And the story continues... Karma+ if you like it. Suggestions are welcome (although the girls seem to have a way of doing things that cannot be changed).
--
The red-headed sex-bomb looks me straight in the eye and grins evilly. With a confident strut she shows off her magnificently sculpted form to the men in the audience -- her full breasts beautifully dominating her upper body are the center of all male attention. Like a predator carefully inspecting her prey before the attack the voluptuous beauty approaches me. Slowly. Menacingly. I have to let her come intimidatingly close -- the stage is too small to back away. I see every muscle rippling in jaw-dropping development; her skimpy outfit hides nothing of her hulking body. Her stacked physique dwarfs me. It humiliates me. As a token of her total superiority -- and super-flexibility -- she slowly lifts one of her sleek, hyper-muscular legs and curls her calf around my neck, leaving her high-heeled stiletto sticking out dramatically behind my head. I gulp in terror. I want to get down on my knees and kneel in worship before this dominant muscle goddess...
- Did I give you permission to talk?
Her fingers grab my chin, making me look her straight in the eyes. Her beefy biceps bulge with female power.
- When a woman speaks, men shut up and listen. When a woman orders you to do something, you comply. When someone from management is present in a room, you submit in awe and veneration and you crawl in fear. And you praise yourself happy to be alive. Remember this and your professional life may become fun. Ignore this and you'll end up in facilities that make hell look like an amusement park.
I quiver. And swallow hard. She slyly smiles, knowing that her sleek body turns me on. She simply senses my arousal. I steal a glance at her super-shapely, deeply tanned legs that combine a seductive smoothness with an unbelievable level of muscular definition and notice the striations of her massive quads, rippling and exploding with every flex, with every movement of her body, however slight. Thick veins cover her legs, forming a seductive web of blood vessels giving the layer upon layer of unbelievably thick and pumped-up muscle mass that intimidating look.
- I am built like a beast. No man comes even close to this level of muscular development.
She is indeed staggering. I feel sorry for the tiny piece of garment covering her obviously shaven pussy as it is surrounded by vascular, hypertrophied slabs of female power-meat. And by the looks of it: she is wet. She is dripping wet! Whether it is the oil her flesh is dripping with or whether it is her own juices I don't know, but her thong is drenched. I am in awe. Mesmerized. A crooked grin crosses her lips. A mischievous twinkle lights her gorgeous grayish green eyes.
- I am not only built like a beast. I also fuck like one.
Her words slowly seep in, nestling themselves in my over-stimulated brain, building up my desire, tickling my fancy. You would think such women only feature in comic books or in your wettest dreams, but here she is. My fantasy has come to life, having one of her lethal legs around my shoulder, owning me.
- Few men are able to handle my beast mode and I am sure you can guess why.
This sultry red-head's body packs more muscle than the entire stage of the Mr. Olympia together and yet it retains that ultra-feminine, hourglass figure outlook. I am in love. Again. I have to fight an erection. Actually, I have to gather all my willpower not to get a raging hard-on. Sure I can guess why and I feel the hairs rising in my neck when I try to stop imagining how this muscle babe probably fucks men to death, splintering their pelvis, crushing their cock, breaking them in or ripping them apart. I cannot stop the images of torture from passing in front of my brain's imaginary eye. But quickly my gaze is drawn again to the bulging miracles of muscular perfection in front of me. To the gracious curves, shiny with oil, erotically glistening, giving this gorgeous bodybuilder the stature of muscle goddess.
- Now that you have finished staging your little show here, it's time to make yourself useful.
