★Memorable Author: [Seldom = seldomlasts] Stories~collected

[Seldom]

 ^-^

Stories in this collection:

Musclegoddess Slaughter

Before He Cheats

Delivery Boy

Sonja the Barbarian

Executive Recruitment

Girl Up the Street

Birth of a Goddess

Revenge for Hire

Climbers



MUSCLEGODDESS SLAUGHTER
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
Adapted from Pounder (Musclegod Slaughter) from the Snufflovers' website.

Christina's lifted seriously since she was about fifteen, which by now makes
seven solid years of iron-pumping.  In high school, she excelled in wrestling,
swimming, and boxing, all sports that require compact proportions, superior
endurance, and physical strength.  Weight training was a natural extension of
her athletic pursuits. As she graduated from high school, she had already grown
to 6'8" and 320 pounds, ripped like only a seventeen-year-old jock could
possibly be.

She was a monster, even at that relatively young age, and grown from bossing
around her peers.  There was no challenge in it after age 15 because teenagers
were no physical match.  She liked dominating older men and women, beating down
full-grown men, because it gave her teenage ego a bigger rush. Her teachers or
coaches disciplined her at their peril when she stepped out of line, which she
naturally did.  Even the local deputies steered clear of her.  Who would risk
law enforcement against such a powerful, remorseless muscle bitch?

As a college senior, a still maturing young woman, she has grown even more
enormous, over 7'5" weighing well over five hundred rock-solid pounds.  The
girl benches 800 pounds for reps and 1000 on no special occasion, which was
kind of obvious from the way that thick pectoral muscle makes her shirts
stretch and strain.  She was always shredding clothes right off her body from
pumping her muscles and having them grow ever bigger. A good pump easily added
inches to her arms and chest.

Whenever she entered the university weight room there are three typical
reactions from guys already there.  First, the muscle-lover guys suck in their
breath and try to look away.  They begin to buzz like bees. She's real bait;
besides the epic body, she had a dynamite smile, smooth brown skin, thick dark
hair, and crackling brown eyes. Christina had beaten some brutally. She was
there to acquire more power, rarely for sex. But with Christina, there weren't
really any rules.  She did what she pleased.  If she felt like fucking a skull
or two (literally, she drew entire heads into her hungry pussy and used them as
dildos until they were crushed in the powerful contractions of her deadly
orgasms) she did.

Then there were the pencilnecks, the dilettantes, especially the shmoes who
pretended to lift, but just would hang out at the gym to catch a glimpse of
her. There were dorks and pussies who have no clue, the old men who do stupid
and dangerous moves to inflate their wilted egos, and the guys who are there
all of the time, never break a sweat, yet still wonder why they're not growing.

Even if the pencilnecks had no idea how to bodybuild, they know whenever
Christina came to the gym they were in an extremely dangerous presence, who for
no reason would rather easily blast them into oblivion.  They tremble and try
to become invisible.  They look down to pray they aren't noticed.  They shake
if she looks in their direction, and freeze with terror if she comes near.
Christina likes frightening these. Whenever she wanted to, Christina would
order everyone in the gym to drop to their knees and they always did.  When a
girl has developed as powerfully as Christina has, and is as punishing, you do
your best to stay out of her way. Remaining on your feet when she wants you on
your knees just makes you an easier target.

The third group of guys look up hopefully when Christina got to the gym.  There
were only a few of them, and they each hoped Christina picked them for a spot.
They all sought to lift with Christina, because those workouts built serious
muscle, and she rarely fucked them afterwards. When she did, though, the orgy
always ended in a gory limb-ripping, skull-crushing, back-snapping
slaughterfest as Christina crushed all her partners during her unstoppable
multiple orgasms.

Tim was from the Midwest and was smaller than his friend Jay.  He had been the
basketball team manager in high school.  He was well-liked because he was so
easygoing. He had an OK build, but he was only about five-one and a light
ninety-five. Tim had fooled around with weights a little in high school, but
had never stuck with it.  They had a workout room at the pool he used to go to.
Nothing major.

