knowingly, giggling to herself at the effect she was having on all the boys. She hadn’t seen me yet, but I had been waiting for her, lurking nearby at a table in the shadows. The music pulses on, booming, celebratory. The drinks flow, the boys gawk and weep, and the wanna-be girls begin to chirp; envious little snippets, back and forth, to the effect that she ain’t all that. They know she is.

She passes by my table, laughing with another girl, and three college lads in tow. This is easy for me. And for her. I know her kind. She knows mine. As she passes all I do is keep my eyes, as lecherously as possible, on her incomparable plump legs. She notices. Of course, she notices. Far from being offended, however, she looks me in the eye, giggles mischievously, and shakes it for me. I smile slightly, but I keep right on looking. I’m not about to really acknowledge her as person. I’m going to acknowledge her as goddess, as omnipotent form, as deity incarnate. And that means a certain kind of telepathy, the kinetic transference of unfiltered lust. I’m an old pro at it. Sure enough, she laughs again and continues toward the bar saying;

‘...in your fucking dreams, granddad!’

Even the college boys laugh as they check out the pathetic old timer trying to be cool, hangin’ with the hotties.

-Get a life, old dude! I hear one say.

Don’t you worry, punk, I think to myself. I’ve got one, alright. I’ve got one.

It’s not much longer before she’s back, again leading her little band along the path to the dance floor that passes by my table. Again my eyes lock, steadfast, onto the spectacle of her legs and ass. As she shimmies past me, dimensions colliding in the cosmic shifts of her heavenly body, she bends down and whispers in my ear.

-You’re mine, granddad. You’re mine, aren’t you?

My eyes move for the first time to her face, which is now right here. I cannot speak or even nod, but my expression is unconditional surrender. She’s on familiar turf. It’s this way with every boy, but I’m the first that’s played the game by the rules. She can’t wait to get me alone. There follows another hour or so of breaking hearts and destroying lives with those luscious micro-mini upskirts, the delicious flesh of her lower body quaking criminally with every sexy step she takes on that vacuum packed dance floor. The rest of her evening will be devoted to religion.

Highest order of ritual. Everything in symbols of raw, uncompromising power. One doesn’t touch these legs; certainly not on one’s own volition. One contemplates them, meditates upon them, worships them. Her requirement is rigid, but just. I must continue to absorb the vision of those legs—her thighs within two inches of my face, her enchanted, feminine scent coursing through my brain—until it has filled my being to capacity. She is a benevolent goddess, and rewards me for my good behavior with a series of hard, violent face-slaps; infinitely merciful reminders of who she is, of the limitless power that resides within her. I am able to perceive that she is pleasantly surprised to find a servant with experience, one highly trained in obedience and practiced in the art of protocol. Of course, I am yet far from enlightenment. It falls beyond my comprehension, for example, that she chooses to inflict such harsh, and blessed punishment upon me as the price of obedience. I can only trust that if I stay the course, devoting my entire being to serving her, such higher spiritual understanding will eventually be revealed to me.

I bring her drinks even before she has asked for them, anticipating her every need. She drinks roughly half of each one, and then throws the rest of it in my face. She bludgeons me with her gorgeous, powerful knees, slaps me repeatedly, and spits in my face.

-Good fucking job, slut, she says cruelly. You’ve earned your reward. For the rest of the night, you will worship my body. It will probably drive you insane, but I won’t beat your worthless ass any further. Now you will learn the final lessons in attending to your goddess. Stand behind me, pay attention, and follow my instructions to the fucking T. Got it?

I nodded, and answered her correctly and properly.
-Yes, Your Highness.

She flopped onto the sofa on her belly, presenting me with a view of her unfathomable lower body that brought me to tears instantly.

-Are you crying? she asked.

-Yes, Your Highness. I’m sorry, Your Highness.

She only laughed.

-Aww, poor baby, she mocked. Come on, move in closer. Sniff the backs of my legs like a dog.

Sweet, plump, firm rolling hills of flesh, and I, caught now in the devil’s triangle. Nothing but legs, ass, and cunt in all directions. I sniffed away, deeply, maniacally, truly now a man possessed. A dog, panting, huffing, sniffing.

-Now, sniff between my ass cheeks. And don’t touch me!

Supreme difficulty here. Hard to move close, ever closer, without making contact. She knows it. She giggles madly, divinely. The fragrance, the vision, those shapes, god of the universe defining itself through her. Through her alone.

-Hold still, she says. Keep your nose right there.

It is infinitely hard. She farts in my face, and the laughter, the childish giggle of a thousand schoolgirls lilts from her throat. I inhale the delicious fumes down through my nostrils from whence they scatter, morphing into multitudes of psychic waves that etch her commandments into the stone of my brain.

-Again, she says, still laughing and releasing another savory, invisible cloud. Her farts act as some sort of spiritual nerve gas, altering my internal chemistry, commandeering my very thoughts, delivering me up as for the ultimate sacrifice. The tears continue as I breathe her in, consuming myself through perfect obedience.

-Again! Sniff good!

This one is longer, the most pungent of the three.

-Ahhhh, that’s the one I was waiting for, she says. Get all of it!

I sniff and sniff, inhaling every last molecule. Her giggling and the debilitating scent of her legs and ass and flatulence have already broken me. I am addicted now to her gas. I crave it, I beg for more, bawling uncontrollably between her fabulous thighs, looking straight into the paradise of her ass.

