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: 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.

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part IV

Just then, Hunky Boy returned with Iris and Dr. Lanier. They had been outside trying to figure out what to do next when the human siren started up from inside. Hunky Boy launched into his most severe hysterics now and the dissonant duet began to gain in intensity, soon becoming a most disturbing cacophony. The thought entered Iris’s mind that this was the weeping and gnashing of teeth described by Jesus in the gospels when referring to Hell. The sight of her husband, naked, bloodied, crazed, and sprouting a chubby bigger than she knew he possessed, was more than she could handle. Now, she too burst into hysterics, and instinctively bolted at Misty, fists flailing, and expletives flying. As she fell upon Misty, the powerful goddess merely brushed her off like a gnat and instructed Hunky Boy to sit her down and keep her in line. The whole scene grew macabre now with three voices wailing horrifically and chaos becoming the order of the moment.

-One more little treat for ya, Oliver Boy, Misty said.

She snatched him by the hair, his wounds still bleeding rivers and the squeal actually seeming to rise to a higher pitch, dragged him into the middle of the floor, and dropped him there on his back. Hunky Boy was holding the squirming Iris down in a seated position on the sofa.

-Hunky, said Misty, make her watch now.

Then, standing over Oliver’s head again, Misty dropped down with all her considerable weight, her big ass crashing like an avalanche onto poor Ollie’s head. Oliver’s body kicked like an epileptic in full throttle as Misty sat firmly upon his face, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of Iris going psychotic as she looked on.

-Artie!, she screamed. Do something! She’s trying to kill him!

Artie Lanier did indeed make a move toward Misty, but as he reached her, now pretty much mental himself, Misty smiled at him devilishly and fondled her tits with her hands, pushing them up into a massive cleavage for Doc Lanier’s benefit.

Frozen in his tracks, Lanier reached down toward her, his first impulse that of trying to pull her off of Ollie, only to then retract his hands as he fell to his knees before her, his mouth a barren desert, his breathing heavy and erratic.

-Artie!, Misty exclaimed. Nice to have you on board! If ya can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, eh Artie?

The reward for Lanier’s submission was a brutal open-hand slap across the face that left fiery red imprints of Misty’s fingers on his cheek.

Artie! Cried Iris, horrified.

-You’ve been a big disappointment to me, Misty said to Artie. You’ve stood there, as disrespectful to me as a man could be, as if you actually had to think about whether you REALLY wanted me or not. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shame on you Artie. We’ll have to think of some way for you to make it up to me, won’t we?

-Yes, we will.

Another massive slap across his face.

-Owww! Artie cried.

-Another faggot with no manners! How ‘bout a Yes, Ma’am? Were you raised in a fucking barn?

-Yes, Ma’am, Artie stammered, I mean, No, ma’am.

-Idiot. Take off your goddamn clothes. All of them, right now.

-Yes, ma’am.

-Artie! Oliver! Iris could certainly scream some bloody murder.

She kicked and writhed, slapped and punched at Hunky Boy until it was obvious he wasn’t going to restrain her without resorting to some sort of corporeal enforcement. Misty looked at Iris, becoming quite impatient with her carrying on.

-Bitch, you’re beginning to annoy me, Misty said, and you gotta believe me when I say this; you totally DON’T want to annoy me!

-Fuck you, you piece of shit whore! Iris cried. This is all your fault! I’ll kill you, goddammit! I’ll kill you! Let go of me goddammit!

Hunky Boy held her tightly, but Misty knew that something had to be done. While Artie was shedding his clothing and Oliver beginning to kick a little harder as his muffled groans became more audible under the smothering press of Misty’s ass, Misty stood up over Ollie and dropped her big knee into the center of his throat with her full weight. Bouncing right up off of him, she watched him go rolling and writhing wildly across the room, clutching at his throat, and gasping for air. Iris descended into full-on hysteria. Then turning to Iris, Misty took her by the hair and jerked her up from Hunky Boy’s grasp.

--I’ve had it with you, bitch, she said between barred teeth. You are really beginning to bring me down!