A slight push of her calf in my neck forces my face into the slopes of her massive breasts and my hands involuntarily touch her thick neck and broad shoulders for support. The delicious softness of her boobs, her flesh all oiled and slippery, sharply contrasts with what my hands encounter: steel-hard delts and traps, every ridge and striation palpable, every muscle developed to absolute anatomic perfection! I gasp as my arousal rockets sky-high. Her stunning looks and dominant demeanor drive me nuts and I cannot do anything else than to give in to the tsunami of sexual excitement she causes. I am past the point of caring about the situation or about the effects my reaction may imply. I just let my body respond to her overwhelmingly sexual presence. A broad smile crosses her lips, knowing I was doomed from the start. I am not prepared for the pain the device around my cock will generate. And I know it will come. The pain. She knows too. The sadistic smirk shows how much she enjoys the anticipation of my agony. And how it comes! I am attacked by a sudden, sharp and ultra-painful jolt which starts off from my testicles but soon overwhelms my whole body. It hurts so much I lose all control over my bodily functions and drop on the ground, shuddering, trembling like a maniac, spasming in total agony. I think I can hear Karen roar with laughter. There is also some giggling and laughing from the audience.
- Oops, how could I know Aletta caged you already? Hahaha!
It is like the pain goes on for ever. My erection has long gone, withered with the shock. Suddenly the pain stops, but my nervous system keeps me on edge, my heart beating like crazy, I am panting heavily, my body tense and shaky. I see Karen performing a powerful standing layout back-flip propelling her dream-body high up in the air and landing gracefully on her impossible high-heels, almost next to Aletta, covering over fifteen yards! It is a dazzling display of pure muscle power and top-level gymnastics.
- Are you that bad, Aletta?
- No, I am not. I am worse -- you know that!
I hear them laughing. I get up and try to regain my composure.
- Make yourself useful, Henry, and get us some champagne.
I get the waiters over to serve the Veuve Cliquot Rosé I ordered. I notice that all waiters haste themselves to serve the women first and there seems to be some kind of order, with the most muscular women getting a real VIP-treatment. Men are served but only when no woman is in need of a re-fill or anything else. Karen and Aletta are the center of things. Aletta winks me to join them.
- You've done well, M. Rosenberg. No man can resist Karen. Or me for that matter.
And she draws her hand out of the trousers of the man, who looks relieved. Her long-nailed fingers are soaked with cum.
- Clean your fucking filth from my hand. Lick.
The tone in her voice is so commanding, so dominant. He starts licking like crazy.
- He is ready for you, Karen. I lost count of how many times I made him cum. He shouldn't be shooting his load too soon... That's for sure!
- I hope so. I hate it when they cum too early. And he is big?
Aletta nods.
- He is fucking huge.
Without any inhibition or respect for the intimidated man, Karen simply rips off his trousers, revealing his huge member which is sticky with semen. She delicately, almost tenderly, moves her index finger along the entire length of his semi-erect shaft, admiring its size, obviously happy with its monstrous girth and length even when not fully erect. I cannot help but think how easily these experienced fingers change from brutal instruments of cruel torture into ultra-talented devices of sexual bliss. Just looking at how delicately Karen manipulates his cock reveals how talented she must be in arousing men. I get excited just looking at it...
- Mmm, he is indeed huge. Thanks, Aletta! I owe you. Come, baby, let's play! I want to feel your fucking rod inside me.
The man nods dumbly as Karen grabs his trembling hand in her iron grip and takes him with her. He throws one last look over his shoulder, meeting my gaze, his eyes showing nothing but unfiltered fear, wide in terror. When they have gone I look inquiringly into Aletta's eyes.
... Is she ... him uhm ... going to ... ... ?
- O yeah, she is going to fuck him.
- ... O God.
- Oh yeah, God will be involved: she will fuck him to death. Well, it may take a while before death will come as a relief, but we won't see him again. She is evil. Utterly evil. Stay away from her. Or from anyone from management. I know it is hard to grasp but some girls from management are even worse than Karen.
I gulp in amazement, distracted by the striations quivering in Aletta's shoulders through the form-hugging latex catsuit; by her ballooning biceps and perfectly horseshoe-shaped triceps ridiculously stretching her sleeve as she slowly moves her glass to her mouth and back again.
- I think one thing is clear. Obey our orders and you will survive. Strict obedience is the key to success. And I kinda like you, M. Rosenberg. You are clever, witty, resourceful. And what you lack in size down there, you make up for in enthusiasm. I like that. Let's move over to your office. You can oil my boobs and I can take away some of the tension that has been building up in your groin.