-That’s enough, pig. Now listen carefully to my instructions because they must be carried out perfectly. I want you to get up, run as fast as you can into that wall, face first, and then run straight back here and sniff my ass. And when you hit that wall, I want you to ram it HARD, with everything you’ve got. I want you to try and break every bone in your stupid face. Do you understand?

-Yes, Your Highness.

-Good. Now, no hands up. You keep those fucking hands down at your side. And when you get back here you get straight to my ass for some serious sniffing. But NO TOUCHING!

-Yes, Your Highness.

-OK, GO!


Nothing in me could believe what was happening, but suddenly I was charging full speed at the wall on the far side of the room. I recognized my action as being dangerous to me, and I understood full well the pain that would surely accompany my ramming of the unforgiving stucco surface. But all that mattered was the quality of my servitude. I would not fail to please her. Though my entire being struggled involuntarily to raise my hands up to soften the blow, I managed to control the impulses. I rammed my face straight on into the wall. The jolt broke my nose and sent my head spinning into nothingness. Everything went black as I fell back onto the floor. I tasted the blood streaming over my upper lip into my mouth as the darkness passed. All I could think was ‘Thank god I didn’t pass out so that I can finish carrying out her instructions.’ I half-stumbled, half-crawled back to the sofa, listening to her demented laughter all the way, and made the best time I could in getting back between her legs to the glorious orbs of that spectacular ass, perched so deliciously and beautifully on display. I was dizzy, woozy, seeing stars even, but somehow managed to maneuver my head into place and take a long, heady inhalation of her ass flesh.

Immediately, I realized that the only thing I was inhaling was my own blood. It rushed into my lungs fast and hard, as if pressurized. I started choking and coughing, my body heaving as blood supplanted breath. I was seized by fear, knowing my goddess was not going to be amused by this development.

-Hey! She snapped. What the fuck’re you doing? Get a hold of yourself, and stop coughing on my leg, you fucking pig!

I continued to struggle, unable to suppress the coughing and choking. I had inhaled a pretty decent lungful of blood.

-Drop your face down lower, she said. I want you to sniff my cunt and my ass!

I was slow to respond.

-Do it, goddamn you! Right now!

I summoned everything within me and held back the cough. I dropped down a few inches into the glory of the godhead. The holy trinity, where ass, cunt, and legs all join into one regal fortress. I quivered all over and again sucked air as hard as I could into my collapsed nostrils. No good. Even the joys of her soaking wet g-string were unable to penetrate and I again took on what was becoming the deadly red fluid.

-All right, pig, she said, back it up. Slide back 12 inches and meditate on my holy shrine until you’re able to carry out my instructions.

-Yes, Your Highness.

I heard her giggling again, lording it over me, reveling in her awesome power. I lay there, bleeding onto the sofa, knowing that my nose was finished. Any further sniffing was going to be out. She knew it too, and left me meditating on her incomprehensible body for only a few moments.

-OK, she said. That’s enough. I want you to go again. Ram your face into the wall again, just like before. But this time, when you return to me, you’ll only look at my ass, not smell it. Got it?

-Yes, Your Highness.

-OK, pig. GO!

Strange feelings this time. Flying at breakneck speed, somehow, across that room and knowing the outcome. That demonic laughter of hers; more than I can bear but here came the stop.

-Keep those hands down!

I heard her remind me of that just before the collision. It hurt much worse this time. Into the darkness again. Black, red, motionless.

-Get up! Hurry! Faster, faster!

Floating now, I think. Not conscious of getting back, but I am there. Bleeding, looking, crying. My crying tickles her the most.

-Don’t you just love the view, little pig? Can you say ‘thank you’ for the privilege of seeing my ass?

-T-Thank you, Your Highness.

It is all teary and garbled. The longer I look, the more irreparable the damage. My soul breaking in long, jagged cracks.

-OK, dinner time! She announces.

She swings her lower legs playfully, back and forth on either side of my battered head.

-Get your ass to the kitchen or wherever, and bring me back your cleaning supplies. Whatever you’ve got. Pledge, Toilet Duck, Drano, detergent, all that shit. Oh, and bug spray. Whatever kind of bug spray you’ve got in there. Grab the stuff quickly, and hurry back here and show them to me. Ready? GO!

I rush back with my arms full. She is a complete universe, lying there. So unspeakably gorgeous, beautiful, innocent, sexy and deadly. Though my head is pounding and I fear the worst from the chemical mixtures I horde, I retain my faith nonetheless. I know that she is not only teaching me the most advanced concepts of total surrender, but that she understands fully my deepest spiritual needs and knows with full clarity the path that I must walk in order to discover the answers for myself.



-How could it take you so fucking long to get back here with those? She asked. Do you have any idea how long you kept me waiting here? Is that what you think of me? That I’m so insignificant you can just leave my here waiting for you to take five minutes to do what you could have done in one?

-I’m sorry, Your Highness—

-I know you’re sorry. Sorry doesn’t cut it, asshole. I’m gonna need you to step it up, you got that?

-Yes, Your Highness.

-Good! You can start with a big swig from that laundry detergent. We need to clean you up, mister, especially on the inside. You’re still far from pure, you know. And I intend to wash the imperfections out of you by any means necessary. Now put the other shit down right here, drink down two capfuls, and then go stand at the end of the sofa and contemplate my ass. Go on, drink up!