Jay was lighter-colored and lot more rangy.  He was almost five-three, but
weighed less than Tim. He wasn't tall enough to play basketball either, or
coordinated enough for other sports.  He really wanted to bulk up and was
excited when he took a chance and mentioned it to his new friend, who had also
thought of using freshman year to turn a new leaf on a life of high school
wimpiness.

Tim was ready, so they left.  When they were walking to the elevator, they
walked past two of the jocks on their floor.  They spoke inaudibly, but when
they broke into laughter, both were looking at Tim and Jay in their workout
gear.  They had not mentioned to anyone on their floor that they had been
working out, but they were not exactly filling out their tank tops.  The jocks
were pretty muscular, and Jay just knew they were laughing at him, Tim seemed
not to notice or care.  But Jay imagined the day when he was a muscle monster
and would come back to teach those two a lesson about respect.

Jay was a little nervous.  As the elevator came, and he got in with Tim, the
doors closed on the mocking laughs of the two jocks.  He was clearly a complete
beginner. There were some really big bodybuilders at the gym, with huge
muscles.  They had to know he was a total wimp, and they might somehow tell he
was a pussy. Any of them could beat the shit out of him, he knew it.  The guys
back in high school who had tormented him couldn't come close to the
muscularity of some of the dudes in that gym.

Whenever Jay closed his eyes, he pictured in his mind the kind of body he would
have if he spent a few years steadily weightlifting.  He saw himself as
gigantic, awesomely powerful, and merciless.  He imagined returning to high
school as a muscle man and beating up all the thugs who had ever picked on him.
In his dream, he was finally a six-footer, and he got to look down on all the
"little people," one of whom he used to be.  They would be blown away by his
huge biceps which he would flex all the time to show them off.  He would have a
ripped waistline with six-pack abs.  He would walk around all day without a
shirt and the chicks would fall at his feet and beg him to go out.

When Tim and Jay got to the gym, Jay decided he was really going to get strong
today, despite his sore arms.  "Bench press today, right Tim?"  He wanted to
get some energy going. Tim put a ten-pound plate on his side of the bar, and
waited for Jay to do his side.  It was only a warm-up set, but as Tim lay down
to set his grip, Jay took up his usual spotting position.

When Christina entered the gym, the usual hush circulated in the room.  It
always got quiet when she came in, especially if she had been having a long
cycle of awesome, mind-freaking, muscle-pumping, vein-popping, skin-shredding,
ass-kicking workouts. Christina was psyched because she'd had a lot lately.
She knew she looked like a monster, a comic book super-hero, and she loved it.
She really got off on the expressions of sheer terror her muscles got.
Especially when she used them.

Tall, broad-shouldered, really good-looking, still young, she possessed
incredible musculature.  Her frame was so big, with a ton of muscle on it, she
presented an eye-boggling, hallucinatory, image of brutal power.  Christina was
as dangerous as she looked. Typically she arrives at the gym pretty pumped,
because she walks around all day flexing!

Christina paused at the entrance and looked over her weight room.  It was
practically home, she knew it so well.  She had already decided to kick ass
today.  It was merely a matter of whether she was going to call a guy out, or
whether the dude would make himself a target. Those were the best ass-kickings.
That confused expression of 'why am I pinned to the ceiling?' or 'why is she
smashing my face in?' made delivering the treatment special for Christina.  She
was the kind of girl who loved to make dudes shit by grabbing the front of
their shirts, hoisting them up to granite pecs, and growling "What the fuck are
you looking at?!"

As she was looking around the room and pondering, Christina's eyes fell on a
really thin freshman spotting another puny-looking student.  It was Jay!  Their
eyes locked. Instead of spotting his friend Tim, Jay was looking at Christina,
and Jay kept looking as Christina began to stride in his direction, mesmerized
by the rippling, seven-foot-five mountain of muscle as it approached.
Christina saw her objective frozen with fear and thought, 'what a fuckin'
loser.'