Iris was already swinging wildly at Misty, her hysteria intensifying with each rapid breath. Misty reared back and sucker-punched her squarely on the nose, dropping her like an anvil. Then, pulling her halfway to her feet by her hair, she slammed a bone-crunching thigh lift into Iris’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her and sending her crashing down on her face like a rag doll. Misty noticed Artie looking over at her, a look of infinite sadness on his face. Oliver continued to gyrate around the living room area making desperate choking sounds, much to Misty’s delight. She kicked Iris over onto her back so as to have her lying face-up, and just as she had with Ollie, she dropped her fat, gorgeous ass down on Iris’s head with the force of a Mack Truck. Now Iris’s body convulsed uncontrollably as Misty sat atop her face, grinning sardonically. She is the Devil Incarnate. Hunky Boy, amped up from the ruckus, began to howl, and dared ask his wife as contritely as possible;

--Are you gonna kill ‘er, My Love? Are you gonna smother her?

He was practically salivating at the prospect. Misty looked at him, and for the first time this evening gave him a knowing smile.

--I should, but no, Bitch-Boy, I'm not gonna kill her.  Not now, at any rate.  I have more to show her later on...MUCH more.

Misty rose up from Iris' thrashing body with a look of ghoulish satisfaction upon her face.  She instructed Hunky Boy to find something with which to tie her up and gag her.  He ran off as though shot out of a cannon at her command.  Returning with some packing tape he found in a kitchen drawer, Hunky secured her hands firmly behind her, bound her ankles together, and placed a large strip across her mouth.  Misty, who had returned to her side-show atrocities, looked on from the living room.

--Much better, Misty smiled. That bitch was really pissing me off.

She then clasped both hands firmly around the naked Artie’s face, still wearing its stunned expression, and gave him the kiss of his life. As her tongue explored the interior of his mouth, he surrendered completely to her and, clutching her body in delirium, slid down in front of her onto his knees. He was just beginning to break into tears when he felt the jack-hammer slam of Misty’s knee into his face, which sent him reeling in painful somersaults across the living room. Meanwhile, Oliver was just starting to slow down from his frantic top-spinning ‘round the room, and as he came to rest, Misty greeted him with further punishment. She pulled his face up between her thighs and again dropped to the floor with an full-weight atomic butt-drop on Ollie’s head.  The cranial shock from this incomprehensibly devastating maneuver scrambled the poor chap's brains into mush once and for all.  A concussion for the ages.  Misty's sexy, witch-like laughter reverberated eerily around the room.

Oliver can’t breathe, and he is squirming mightily now against the press of Misty’s exquisite fat ass, which has him pinned inextricably against the floor. At the same time Misty looks over at the moribund figure of Artie Lanier, now kneeling, naked, his prick extending in sections, telescopic, until it reaches maximum density at which point it most resembles an Olympic diving board.

-Ahh, poor Artie, Misty says. Perfect racket, and no one’s on the court to test it for you with a couple of volleys. Mmmm. Well, we’ll have to do something about that.

She lifted up slightly off of Ollie’s head, which caused him to gasp wildly for breath. The last big ass-drop onto his face had broken his nose, too, and the blood was far denser than it appeared at last sight. The big-ass God-Queen was indeed making quite a splash in the world of ordinary mortal affairs.

-Oliver Boy, she said, if I ask you to do something for me, something REALLY important, would you do it for me? You would, wouldn’t you?

-Y-Yes-s, Ma’am. Y-Yes-s, I-I would.  Nearly incoherent gurgling. 

He lay in an intense pool of deep red blood at this point, and as a result of the hold she’d put on him, didn’t fully realize it.

-Good, she said. I want you to go into the kitchen and make me a boilermaker, OK? Can dumb-shit be TRUSTED to take care of that for Mommy while I tend to a very needy Arthur Lanier here?

-Yes, Ma’am.(Gurgle, spew, & drool)

-Good. Then get your ugly balls in there and take care of it.

She turns back to Lanier.

-MMmm, Artie! Baby! Where ya been, Artie Baby? Look at this mother fucker! You got a goddamn slot machine handle growin'’outta your crotch, dude! You haven’t really been tested today, have you, meat? Well, it’s important to test for levels, you know. If there’s shit I can’t do with a guy, that I WANT to do with a guy, well, shit, might as well stay home, right?

-Oh, yes Ma’am.

-Ok, then. While Ollie’s getting my drink, I’m going to show you a little of what my own punishment is like. After that, you’ll be doing a lot of it on your own. So, stand up straight, and look me right in the eyes. No distraction. Right in my face, got it?

-Yes ma’am.

-Ok, here we go.