Entering some other plane now. I obey her orders instantly, knowing full well that I am now drinking down my own death. What else could she have in mind? Would she call 911 on my behalf? It didn’t seem likely. I chugged my two capfuls while she watched me closely, her petite, adorable smile and compelling giggle driving me to an ever-deepening commitment. As I finished the second capful, she laughed and motioned me to the end of the couch with a cocky flick of her head. I moved behind her, still stunned by this same vision. Such perfection! Those thick, ripe legs, her incomparable ass and the mind-numbing, delicate pyramid of her lacy panties vanishing into that divine crack between the spheres brought me again to near hysterical weeping as I felt the beginnings of the chemical reaction starting down below.

-OK, pig, she laughed, we don’t have much time. Is that a letter opener over there?

-Yes, Your Highness.

-Go get it. But first, I want you to come back around here in front of me and stand where you can fall forward and slam your face into the corner of this coffee table. It looks pretty sharp. I think it’ll be good for you.

I took my place as directed.

-Oh, and pick up that Pledge first.

I obeyed.

-Now, I want you to spray the Pledge into your mouth until I say ‘stop,’ and then immediately after, I want you to fall like a fucking tree in the forest, face-first onto the corner of the coffee table. And NO HANDS! If you put your hands out, even a little, you’ll do it over again. Got it? Your full weight, free fall, and catch your face on the corner. THEN, I want you to get up and go get the letter opener. Are we clear?

-Yes, Your Highness, I cried.

The dream turning to nightmare.  I opened wide and pushed the button on the can.

-Ah-Ah, she said. Shake it first!

I dutifully shook the can thoroughly and sprayed. The lemon taste quickly gave way to a horrendous, chemical burning, which began to roar down my throat like a raging wildfire. I began to groan and cry even louder and through my tear-blurred eyes I looked into hers. She only smiled as my mouth filled, the harsh fluid flowing then down my chin and dribbling onto my chest.

-Very well, she said at last, Stop! Now quickly! Fall, giant evergreen, fall!

I dropped the can and taking perfect aim, hands firmly at my sides, fell with my full body weight, slamming my face into the sharp corner of the coffee table. It caught me in the lower part of my forehead, just above eye level, opening a deep gash that began pumping blood into the air like a geyser at Yellowstone. Once again, darkness was my reward as I drifted out of consciousness. I should have been completely out, but something in me, undoubtedly due to her divine magic, kept me coming quickly back to the task at hand.  My Supreme Ruler was laughing uncontrollably, hysterically.

-Omigod, she guffawed, you fucking moron, that was hilarious!  Now hurry up, pig! Get to the letter opener.

It had become a gruesome game show, some grotesque version of ‘Simon Says.’ The Devil alone knew where it would end. Actually, that’s not quite true. I knew by now where it would end. The question was ‘how.’ I crawled over to my desk, pulling myself up to a kneeling position to grab the letter opener.

-On your feet, she said threateningly.

I clung to the desk and pushed harder until, miraculously, I was standing. But I was wobbly in the extreme and the furious flow of blood from my head was causing me to lose my equilibrium.

-Now, she said, it’s time to get serious. Now, I want you to pick up the bug spray and spray it first all over your face until I say ‘stop,’ and then into your mouth until I say ‘stop.’ Then, you’re going to go stand behind me again, pray to my ass, and jam that letter opener as hard as you can into your right eye.

I shuddered, even as my cock became a steel girder pressing to escape from my pants.

-What’s the matter? Is there a problem?  Looks like you might have one growing down there in your fucking shorts!

-No, Your Highness, there's no problem.

In wobbly fashion, I picked up the Raid.

-OK, then. Got the letter opener? OK, ready to spray…and GO!

I pushed the button.

-Shake the fucking can, asshole!! Don’t make me get up from this sofa!

-I’m so sorry, Your Highness.

I shook and sprayed. I had forgotten until now that this can of Raid was, of all things, hornet and wasp spray; ultra potent and pure liquid. It drenched my face and the severe burning began instantly. I began screaming bloody murder now as the pain was unbearable. Inside, my stomach was exploding from the Pledge and detergent mixture. Through it all, I heard her delicious giggling, exulting ever more deeply in her supreme authority. It seemed an eternity before she ordered me to re-direct the spray into my mouth. As the powerful toxic mix hit my tongue, my entire mouth seemed to erupt into flames. Even worse at the back of my throat and down my already singed esophagus. I continued to scream, dancing in place now like some possessed puppet on strings, my knees coming up high as my body began to react on its own to the abject pain and destruction. Soon, I had emptied the whole can. I was probably beyond hope now. Death would undoubtedly find me soon.

-Run, pig, run! She laughed as I continued my bizarre little dance of pain.

She watched me mirthfully for a few more excruciating moments as I hopped around, fell down, bounced back up, fell down, back up, bounced off the wall, down again, writhing like a serpent on fire. She lay there so calmly, so elegantly, sipping her drink and smoking her cigarette on the sofa. She was beauty and power personified.

-OK, stop, pig! Now, hurry! Get up, get up! Pray to my ass, and use the letter opener. Hurry up!

I dropped the can and crawled back to the end of the sofa, screaming in agony.

–Up! On your pathetic feet! Hurry!

I pulled myself to my feet.

-OK, she said, now pray. Pray to my ass.