When Christina was a few feet from Jay she stopped and stood there, guns pumped
and ready.  Some of the regular gym rats looked over from where they were doing
curls, saw how pumped Christina's thick pecs were and how corded her pythons
were and they knew what was up. Christina was a fucking monster when it came to
using her muscle! They'd seen Christina seriously fuck up dudes before. That
got them pretty excited and they prepared to watch the action. An empty zone
began to appear around Jay, Tim, and Christina as other guys working out nearby
scrambled out of the way.

"Holy shit! Look at Christina!  Man, is she pumped up or what?"  one says,
slapping his buddy's shoulder.  "Christina's gonna tear up those dudes!"

Christina looks down on Jay, who was about twenty-six inches shorter.  He was
supposed to be spotting Tim, but they were only benching 65 pounds!  What kind
of loser needs a spot on 65 pounds?! Both definitely deserve a whuppin' decided
Christina. She looked over at her boys with a helpless expression and thought,
gotta do what I gotta do. They had seen that look on her face before, Christina
was about to demonstrate why she inspired such fear.

Christina could hardly help herself.  It was just that when she saw such total
pencilnecks here in her temple, it made her feel like putting them out of their
misery.  They were so weak and frail she could crush both in her arms!  She
could smear them easily into the depths of her chest.  They were so subhuman it
was an obligation to humiliate these losers, to beat them, to destroy them
whenever she felt like it.  They were so pathetic it would almost be doing them
a favor, and her physical ability gave her the right to do whatever she pleased
anyway. She knew making a beating especially violent and brutal would terrorize
the whole crowd watching.

Christina takes the center of her tank-top and removes it from her torso,
ripping it. It only meagerly covered her massive torso anyway. The shreds fall
to the floor at her feet.  The sun-starved string-bean dude is looking right
through Christina with a glazed look in his eyes, not seeing anything but the
wall of dark-skinned muscle materializing in front of him.  Everyone in the gym
has withdrawn to a safe distance, watching Christina and these guys, afraid to
do anything or make any noise that would draw Christina's attention.  No one
truly comprehends what she is about to unleash.

Christina raises her hands and stretches her arms their whole length, at
shoulder height, inches from Jay's face.  She flexes her guns, without bending
her elbows, making her enormous arm muscles throb.  All the while, Christina is
smiling arrogantly at this loser Jay, who looks at the awesome muscle
slack-jawed.  Christina's arms are tremendous, getting bigger with every
pulse. The tubular veins in her biceps and triceps are engorged with blood.
After a moment, Christina is holding out arms like wings, pumped up to
incredible thickness.  Huge blood vessels wind around the skin of her massive
36" biceps.

One meaty python is suspended over the other little dude lying on the bench
press. Christina looks down at Tim, and says, "Get your ass up here,
motherfucker!"  Christina returns her attention to Jay, her fiery brown eyes
boring in on her prey's eyes.  If looks could kill, Jay's head would be a
cinder. "You think I'd let you die alone?" she asks.  Her voice has the tone of
a woman accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed.  It's rhetorical,
coming from a girl with mile-wide shoulders, pecs and the physical ability to
enforce any order.

Now Christina's ready to hit the double bicep pose and really show off the
arsenal. Time to let them glimpse the brutal future awaiting them. Slowly she
curls her fists toward her shoulders, rolling the muscle into knobs the size of
bowling balls. Christina's forearms are swollen with blood vessels.  Her
deltoids rise up on either side of her pretty smile, like an ocean wave, the
sinews in the mass clearly visible through her dark skin.  Its surface is
fractured by pulsating veins, and forms a second huge bulge alongside either
mighty biceps. She has huge triceps, sweeping low under her biceps, quivering
slightly with power, anticipating the moment they drive Christina's iron fists
into tissue and bones.  A huge, sweaty canyon opens underneath her arm, where
her beefy pectoral muscle hangs out and down.

In the double biceps pose Christina's shoulder cage looks unbelievably
powerful.  Along the upper portion of her torso, along her collar bone and into
both her arms, sits perhaps 200 pounds of solid, power-packed muscle.  Her
trunk tapers front and back, and side to side, ridged by a thick, gallopping
eight-pack of abdominal muscle in front, and razor-cut obliques on the side.
Her stomach is not merely ripped, it's unbelievably strong to support the
massive musculature up top.  Anyone facing the raw muscle power of the body
built razor-sharp the way Christina was had to comprehend they were facing
imminent, bloody, agonizing death.