Artie did indeed look her right in the face as she placed her hands upon his shoulders and pulled a knee up from the center of the earth,  burying it into his stomach.

-Ackk! He hacked before crumpling straight to the ground from the power of the kick. Misty looked down upon him. He was close to throwing up, but his breath had definitely been fully expelled. He was in pain. Then, Misty lifted his sagging head up by the hair, just enough to get a perfect shot at his face.  She reared back and cold-cocked his ass with a brutal overhand right that totally cleaned Artie’s clock. He flipped over backwards and wound up in a fetal position, clutching at his gut, gasping desperately for air, and watching the pool of blood rise up beneath him as he lay there pumping it onto the carpet from mouth and nose, both split wide open from that power-packed punch. Hunky Boy, as if sensing a shift toward uncharted heights of delirium, began to wail a little higher as the bloodied Ollie limped precariously into the room, barely capable of keeping the drink held upright long enough to reach the Dictator, Misty. He managed to serve her, then gurgled something about could he have one, too.

-I need you to have something else first, Misty taunted . Then we'll see about that drink.

-Yes, Ma’am?

-It’s called Mommy’s Big Shot, and it goes just like this.

She slammed her massive thigh up with unprecedented power into the poor fucker’s mid-section, which doubled him over instantly, then sprung him back out straight as he proceeded to puke his guts out all over the floor.

-Aww, Oliver Boy. Whassa matter, hmmmm?  Cat got your tongue?  Well, so much for that drink, I guess.

He looked up from the ground at the most delicious, monstrous, powerfully perfect big, huge legs in the goddamn universe. They’d be the end of everything here before the night was over. He knew it now. Misty had it in her head to kill everyone. She had Hunky Boy light her another cigarette. She strutted haughtily around the fallen bodies of the two men, sipping her drink, smoking her cigarette, and flicking the ashes into their faces as they struggled against the ravages of Misty’s onslaught. The beating was beginning to take a severe toll on Oliver. That last heavy knee blow had ruptured something inside him, or so he perceived at any rate. He continued to vomit as Misty stood over him, watching gleefully.

-Mmm, nice texture, said Misty. Color’s not bad, either.

She pulled him up by his hair just high enough to repeat the powerful leg blow and blasted it again right into the old breadbasket. Oliver’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and instead of crying out, he merely squeaked, like a child’s air toy. He buckled instantly back to the floor from the force of the blow, and then, looking up sadly at Misty, ejected another huge stream of vomit, some of which splattered across her lower body, the remainder adding to the color collage being created from blood and puke on the white carpet. Hunky Boy howled like a rabid wolf and even Artie joined the chorus with an outburst of impassioned sobbing. Misty laughed insanely, seeming to relish the sight and feeling of the grotesque muck of body fluids and blood that dripped from her legs. It was hard to say where Oliver was at by this time. He was obviously badly hurt, gasping desperately for air as he choked on the vomit that continued to be launched up from his stomach.

With Oliver fully incapacitated, Misty turned her attention back to Lanier, who was just getting back to his feet after Misty’s wicked punch.  She embraced him sensuously, arms around his neck, and looked him in the eyes as the blood dripped from his face down unto his chest.

-Artie, my dear boy, she cooed, did I mention that I just LOVE a man with a nice bloody mouth, and sensuous thick lips? Hmmm?

-N-No, Ma’am, Artie mumbled, you didn’t.

-Well, it’s true. And your mouth is looking VERY SEXY.

She was within an inch of his lips.

-Mmmm, but I DO wish your lips were a little fatter. You know, like Mick Jagger’s. Even better, like Steven Tyler’s.

Artie trembled, wondering what was next. Swiftly, and with great force Misty slammed a vicious head butt right on target into Artie’s mouth. He fell back against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen area, then slumped forward onto his knees. Misty was right there, catching him by the head and immediately driving her big knee straight into his face, pummeling his mouth and lips even harder. Backing away a couple of steps, she watched as he collapsed forward flat onto his face on the floor, the blood splattering everywhere.

-Get up, she commanded, and I mean right now!

As he began trying to raise himself up, along with the blood he also spit out three of his front teeth, broken by the intensity of that knee blow.

-Oops, Misty laughed. My bad.  Looks like somebody's on liquid diet for a while.  Now, come on.  Up, up.  Don't keep Misty waiting.