I cannot believe my ears. Oil her tits? And then have sex? With this stunning beauty? After what happened just before this meeting I am anxious to get excited about the prospect.
- I'll also inform you what I expect from you as chief legal affairs. Don't tell me you do not crave to oil my tits...
- O Aletta, please. I would love to do that. There is nothing in the world I would like to do more than worship that gorgeous physique of yours! But...
Suddenly our conversation is interrupted by two buxom blondes -- obviously hardcore bodybuilders considering their ultra-developed muscle mass dwarfing everyone around them except for Aletta -- both wearing these exceptionally high-heeled, knee-high kinky platform boots, together with black leather hot-pants and a tight-fitting high-neck sleeveless crop top, showing an awful amount of flesh and having a hard time containing their over-sized, gravity-defying breasts. My face is level with their protruding tits and I must say that the side-boob-view is absolutely stunning, as is the development of their sculpted eight-pack abs, the soft flesh of their tits beautifully contrasting with the chiseled steel of their insane abdominal armor plate, deep ridges separating each swollen and highly defined cobble. They are the living proof that out-of-this-world muscularity and sizzling femininity go hand in hand -- these blondes simply look spectacular!
- M. Rosenberg. We hold you responsible for keeping this place cleaned. The soles of our boots are filthy. Clean them. Crawl and lick.
I look in disbelief at how one of them smooths her crop top over the curves of her melon-sized tits, obviously meant to emphasize not only the size of her boobs, but also the sheer development of her ultra-pumped biceps which explode with muscular movement. What do I do? How do you react to such an order? I look at Aletta and her words still echo in my head. Obey orders and survive. Obedience equals success.
- Nice to meet you. Nice boots too. I'll have your boots cleaned, no problem, ladies! They look good on you, by the way.
- Don't try to sweet talk me, you fucking loser. Of course they look good on me. Or do you often meet such gorgeous muscle chicks like me wearing these kinky dominatrix boots, huh?
The tone in her voice changes from mildly playful to ultra-aggressive. I can see the muscles tense in her outrageous arms -- her carved biceps ripple with power, her massive forearms are thicker than my thighs.
- Look, Natalya, how he enjoys the view...
My eyes indeed eagerly explore the deliciously curvy contours of her muscle-packed body. Everything about her is gorgeous: a gym beast gone porn-star; a supermodel gone bodybuilder; a woman gone goddess.
- Well Kass, they all do, until we show them what we use these muscles for.
- Yeah, you sure did show them this morning. Fuck, Natalya, you are evil!
And suddenly Kass's long sleek leg lashes out, driving the sharp tip of her booted foot into the soft spot just below my rib-cage in the kidney area. The impact of her kick is brutal. The pain is sharp and sudden. It totally overwhelms me -- I collapse. In agony I feel myself falling on the floor, but a strong hand grabs me by the neck and prevents me from dropping on the ground. The blonde fury attacks me again, this time she drives her knee with brutal force into my other side. I go berserk with pain, spasming like crazy, unable to deal with such excruciating pain. This time she allows me to go down on the floor, where I start shaking uncontrollably, trying to cope with wave after wave of the most agonizing pain I have ever experienced.
- Stupid dog! Men crawl for me. They would sell their wife to have me notice them. They would pay a year's wage for me to fuck them, but I don't fuck. I rape. I take men by force. I humiliate them. I destroy them. And I love it. So, what is it you don't understand about "crawl and lick", huh?
I am completely broken physically. Pain, fear, and desperation make me start to cry. Softly sobbing at first, but then tears start to flow freely.
- Look Natalya. It cries. It cries like a fucking baby.
- Mmm. I prefer men to spill other fluids.
- Hahaha, Natalya. I like your Russian sense of humor.
I feel myself being brutally lifted into the air by a hand grabbing my hair, while another hand expertly fumbles my crotch. I wail in pain. My hands encounter the glorious mounds of Natalya's protruding firm chest and the rock-hard cobbles of her sculpted abs.
- It's caged. Hahaha! Love it! ... Aletta?
A telling smirk crosses Aletta's lips.
- Don't be too harsh on him, Natalya. I still need him.
