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.

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