He had no choice but to hold onto Misty’s body in pulling himself up, but managed to be standing wobbly before her in decent time. Again she looked into his eyes. That face, so sexy, so irresistible. Artie Lanier began to cry softly. Blood was gushing from his mouth, so much so that Misty was awash in it as well. She obviously loved it. She surveyed his face, his lips now splayed wide open, bleeding severely and quickly swelling.

-Mmmm, she purred. That’s more like it.

With that she caressed his face between her hands and kissed him. She stayed with it, spurred on by the blood flow, biting his lips hard as he alternately screamed in pain and moaned in ecstasy. All the while Oliver writhed on the floor, unable yet to speak. While Misty worked on Artie Lanier, the hideous, eerie sounds of Oliver’s involuntary squeaking filled the room as he watched the proceedings.

-Why, Artie, Misty chided, you’re some kisser! And I thought all you had to offer was money. Well, just goes to show you.

Her face smeared with his blood, she indulged herself one more time. As she finished kissing him this time, she bit down hard and sheared a section of his lip completely off. Artie screamed out in agony as he dropped to his knees clutching at his mouth. Misty sucked on the section of flesh momentarily, blood now dripping steadily from her face, and then spit it at him contemptuously. Oliver was just recovering from his intense heaving, and now lay balled up on the floor continuing to squeak repeatedly with an odd and painful moaning thrown in here and there. As Artie screamed out, Hunky Boy went into his most bizarre concatenations, as if singing harmony with the horrified and battered doctor. Misty’s Fun House had indeed become a surreal and morbid nightmare.

Stay Tuned for PART V. Blood-Curdling.

The Baddest Bitch In Town: Part III

Misty stood up, Oliver still seated on the floor, and taunted him with her ass, which was just barely concealed by the hem of her skirt. Oliver began to whimper a little louder, and as if on cue, Hunky Boy's whimpering ramped up just that much louder. Stereo cry-babies.

Misty looked down over her shoulder into Oliver's tear-filled eyes.

-Wanna kiss it, big boy?

Oliver was a mess. Of course, he wanted to kiss it. He wanted to die in its massive press. But what about Iris? What should he do about poor dear wifey, just down the hall, probably sobbing and definitely madder than a cornered badger by now? Worse than that, probably so hurt by all this. Where had his mind gone that the fact of her pain could not penetrate the fortress walls Misty had built up so solidly around his very soul? This was the end of everything, and he had no way of doing anything about it. As he sat there mumbling and whimpering, Misty turned on him; pissed. Without a word, she slapped him across the face so violently that he went down onto the floor on his back, still blubbering as he stretched out there before her. Misty stood right over him, looking down into his pathetic, red, tear-drenched face.

-I asked you a question, you fucking pig! And NOW I'd like to hear an explanation as to why you sit there, dumb as a fucking stump, and refuse to answer me?

Oliver looked up at the extraordinary vision that was Misty, standing over him with that over-sexed face of hers, the HOT just dripping off it, the big, solid body with the massive, gorgeous breasts popping out of her tight dress, and most of all, those indescribable, monolithic legs, rising up above him now like twin towers of destruction. All he could do was break even harder into uncontrollable tears. As he did, Hunky Boy also began crying harder. It was as if he were petrified to make any louder noises than those Misty was allowing her evening’s quarry. Realizing that he was basically a lost cause at the moment, Misty decided to take a more oblique approach to Oliver’s destruction.

-Look at you, she said. What a fucking disgrace. Big, important, hot-shot doctor, can’t even control his own mousy little wife, and has no idea what to do with the hottest fucking bitch he’ll ever lay eyes on when she’s RIGHT HERE WITH HIM in the goddamn flesh. Some big fucking deal you are. Well, Oliver boy, it’s like this; first, take those goddamn clothes off, and I mean within seconds! Bawl all you want, but get them off NOW!

Ollie looked up at her again, and the thought came to him that maybe salvation lay in her presence here after all. Let go of all that’s familiar, and go for your bliss! Yes, that suddenly sounded right. And since he was being forced to strip anyway, what difference did it make? He decided right then and there that he belonged to Misty. He would do whatever she required of him. With that realization, a strange smile came over his face, even as he continued to cry. He ripped at his formal clothing, slithered out of his coat, thrust his shoes from his feet in swift flicking motions, and pulled his pants down, his crying and whimpering morphing into a strange, haunting fit of laughter all the while. Misty, sensing that he was entering the Twilight Zone, decided to ratchet up the intensity; pushing him ever-harder. With a gleeful smile she squatted down straight above his face, pulling her dress up around her waist. As she locked into her position, she drove poor Ollie into a rather psychotic outburst. Looking up at her ass, covered only by a skimpy, see-through thong, he became hysterical, laughing, crying, utterly out of control.