I could only scream in pain, but if I ever needed a prayer, it was now. I tried to say something; please, help me, Ogod, I’m sorry, something like that. All that came was gibberish, but she loved it.

-Sorry I don’t speak ‘Pig,’ she laughed, but keep it up. It amuses me. Maybe the god of the pigs will come down from his heavenly sty and rescue you!

My prayer became a chanting in tongues, a service of ultimate devotion to this exquisite girl’s fat little ass; so young, and so fine. Her legs, plump as sausages, split my soul in half for the last time. The scene in my living room is more horrifying now than the most gruesome horror movie. I stand at the end of my sofa, holding a letter opener, and praying in tongues to her ass in an eerie mixture of guttural phonetics, screams and shrieks of pain and terror, and the tears of a million infants. She hardly even looks at me. She just laughs and flaunts her body.



-Enough, she snaps. Now, the letter opener. Go ahead. Use it.

She is yelling at me now above the piercing volume of my prayer.

-On my count of three, you’re to jam it deep into your eye, understand? You’re going to sacrifice that eye for me. I deserve much more, don’t I?

My answer is incoherent.

-DON’T I?

-Yes, Your Highness.

-You’re damn fucking right, I do! OK, here we go. One, two…

She waits for what seems like forever as pure hysteria explodes from my lips.

-THREE!

She turns her head back enough to see this. And, horror of horrors, I do it! Just like that. I thrust the sharp blade of the letter opener into my right eye with all my strength. The blood was already everywhere, and now came a doubling of it. It spurted from the hole that just seconds ago was my eye, and the terrifying wail of my screaming now didn’t even begin to communicate the pain I was in. As I began to fall forward, twitching like some gigantic, exposed nerve, I heard her commanding me to stay up.

-Don’t you dare go down, pig! Keep to your feet! Worship my ass with that one good eye! And pray, goddamn you! Keep praying!

Amazingly, I obeyed. I was completely aware that I had just put my own eye out, with a fucking letter opener, destroying it forever and causing my entire being to convulse in unimaginable agony, and yet I obeyed. Something in me actually forced me to obey her unconditionally. I can only assume that the pain and internal horror I was feeling were so intense that I just somehow shut down. Otherwise, I'm sure I would have been flopping around on the floor like a dying fish. I clutched the arm of the sofa and continued to scream out my incoherent prayers in louder, more blood-curdling screams than all the ones that had come before.

-OK, pig, OK. You’re almost there, she laughed. Now first, I want you to go to the kitchen and bring me the biggest, sharpest butcher knife in the house. Can you do that for me? Hmmm?

-Yes, Your Highness, I screamed at the top of my lungs.

-Good, she said. If you do, I’ll let you look at my ass some more.

Blood streaming in thick pools as I stumbled, fell, and crawled to the kitchen, as the thought of a few more moments in her presence inspired me to find some tiny, remaining shred of strength.  Somehow, I returned to her with a butcher knife that more than anything resembled a machete. I stood before her, groaning and crying loudly in abject agony. My whole head was a crimson pulp with blood flowing profusely from the remains of the one eye, the huge gash on my forehead, and the crushed remains of my nose. She smiled at me so arrogantly, so condescendingly, so obviously gleaning a fiendish and intense enjoyment from my self-demolition.

-All right, pig. I'm just about to cum all over your fucking sofa.  So, let’s get this over with. Pick up that Drano.

I did as she commanded.

-Kneel down here, open it, and hand it to me.

She sat up on the sofa, crossing her legs enticingly in front of me and causing my body to go into some kind of weird fibrillation. I knelt before her, struggled to remove the top and handed her the can. It was the granulated Drano, not the liquid, and it was like thick, desert sand in its consistency.

-Open wide, she laughed.

I obeyed, still emitting an endless swirl of involuntary ‘pain sounds.’

She sat over me, tilted my head back, and poured a half a can of the corrosive acid-powder down my throat.

-Now this is REALLY going to hurt, she said, but I need you to finish with perfect obedience. And you better swallow every last grain of this shit, you read me, pig?  I’m even going to help you to make sure you get through it. Now, when you’ve finished the Drano, take that fucking knife, go to your position, and hold it while you look at my ass. OK? Here we go! Go ahead, chew it up and swallow!

With that, she jerked me around, facing away from her, and felt her powerful, satin legs pressing against each side of my body as she held my head between her hands.  I began to chew and swallow, and everything took its toll at once. A universe of poison lava rising from the deep, flowing swiftly in the direction of my mouth. Before it could come up, though, she wrapped her arm firmly beneath my chin and applied a classic 'sleeper' hold on me, clamping my jaws shut as she pulled my head tightly in place up against her chest. With the other arm, she locked the sleeper hold in and with her hand, pinched my nostrils closed, giggling heartily at the spectacle to come. Then this gorgeous sex-pot closed her eyes delightfully, like some fairy tale princess or missionary angel, tucked her head down, resting her cheek against the top of my head, and held on for the wild ride.

With nothing being able to escape through my mouth or nose, disaster ensued. There is no way to tell you what kind of damage I had already sustained internally, but with my mouth now filling up with severely toxic vomit, there was only one place for it to go, and that was back into my lungs. I struggled with all my might to pry my jaws open and erupt, but she had all the leverage, and easily held my mouth closed up tight. It was as if depth charges were being detonated in my stomach, my throat, and now in my lungs as well.