- Harsh? Nothing a good doctor cannot fix. Now, lick the soles of our boots, useless worm!
And then she hits me in the face. Hard. Probably breaking my nose, I think because I hear a terrible crack inside my head, like the cracking sound is amplified, and find myself bleeding profusely from my nose. Yet, I do as I am ordered: I crawl over to them and start licking the soles of their boots. It is humiliating. I look up and I see them grin in pleasure, a twinkle all too obvious in their beautiful blue eyes.
- That's a good boy. Usually we attach crybabies to the wheel and club them to death. Takes hours before they die.
As I begin to clean the sole of Kass's boot, she pushes the impossibly long stiletto high-heel into my mouth and throat -- it must be 8 or 10 inches at least. I start gagging, much to their amusement. When the other blonde grabs my hair again and brutally forces my mouth over the heel keeping it deep down my throat, making me gag continuously, nearly suffocating me, Aletta intervenes.
- Not now. Not here. Please Kass. Natalya. He's new. Let him go. Don't let it get out of hand... There is a code 4 on my desk. And a code 2. Both urgent. Will you go?
- A code 4? Jeez, it's been a while. Sure, we're off. Consider it done. Jeez, Aletta. Looks like you have a little crush on the boss... Hehe. Thanks for your help, M. Rosenberg. It was so nice to meet you. Treat her nice.
And off they go, the two blondes. Everything hurts. Aletta gets me back on my feet, my legs still shaky.
- ... Thanks, Aletta! ...
- You're welcome M. Rosenberg. ... Natalya and Kass are very dangerous women. They are two of our best enforcers here at the department. Collecting money from those who owe us big time. Setting examples. Creating fear and panic. When you are on their list, you are in for quite a ride... They not only torture and kill for a living. For them, it is a form of art, combining skill and inspiration. It is fun. And I can assure you: their art is little appreciated by the men at the receiving end.
I gulp in terror, relieved that they are gone and I am still here to tell. Torture as a form of art. I cannot help but wonder how such exceptional beauties can be so cruel...
- Several hundreds of them.
- Sorry? ... O God ... With over a hundred murders they could get 30 times life sentence. They certainly need a good lawyer.
My clumsy way of using humor to alleviate the tension fails to impress Aletta.
- I am talking per day here, M. Rosenberg. Several hundred per day! I guess each is responsible for the brutal death of over a 100,000 men!
I let the number seep in. It makes me dizzy. Aletta notices my amazement.
- Yeah, they are beasts, M. Rosenberg. And it is hard to stop a woman who is built like a fucking truck. As you could see, bodybuilding has transformed these athletic beauties into ultra-muscular and unstoppable killing machines. Their ultra-sadistic appetites never cease to amaze. You will find out anyway, so I may as well tell you now, M. Rosenberg. They keep men in a huge facility to perfect their interrogation and torture skills. Thousands of men are imprisoned there in inhuman and degrading conditions. No food, little water, locked up with too many in these small cages. They rule the place like tyrants, having installed a reign of terror where two strict rules are enforced with unbridled cruelty. An erection is obligatory at all times in their presence. Touching genitals and having an orgasm are forbidden. Violating the rules means death by torture.
I remain silent and try to compose myself. This is crazy. All too crazy...
- Now, what about this oil?
--
When I arrive at William's apartment just before half past eight, my heart beats in my throat. I am that nervous. The proceedings of the day have obviously left their mark. All these gorgeous muscle women. Their arrogance. Their provocative attitude. Their dominance. And then Aletta! My God. When she released my caged penis I was so happy. She must have milked me more than ten times! She was insatiable. So talented and playful. So sexy. She degraded my previous sexual encounters to bad sex. I get excited just thinking about it, but then again I should not get too aroused. Aletta caged my penis again. As I hear the doorbell ringing, the front door immediately opens, but it is not William who lets me in. It is Steve, one of the colleagues from work.
- Steve is it, right?
- Indeed! How clever of you, M. Rosenberg, to remember my name. Come on in. William could not make it tonight: he is still at the office with some unfinished business.