-Shut your goddamn face! Misty exclaimed. You’re not following orders, you dick-brain! I said, get your fucking clothes off! NOW!

Ollie still had his shirt, his shorts, and his socks to go. In spite of his delirium, he knew ‘serious’ when he heard it. Meanwhile, Hunky Boy had started up, his own moaning and crying getting louder and more intrusive. It was quite the surreal scene having him sit there, basically mimicking Ollie, yet obviously going through his own personal hell watching his wife cuckold him before his very eyes. With his stern mistress monitoring his every move, Ollie quickly shed the rest of his clothing. Now, he lay there completely naked, but for his Rolex, with a hard-on the size of a 200 year-old fir tree throbbing intensely and oozing pre-cum in generous globs.

-Hmmm, Misty laughed, looks like someone hasn’t been laid in a while. Well, for being so obedient, I think you deserve a reward. I want you to exhale, and then, when I fart, right into your stupid face, I want you to inhale for all you’re worth. Don’t waste a single molecule! Got it?

-Thank you, Misty, the good doctor answered, still in that strange O-zone between laughter and tears.

Again with a laugh, Misty cut a huge, gassy fart right into Ollie’s face. As programmed, he inhaled deeply, sucking down every last nuance of her divine flatulence. When he had filled his lungs, Misty made him hold it, like taking a hit of weed. Upon that command, Hunky Boy broke into loud, unrestrained sobbing. His presence was becoming quite unsettling.

-That’s right, Misty laughed, looking down between her legs at Ollie’s face, hold it in, hold it in!

As he finally exhaled, Lanier and Wifey Iris emerged from the hallway, taken aback at the scene unfolding before them. In their already disoriented and traumatized conditions, what they now beheld sent them—wifey Iris in particular—into what can only be described as a state of shock. Iris tried to cry out, but the sounds stuck in her throat. Dr. Arthur Lanier managed a little better;

-O-Oliver! Jesus Christ!

That was Hunky Boy’s cue. With the tension so thick you climb into the sky upon it, his macabre baying intensified to a melodramatic wailing that cast an even more surreal aura over the proceedings.

-Ahh, look who’s back, said Misty, still crouched ominously over Ollie’s face. Oliver boy, show little wifey how much fun you’re having, hmmm? Take that cattle prod you’ve got growing between your legs and jack it off for her. Don’t worry, I won’t let you cum yet. But keep your eyes focused on my ass. You do love Misty’s ass, don’t you?

Oliver’s attempted reply was nothing more than incoherent, hysterical gibberish as he snatched a hold of his burning cock.

-I didn’t get that, Oliver boy, Misty chided.

-Y-y-yesss, Ma'aaaaam! He wailed.

-I thought so. You know, ‘Artie,’ I really wish you’d consider joining in all the fun. I’m sure your whole mood would change in the space of a moment!

Misty’s laugh was again so sinister, so demonic.

-And poor Iris, it’s all been such a shock to you. You could sit there with my husband and enjoy the show. You two could be of great comfort to each other. Wouldn’t you love to have wifey Iris sit with you, Hunky Boy? Someone to hold your hand? Feel what you feel?

Hunky Boy completely lost control at the question.

-Oh, yes ma’am, he cried. Yes, ma’am! Please make her sit with me! Please!

Just then Misty farted loudly into Ollie’s face again and broke into laughter.

-Uhh-ohh, she said, that one slipped out! Hurry, Oliver boy, hurry! Make sure you sniff up every bit of it!

As Ollie, now jacking himself off ferociously, began inhaling wildly, Iris finally broke. She burst into hysterics and bolted out the front door. Out of her incoherent shrieks came the occasional lucid cries of ‘Oliver, My God! Oh, Oliver!’

Completely freaked by the intensity of the moment, Lanier stood there frozen, unable to decide whether to go after Iris, to rip off his clothes and join in the depravity at hand, or to simply run to his car and get the hell out of there. As he stood dumbstruck, Misty stood up above Ollie and pulled her tight tube dress up over her head and off. Now she stood before the three in all her glory, her fat, gorgeous body adorned only in intensely hot nothings of black lingerie. Hunky Boy cried out again at the spectacle of his fabulous wife, dominating 3 men at once, and ripping his soul to shreds with her phenomenal body and her contemptuous disregard for him.