-Swallow! she screamed, Swallow! I want it all to go down! All the way down!

Is it remotely possible there was still a part of me capable of obeying her? Summoning a will I didn’t know existed, I swallowed with all my remaining strength. I heard the sound of her laughter in my head now as my skull conducted it internally from her cheek. She clung to me like a vice and that whole mouthful of hazardous waste went back down; half lungs, half stomach. She held me tightly in place as my body bucked and kicked, writhing with electric shock waves of incalculable intensity. My lungs exploded into flames. I couldn’t believe how strong she was to hold my mouth and nose sealed shut during such convulsions. The pain in my broken nose was excruciating as she clipped it with her strong, youthful fingers.

At length, the convulsions softened enough to warrant her letting go of me. Now, of course, I violently threw up blood, bile, internal bodily tissue, puss, vomit, multi-colored chemical remains, pretty much whatever had ever been a part of me, but by now, the damage had been done. It was the most horrifying scene imaginable, beyond comprehension.

-Almost done, she laughed. Get your ass over to the end of the sofa and look at my ass! And take that knife with you!

I was too far gone to make it to my post. As a result, she had to drag me there by my hair and prop me up on my knees where I continued to puke, bleed, and scream like some hideous B-Movie monster, mutant beyond description from poisons, radiation and bomb blasts. I could barely make her out as she lay down again so gracefully on that sofa, her ass quivering gently as she settled into place. The sounds from my mouth were unholy, inhuman, otherworldly, and I can only imagine that the vision of me as a bloody pulp of a head, with my entire body now heaving inside out with ceaseless vomiting must have been incomprehensible.

-OK, pig, she said, still giggling, put the knife to your fucking throat. Do it now!

I obeyed as best I could.

-Now, it’s your choice, she said. The knife, or the chemicals. Do you have any idea what measure of kindness I'm showing you in giving you a choice of how you want to die? Do you!?

I gurgled out a pathetic 'Yes, Your Highness.

-Because you see, pig-man, if you use the knife, you'll be outta your fucking misery in a flash. But with the chemicals, you get to spend more time in my presence. But, like I said, it's up to you. I don’t give a fucking rat's ass how you die...as long as you die!

I knelt there, again beholding with my one good eye the marvel of her ass and legs. I screamed again, vomited again, bled some more; this was the form of my prayer. I felt the sharp blade against my throat and knew what must be done. I had one chance to continue in prayer for a short while longer. That settled, I let the knife drop to the floor.

Domination In The Desert

A stifling August afternoon in Palm Springs. I run into her in the liquor section at Ralph’s. She’s a hot MILF, maybe 40ish and she filled out her tight skirt and flimsy top like nobody’s business. Of course, you know me. Age isn’t a factor. It’s all about the body and the attitude, and this one had it all. After some playful suggestive banter she says something to the effect that if I want to keep taking up her time, I’m going to have to get my ass to work on her behalf.

-What did you have in mind? I ask.

-Oh, just a little cooperation. Nothing you can’t handle. You strike me as a leg man. And, of course, an ass man. I'll bet you have no need of even checking out what a woman's got going on above the waist, do you?

-Surely you jest, I replied. Good face is high up on the list. And, Migod, arms! Smokin’ arms are almost as sexy to me as legs. Sometimes equally so.

-You ever gotten off on ‘em?

-Arms?

-Yeah. Just the arms.

-Sure. Nice big arms can send you all the way; easy. A lotta women don’t even know that.

-How are you at taking orders? she asked.

-Excellent. Top of my class.

The big woman looked at me intently.

-Yeah? Well, for my money, I think you're a fucking chump. But, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Put all your shit in my cart, finish my shopping, pay for everything, take it to my home, put it away, fix me dinner and drinks, and if you serve me just perfectly, I mean really super-fabulous, I’ll let you kiss my ass.

-Really?

-Yep. One time, though. That's all you get.

-Can I see it first?

-Fuck you.

She started to walk away. Can't win 'em all.

-Ok, I said, you got a deal.

She said her name was Jeri, and I had to admit, I was excited as I made my way around the store, picking out everything just as she wanted, becoming her servant, making sure the shopping trip went flawlessly from that moment on.

The old girl seemed to get hotter by the minute, too. She slunk along in her short, tight skirt, slinky top, and slip-on high heels, supervising me in a most stimulating, imperious manner. Though she didn’t really resemble her, I kept thinking about Mrs. Wormer in Animal House. Over-sexed older broad meets brash young world-conqueror and it’s damn the torpedoes, and let Freedom ring! As we went along, I told her of my above-average skills in the kitchen, and asked if I might have the honor of preparing her one of my favorite dinner combinations.

-What’s in it? She asked.

-Trout. They get it in fresh here. Pan-seared with a lovely seasoned breading, spinach-mashed potatoes, the best Caesar Salad you’ve ever eaten, guaranteed, and a top notch Pino Grigio. What do you think?

She looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and trusting frivolity, agreeing that it sounded perfect. Before we got out of the store, her sexual appeal had risen by a few more degrees in my mind as I continued to observe her confident mannerisms and the powerful flow of her body movements. Never once occurred to me to ponder what I might be getting myself into. I have to admit, though, to having a momentary meeting of minds with myself when we checked out and I paid for all her groceries. Her bill came to $235.00 and change, a decent little layout for a first, and probably last, afternoon encounter. And so my flow changes, a little. Floats through the mind now a titillating mix of X-Treme sexual arousal vs. questioning whether I’d actually get into this whole thing, whatever it was, once I was ‘under the gun.’ On top of that battle, I begin feeling the desire to start kicking myself for blowing this kind of money on a lark. All such ambivalent convolutions twisting and turning through and around my brain. The if’s always try to knock you back among the chumps when you’re out there on the edge, but thankfully I manage to remember that at the moment in question, and having done so, I’m good to go. Totally with the program. What the fuck? It’s Palm Springs, hot MILF, and my whole life ahead of me after this.

We get to her house on the hill and I have to say, it’s pretty fuckin’ cool. Sprawling one-level job, nearest neighbors maybe half a mile away, and the chick’s got the whole thing I mean RETRO’D OUT. Everything is 50’s-Early 60’s. Hot, geometric shapes, sharp lines, primary colors. Looks like something from a tripped-out Stanley Kubrick movie. I’m enthralled.

-You know how to make a decent martini, dip-shit? She asks.

-The best.

-Good. Then get your sorry ass into the kitchen and make me one while I get undressed.

‘Getting undressed’ consisted of hopping out of her tight skirt and tossing onto the chair. Now she stood there, eyeing me with serious intent and wearing nothing but a hot black thong, black thigh-highs, the slip-on heels and the skimpy top. Her power became quickly evident now in those big, strong shapely legs and an ass that was truly spectacular.

-If you think you can handle it, put those groceries away and get moving on dinner. I’m starved.

She became more demanding and humorless, which, along with the formidable size and power of her lower body was having a telling effect on me in the form of an unmistakable bulge in my jeans. It took a little doing to put the groceries away without her guidance, not always knowing where different people keep things, but I managed to find my way, and as I did I could feel my heartbeat quickening, my mouth turning dry, and the pulsing flow of blood moving headlong in the direction of my hardening cock. As I cooked, I had to ask her at one point if she might have a hand potato masher in the kitchen. Her response was to walk brusquely into the kitchen, slap me violently across the face, and point out to me that she was watching TV.

-Don’t ever interrupt me when I’m watching TV, asshole! Do I make myself perfectly clear?

-Crystal.

-You know, smart-ass, she said, the hungrier I get, the harder life is going to become for you. So, if I were you, I’d fucking step it up over here.

-Yes, Ma’am.

I get the salad ready and take it in her direction. She says nothing, but points to the patio area. There's a table there, and I deliver the salad and a glass of wine, waiting then to see what she does next. She comes slowly out the back door, holding her martini with an absolutely regal air about her. She is incredible. I pull her chair out for her, and she sits down, eyeing me contemptuously. I went back inside to finish preparing the meal, and if I said so myself, it was all perfect. I served Jeri another martini, and then set her dinner in place with a second glass of the Pino Grigio. Then I brought my plate out to join her.

-What the fuck are you doing? She asked.

-What?, I joked, sitting down.

-What are you doing?

Her voice was stern.

-Tell me you don’t think you’re going to sit here and eat in my presence.

I shrugged. She didn’t say another word, but got up from the table, came around to my side, jerked me up out of my chair and punched my fucking lights out with a monstrous right cross. I slammed down onto the patio, and before I could even respond, she came right behind me with my plate of food and smashed it into my face so hard the plate fractured into shards. I sat there, stunned, my face lacerated from the broken China, and wearing my 5-star dinner.

-Did you really think I was going to let the fucking hired help sit here and dine with me? Huh? Well, did you!? If that’s what you think all this is about, then you’re even fucking dumber than you look. And that boggles the mind! Now you get back into that kitchen and do something, I don’t care what, and check on me frequently, because if I need something and you’re not there when I think of it, I just might beat the living shit out of you, do you understand me?

-Ohhh, I groaned. OK, Jeezus. Ahhhwww.

I watched her storm back to her seat, that huge, gorgeous ass zig-zagging back and forth like two bombs being carried off to the cargo bay. I was bleeding pretty badly. Her wicked punch had flattened my nose, which was pouring blood, and then the slicing and dicing from the broken plate and, well, things had turned ugly just that fast. Knowing now how serious she was, I somehow managed to get to my feet and start back for the kitchen. She slammed her martini in a rage.

-And you better get me another drink out here muy pronto or we’re gonna start having more fun.

When I got to the door, however, I was faced with a dilemma. The blood was dripping badly from my face and if I went in I would surely get it on the floor, the carpet, probably on everything in my path. I stood there like a cowering puppy, trying to decide what to do. I decided it would show my best interests toward her if I pointed out the problem and let her make the decisions.

-I’m afraid I’m going to get blood on your carpet if I go in there right now, I groaned, trying not to bleed on her.

She looked at me with eyes of intense evil, stood up from the chair, and kneed me so hard in the stomach that I folded in half instantly and fell forward face first onto the concrete. She reached down, grabbed my arm up between her legs, pulled it backwards and butt-dropped with her full weight right down onto that arm, forcing it to extend in two directions against the joints and snapping it like a twig in both places, high on the femur and down near my wrist.

The pain was indescribable and I burst into hideous screams as she simply continued to sit there, driving my arm harder into the concrete as she bounced and wiggled her big ass on top of it.

-I doubt that you can grasp this concept, dumb ass that you obviously are, but you have now officially ruined my dinner.

Then she stood up, snatched me by the hair, pulled me up to her incredible ass and cut a huge, gassy fart right into my face, commanding me to breathe deeply as she did. I was gasping for breath anyway as a result of my screaming, and sucked down her fabulous flatulence more or less automatically. She laughed at me as she held me in place there, forcing my gaze upon her hot, powerful ass.

-So, she said, you’re a real screamer, aren’t you? Don’t have much of a tolerance for pain? That’s too bad, because I really can’t have all this noise going on. Someone down the road might think I was beating the shit out of some pantywaist and call the cops. I’d be VERY disappointed in you if that happened. So I’m going to be extremely fucking generous with you and give you a chance to shut your fucking pie-hole on your own. Otherwise, I’m going to shut it for you. Now keep in mind that you’ve already blown our deal, which was that I get a perfect dinner and you get to kiss my ass. It’s already too late for that.

So, if you want to hold any hope of saving yourself, you REALLY need to come through here. Alright, now look at my ass and Shut The Fuck Up!

I understood the gravity of my situation, and after shattering my arm the way she did, I couldn’t really put anything past this woman. I dug down deep and tried to suppress my painful cries. Jeri held me in place by the hair, looking back at me over her shoulder, just waiting for me to crack. Her expression was so sexy, so powerful, so arrogant, knowing that I was in no shape to endure this test. Her ass and legs shimmied before me as she shifted her weight from side to side. The pain shooting through my arm was unbearable and with another moment or two at the mercy of those legs and ass, I indeed broke down. I began to cry, mostly from the shock of my close proximity to her exquisite flesh, those fat, gorgeous legs spilling out over the tops of her black stockings, and her remarkable, round ass tempting me far beyond my capacity as she teased me relentlessly. Then the waves of pain joined in the assault on my senses and I burst out into a combined sort of chanting-crying-groaning, perhaps trying to beg for mercy, perhaps some disjointed prayer. In any event, it wasn’t particularly loud, but it was enough to constitute disobedience.

Jeri chuckled and turned on me. Then she shed her top, flashing her exceptional breasts. In spite of my dire situation, all I could do was marvel at her. The fact that a 50-year-old had such a sexy face, firm tits, and powerful body actually brought me to a state in which I was more turned on than in pain. She grabbed me by the hair again and pulled my face near her crotch area.

-Look at my legs, she commanded, and smell my pussy.

I followed orders and the intensity of the combination caused me to begin shaking.

-Hold still, she said.

I tried, but kept whimpering uncontrollably.

-Does that smell good, hmm?

-Mmm-hmmm, I muttered.

Jeri shot forth a short knee lift into my face that was like being run over by a tank. I flipped over backwards and came down face first on the deck. As I tried to raise my head I realized she had just knocked my front teeth out. I started spitting the bloody kernels onto the concrete as I cried out in agony.

-Ahh-ahhh, Jeri laughed. Gotta keep that trap shut!

With that, she walked over and stood above me, imperious in those heels and stockings and with that look of absolutely child-like joy in her eyes. The joy of beating me to a pulp. I couldn’t stop groaning, so she pulled me up from the ground into a side headlock and clamped it onto me with a power that was truly not to be believed. Struggling for all I was worth, I pushed against her body, and swatted helplessly at her legs in an effort to relieve the pressure. All she did was cinch the hold in even tighter which made me start convulsing like a madman, crying out loudly, only to find the noise almost completely muffled due to my face being pressed tight against her body just under her gorgeous breast.

Through it all, I could still hear her laughing and the sound of her arrogant jubilation in exerting her dominance over me just kept turning me on more and more. As I screamed into the muzzle of her body flesh, my cock was pounding out a heavy rhythm in synch with my rapidly accelerating heartbeat. Just as I thought my head would pop from the pressure, Jeri reared back and brought that huge thigh up again, slamming it like a battering ram into my face. Again I flipped over, this time twice, and came crashing down onto the concrete. Everything started going black and I knew I was in trouble. Blood gushed from my nose and mouth and every time my broken arm made the slightest movement, the excruciating pain shot through me with a vengeance.

Now, there wasn’t a chance in Hell of suppressing the expression of my agony and I again screamed out loudly and uncontrollably. That headlock was so powerful, it felt like she had literally cracked my skull, and on top of that the blast to the face jarred my brain into another dimension, even as it split my lips in two more places and started a second torrent of blood flowing from my nose, which was now completely crushed.

-Hmmm, Jeri mused playfully, I guess you’re just one of those people that has a hard time with authority. Don’t like people giving you orders. That’s too bad, because around here, I give the orders, and there is hell to pay for those who don’t fall in line. Now, I’m telling you for the last time to Shut Up!

She rolled me over onto my back and before I knew what had hit me, she executed another big butt-drop, this time right down into my solar plexus area. Not only did she come down with her full weight, but she actually doubled the force by launching herself slightly upwards first, and then coming down with increased velocity. When she hit, the air exploded out of my body completely and I instantly began to heave, mouth gasping desperately for breath, eyes bugging out of my head, blood flowing like wine, a real mess. She got up and looked down at me, giggling demonically and muttering something about my turning a nice shade of purple.

-Take a break, fuck-stick, she said. Just don’t get any ideas about leaving.

She left me lying there convulsing in agony while she went into the house, quickly returning in a hot green bikini. When she got back, I was beginning to catch the first inklings of returning breath, but was still completely helpless.