Misty commanded Ollie to stop jerking before he came, and then walked over in front of Hunky Boy, turned her ass to him, and holding his head firmly in place, let loose with another blast of gas right into his face.

-Breathe! She shouted.

As Hunky Boy sucked the fart down in what can only be described as jubilation, Misty turned to face him and, still holding his head in place by the hair, reached back and slapped him across the face with the force of an atomic blast. He shrieked loudly before breaking into a tearful litany of submissive accolades.

-Thank you, ma’am, thank you! I deserve your wrath! Please don’t give up on me!

-Give up on you? You fucking moron, I gave up on you long ago. I have no interest in teaching you anything. You’re a fucking toy, get it? And a pathetic one at that!

Misty then spit in Hunky Boy’s face with brazen contempt, for which he nonetheless continued to give thanks loudly.

Staying right in step, as if performing a finely choreographed routine, she cozied up to Lanier and before he even had time to react, planted a huge, ultra-sensual kiss on his lips and then, perfect sex kitten, purred irresistibly into his face, all raunchy bourbon and cigarettes; and ALL WOMAN.

-Take your clothes off, asshole, Misty demanded, and go sit on the couch.

Lanier almost broke, but instead darted out the front door after Iris. Misty smiled and turned her attention back to the still prone Oliver boy.

-All right, faggot, she said, get your ass up. Get up onto your knees.

As he was moving into position, Misty drained the rest of her drink, and then came back to stand before Ollie, her powerful thighs directly in front of his quivering face.

-Read ‘em and weep, Oliver Boy, she said. What do you think, hmmm? These gorgeous legs, or wifey’s? Which do you want?

-Oh, g-god, he stammered, yours! Only yours!

Misty snatched him by the hair and punched him hard in the face, bloodying his nose.

-Where are your FUCKING manners, douche-bag? You can at least do as well as Hunky Boy over there! It’s MA’AM, asshole! Yours, MA’AM! Now you try it.

-I’m sorry Ma’am. I want your legs, Ma’am. Pleeeease, Ma’am!

-You see? Now that wasn’t so fucking hard. You wanna kiss my thigh? Way up high here at the juiciest, fattest part? And if you do, I want you to pant like a fucking dog and beg. Now, do you?

Oliver boy immediately stuck out his tongue and began to pant vigorously. Then, he alternated between puppy dog begging and human begging.

-(Whimper, whimper) Oh, please, Ma’am, please let me kiss your lovely thigh. Please, Ma’am!

Misty stood over his pathetic figure, contemplating her decision.

-No deal, she finally said. But I’ll give you the nose.

She grabbed him again by the hair and forced his face into the fat flesh of her upper thigh, more or less rubbing his nose there. She pulled him away as quickly as she had brought him to contact. For Ollie, it was a millisecond in heaven. Or Hell, according to taste. When she pulled him back, he came unglued, crying out in loud screams, and yelling ‘Oh no, no! Please, no!

Still holding him by the hair and getting quite a chuckle out of his outburst, Misty reared back with that leg and brought it forward with a vengeance, slamming her powerful thigh into Ollie’s face and knocking him for a double somersault across the living room, and up against the brick wall next to the fireplace.

-Better shut your trap, dick-for-brains, she said. In my presence, you will stay under control. And I warn you, Oliver Boy, don’t fucking test me again!

Hunky Boy started wailing louder.

-Go to the front door, Hunky, Misty said. See what the hell’s going on out there. See if wifey and Doctor Dufus have left or what.

-Yes, ma’am, Hunky cried, rushing to the door in obedience.

Misty stood over Ollie’s fallen body, watching now as he bled profusely from the nose and mouth. His cock was still an oaken wonder.

-All right, pig, she said, let me ask you another question. Do you think that such behavior as this is going to make me want to grant you privileges, or punish you harder? You may answer now, please.

-Oh, shit, that hurts, he groaned, holding his face. It’ll make you want to punish me, ma’am.

-Very good! So why’d you do it?

-I-I, because I’m a stupid shit! I’m so sorry, Ma’am!

Oliver Boy was crying real tears now. He was hurt.

-That’s right, pig-man, you’re a fucking dumb-shit. I didn’t think you could get to be a doctor being that fuckin’ stupid. You must’ve cheated on your tests.

She held her glorious, massive thigh again directly in front of his face.

-I’m not as heartless as you think, you know, so, I’m going to give you one more chance. Now go ahead. One nice, sloppy kiss. Right on my upper thigh.

Ollie dug in ravenously and kissed her thigh. In the process he smeared a good deal of blood on her leg, which actually seemed to excite her considerably. But it was far too much for him. As he pulled away, he looked at her body with the most far-away look of astonishment and his body began to quake. His mouth was wide open as if to scream, but nothing was coming out. A perfect Francis Bacon portrait if there ever was one. Misty looked down at him, ready to burst out laughing at whatever was coming. He spit out some more blood as he sat slouched against that brick wall, quivering wildly, until finally he began to emit a high-pitched squeal, like some bizarre high-frequency electronic feedback. Misty stared into his gyrating eyes, casual and curious, almost mirthfully watching him disintegrate. As the squeal intensified, Misty laughed harder and harder.

Stay Tuned for PART IV

Kali as White Destroyer

Rampant Destruction, Remorseless Violence. God's work. Revelation in action. The God-Queen speaks through her. Goes by Diane. Fatal mistake, he didn't know her. He saw her, but he couldn't recognize her. The end was slow, torturous, brutal. Her big body overpowered him easily, utterly unchallenged. Her mastery over him was so complete it was actually comical.
She wore nothing but a pair of lacy black panties and matching black patent leather high heels, and she was a vision of voluptuous perfection. What a woman! She must have weighed around 210 lbs., most of it legs, ass and huge breasts. She told him to go into the kitchen, light a burner, and stick his hand in the flame. He complied instantly. She just stood there next to him, laughing as the flame singed his skin well down into the flesh. He wouldn't dare remove it without her permission, so he just stood there screaming. Finally, instead of telling him to remove it, she just reared back and cold-cocked the poor fucker. I mean, laid him out with a roundhouse right. She is so strong, too. Her big arms and big body behind that punch knocked the living shit out of him. He goes down on the kitchen floor, nose bleeding badly and hand smoldering. The whole place reeked of burning flesh.

Then she pulled him up into a sitting position against the kitchen wall, and holding him in place by his hair, she hammered him with repeated knee and thigh bashes into his face, each powerful blow causing more blood to flow and more screams to go up. She finished off the flurry by thrusting her whole massive lower body into him, smashing his head into the wall with her powerful hips. He slumped over sideways, his body suffering violent paroxysms as she stood over him laughing and taunting him with severe verbal abuse. Those huge legs of hers smashing repeatedly into his face had caused extensive damage; crushed his nose completely flat, broken his jaw in 2 places, and knocked out his front teeth. The hip thrust had undoubtedly caused a concussion. Blood was pouring now as he spit first one and then another tooth out onto the floor. Unfazed at the nightmarish scene she was so handily orchestrating , she kept pushing the envelope.

-Get up!, she said. Are you gonna let a girl beat the fucking shit outta you like this? Get up, goddamn you!

Of course, there was already no hope of that. At the moment, all he could do was lie there writhing in mortal agony.

-Ignore me, will you? We'll see about that! Look up here, right now. Look at my fucking tits, asshole! If you get up here I'll let you suck on them. One minute on each one. Isn't that better than getting your ass kicked some more?

He managed to turn his head shakily as his body kept squirming and look up at her. Her breasts were huge, perfect torpedoes of the most sumptuous flesh, so beautifully shaped, so plump, so inviting. Looking into the bloody mess that was his face, Diane cracked up hard again, adding insult to injury with her insatiable propensity for humiliation. Unbelievably, his desire for her somehow enabled him to override the intense damage his head had been forced to endure. His hand still smoking, he continued to yelp as the violent throbbing persisted, but despite it all he miraculously tried to pull himself up, gripping first a drawer handle, and then the oven door handle to get almost as far as his knees. Diane continued to tease him mercilessly with those enormous tits, dangling them this way and that, just out of reach of his desperate, bloody lips.

Just as he finally got his feet underneath him and as the faintest hint of a grateful smile caught the corners of his lips, she laughed at him mockingly and drove him back against the wall, holding him firmly in place with her forearm jammed hard against his throat.