-You know, she said, it’s such a hot afternoon, it would be a shame not to take advantage of the pool.

She walked up and looked over me again, that arrogant smile etched into her face.

-You kind of like that feeling of air coming back into your lungs, don’t you, chumpstain? Well, we wouldn’t want you to get used to that idea. You might start yelling again. Let’s just take a little preventative precaution, shall we?
She took pinpoint aim and dropped her knee into my throat with her full body weight behind it. My body went into the most violent seizure, kicking, writhing, convulsing in excruciating pain. Jeri remained perched on my neck for a moment, driving her knee down even harder. Finally she got up off me and, clutching my throat, utterly unable to breathe, I began flipping around on the deck like a fish out of water. Jeri came back to me, snatched me by the hair, and dragged me a few feet over to the edge of the pool.

-Looks like you could use a little cleaning up, she laughed.

She shoved my face down into the water and held it there as my last remaining rational process, realizing I would quickly drown in this situation, kicked my body into an even higher gear of Brahma Bull action, bucking wildly against the force of her hold on my hair. In truth, however, since I really wasn’t yet able to breathe in anyway, I wasn’t in immanent danger. Jeri held me firmly in place before at last jerking me up to safety. A pool of blood swirled there in the water and Jeri looked at my face, checking to see if it was washed clean.

-There, she said, that’s much better. Always feels good to be clean, hmmm? Now then, let’s be a good little monkey and look at my legs again. Take a good, long look!

She held me by the hair, again forcing my gaze right into the glory of her massive thighs. Despite the beating I was taking, the sight of those exquisite legs flaunted with such sensual artistry as Jeri possessed, inflamed me with desire. I started to writhe even harder as the stimulation merged with my breathless, battered emotio-physical condition, which then became utterly indescribable.

Then she turned sideways, forcing my gaze upon the phenomenal contour of her ass, and finally turning just a bit more, taunting me with her ass cheek directly before me, and then pulling my face up to make contact with that divine area of her flesh. I went nuts. I could feel the electrical pulse firing from her flesh and connecting with key targets deep within my psyche. I gasped harder for air, now feeling, possibly, the return of a fragment of breath. Jeri couldn’t contain her laughter watching me flutter like a flag in the wind as she held me tightly by the hair.

-Now, you see how much fun that is? She laughed. I knew all along you were an ass man!

Then she turned to face me again, and without warning blasted me with another knee lift right into that same spot in my solar plexus. There it went again; all air expelled in a mighty rush and down I went, a few meek little murmurs slipping from my lips, which were now covered with my blood which was again flowing freely from my facial wounds. I had barely hit the ground when she jerked me up again by the hair, flashed me another quick close-up of those thighs, and slammed a repeat thigh lift into the exact same spot. This time the force of the kick caused me to throw up violently, much of it splattering onto Jeri’s legs. I was beginning now to see that white light people talk about as I had no possibility of catching a breath and with the involuntary wild vomiting, I had become a poster boy for death at the hands of this beautiful beast of a woman. She still wasn’t through. Laughing now like a crazed witch, she picked me up again, almost to standing position, and sucker-punched me square in the middle of the face with a wicked roundhouse right fist.

I went down like a brick close to the side of the pool, blood and vomit now pulsing from my face in regular rhythms. Jeri then took my broken arm between her legs, pulled it over the edge of the patio above the water and yelled ‘Olli-Olli-Octum-Freee’ as she dropped into the water snapping my arm backwards at the elbow joint against the edge of the pool and then releasing it. My arm hung there, broken in three grotesque sections, dangling uselessly in the water. I can’t really describe what I was going through at this point, so devastating was the pain and my numerous injuries. Unbelievably, she climbed up out of the pool, still laughing with glee at the carnage she was creating and did another butt-drop onto my abdomen. More vomit and more blood exploded from my mouth, this time drenching her from head down to her waist. She seemed to revel in it, with that wicked smile on her face, and the majority of my body fluids coating her upper body.

Then she got up, jerked me around the other direction by my good arm, and with some kind of indiscernible war cry, put it between her legs and again jumped off into the water. My other arm now snapped like kindling, breaking in a clean separation at the elbow. I was aware of intense screaming, but I don’t think I really was. I couldn’t possibly have been breathing at that point. Well, there’s no point in continuing the blow-by-blow account here. I don’t remember anything after this point anyway. But Jeri actually did finish the job. She continued on with each of my legs, apparently lying me down on my stomach, and jumping into the pool in order to break each leg in half at the knees, forcing them with all her weight in the opposite direction of the workings of the joint. Next, she followed suit where the legs join to the hip bone, snapping those joints completely as well as causing extensive damage to the hip itself.

To this day, I don’t know how I survived Jeri's torturous onslaught. I woke up in a hospital bed where I remained in traction for two months as doctors tried to reset my bones. The doctors said I was found beneath a tree in downtown Palm Springs placed there like a human stump with my demolished limbs tied in grotesque fashion behind my back. They say it's a miracle I survived. I often wish I hadn't. Life is very difficult for me since that dreadful, fateful afternoon. I have a hard time getting around these days, but maybe it’s for the best. At least I won’t be tempted to accept any more strange invitations to spend afternoons in the service of wicked women with torture on their minds.

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

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

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part V

-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.

Stay Tuned For PART VI.