-Poor baby, she chided. Did Mama lie to her little baby?

With that she went back to work with her weapons of choice, her fabulous fat legs. She drove a big, powerhouse knee into his abdomen; not once, not twice, not thrice, but four devastating blows. On the fourth, she released him and he folded up like a wallet and crashed forward headfirst into the hard tile floor, throwing up violently as he went down. Those crushing leg blows had also completely robbed him of his breath. The combination of the vomiting spasms and the inability to breath caused him to make freakish squeaky gurgling sounds that were positively inhuman. Reaching down and jerking his pants down over his ass, Diane saw that his cock was fully extended, dribbling pre-cum in the throes of his agitated excitation.
-Yummy! she exulted.

She dropped down and began to give him the most exceptionally stimulating blow job he'd ever had in his life. The polarity of feelings within him was unbearable. Writhing, gasping desperately for breath, hand burning as though it were still in the fire, head crushed, jaw broken, nose broken and still spitting out teeth; in spite of all this his cock throbbed quickly to the point of explosion, and the expert sex Vixen, Diane, recognizing the moment, abruptly stopped, adding denial of orgasm to his long list of injuries. She laughed her sexy, witchy laugh at him, and as he lay there convulsing, she reached down into a cabinet and pulled out the largest pot she could find.

As she took it out, she swung it hard at him, bouncing a severe blow off his head with the heavy pot. Then, she filled it with water and put it on the stove to boil.

-You've got about 5 minutes, she said. 5 minutes to get your fucking breath back and be up to at least a kneeling position. And if you fuck this up, I promise I will fucking kill you and be done with it! You read me, you fucking slug!?

All he could do was twitch, bleed, and puke. Diane nonchalantly fixed herself a martini and relaxed at the nearby kitchen table with a cigarette. She crossed her outrageously hot legs, and dangled her glistening high heel playfully as she enjoyed her drink and smoke. The whole time her victim had been doing what her victims always did; writhe on the floor, bleed and make the most peculiar noises. It had gotten to be a habit with Diane to see how unusual the noises she could force out of them might be. Today, she cracked up at the squeaks and gurgling. But now, he was regaining his breath. That was all she needed in order to proceed.

She put out her cigarette and walked back over to the stove. The full pot of water was just reaching a boil.

-C'mon, she said. Get your ass up. Sit up, or I'm gonna make you wish you had never been born!

He couldn't quite make it on his own volition, but Diane aided the cause by jerking him into position by his hair. Breathing sketchily now, he was still in serious agony and as he looked up at her magnificent breasts hanging over him he started to cry.

-Shut up! she said, bitch-slapping him hard across the face.

There must've been one more loose tooth in there, as her slap caused him to spit it out. Bloody kernels littering the floor. Diane turned to the stove and the water was boiling furiously now. Ultra-scalding hot. She took two pot holders, and knowing that her subject would never be able to stand at this point, she told him to hold out his hands and take the pot from her. He appeared quite wobbly as he tried to follow orders.

-Take it, goddamn you! And if you drop it, it's over for you. I will fucking bury you in the yard if you don't do this right. Now take it by the pot holders and hang onto it, idiot!

He didn't know much at this point, but he knew Diane meant business. With all his remaining strength he held the pot of water, already sure of its purpose.

-That's it, moron, she said. Now, dump it over your head while I watch. And I mean every last drop of it!

Tears filled his eyes, blood and vomit drooled down his chin and taking one last look at those glorious tits, he followed her instructions. The scalding water washed down over his head and onto his body and there has never been screaming to equal this. He drops the empty pot to the floor and takes flight; rolling, spinning, flipping, flopping, freaking shaking, quaking and the whole time SCREAMING! Diane stood right over him, practically analyzing his agonized movements as she laughed and laughed. She laughed continually until she was in pain, and the whole time he never slowed down, gyrating around the floor like a spinning top; a severely bloody spinning top.

Diane fixed another drink and sat down with another cigarette, enjoying the spectacle of her creation. The whole time she continued to laugh and laugh at her victim's plight. His unspeakably frenzy lasted almost ten minutes before he finally came to rest heaving in desperation. Chuckling to herself, Diane tossed off the rest of her martini. She then walked over to him, laid down on top of him, dropped her massive breasts down over his mouth and nose, locked her arms behind his neck, pulled him in tight and finished the job.