[Seldom]

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Tim and Jay were now both standing up, facing this behemoth of a woman.  Tim
had gotten up from the bench on Christina's command. Tim's heart was pounding
as he complied with Christina's order to get up.  What the heck is going on? he
thought.  What did Jay do to piss off this girl?

When he was right-side up and could see the situation, he nearly threw up his
dinner. The biggest girl Tim had ever seen, a fucking real-life musclegoddess,
was standing in front of Jay, posing her guns!  Her chest was thrust up into
Jay's face, each of the bulky pectorals much, much bigger than Jay's face.  The
girl had no shirt, only skin-tight workout shorts.  She looked mean, angry, and
dangerous.  The expression showed she intended true brutality.

Tim had no idea what was going on, but his single thought when he looked at
Christina's massive thigh muscles bulging out of her shorts, and then the
mammoth upper body was 'We are about to have serious trouble.'

"What are you lookin' at, huh, man?" Christina growls at Jay.  She looks over
at her right biceps first, then her left, and forces the tall peaks slightly
higher as she takes a breath and bears down into the pose. The muscles in her
shoulders and chest pull up and the veins bulge with blood. She is smiling
proudly, looks Jay in the eyes, and through gritted teeth exhales and asks "You
into my arms, man?  Or you getting hard from the killer pecs? Awesome, ain't
they?"

No answer. Christina glares down on Jay, who is struck speechless. He sees
practically nothing but Christina's striated muscles because nothing else fits
in his field of vision!

Christina lets pumped arms return to ready position.  She steps forward forcing
Jay to stumble backwards and puts her chest muscle up against Jay's
face. "Yeah," she grunts.  Christina continues moving forward slowly, backing
Jay into the wall of the weight room.  Christina has wedged Jay's face into her
deep pectoral crevice, the skull pinned to the plaster.  Christina rises to her
full height and slides Jay's head upward until his feet dangle off the
ground. If Christina let the thought of it pass through her brain, her chest
would flex and the muscle would spray Jay's brains across the wall as she'd
done many times before.

"You want to lick these killer pecs, don't you, pussy?  I'll bet you're just
dyin' to."  She chuckled at the image, remembering the worshipping skulls she'd
crushed. "Go ahead!  You wanna' taste what real muscle sweat is like before you
die, right?  You've always wanted to so here's your last chance!"

Jay's head is caught between the deadly halves of Christina's chest. He can't
see. All he can hear is Christina's heart pumping strongly, the heat of the
blood nourishing the muscle in which he was trapped, making the flesh hot.  He
was shocked at his realization Christina was right. He had always wanted to
feel how hard killer muscle could be. He would bet the juice off Christina's
pumped muscle was exalted dew. He knew being slaughtered for wanting it that
bad was worth it. Jay opens his mouth and lets the tip of his tongue slowly
draw a trail along the dark, moist skin of Christina's mountainous pec. The
sweat tastes salty and then sweet as Christina grunts playfully into Jay's
ears, "I'm gonna rip your HEAD off."

Jay shudders with fear, anyone can see Christina is more than capable of
ripping his head right the fuck off his body.  The waiting dudes couldn't see
much of what was going on.  Christina's bulk blotted out their view.  But
still, it was clear Christina intended to obliterate both kids.  She was
fucking bigger than both of them put together!  One of the dudes jerked his
head toward the wall of muscle which was Christina's back. They were psyched
for the face-devastating combinations and bone-crunching holds they knew
Christina could employ.  "Those guys don't have a prayer!" he opined.

Christina's torso was glimmering from a slight sheen of perspiration.  Except
where she had forced to Jay to lick the sweat clean.

"I was just looking," Jay suddenly pleads in a small voice, "I didn't mean to
do anything."  Maybe if he immediately begged for his life this monster would
be appeased.  It had worked in high school.

Christina, of course, was having none of it.  She was aching to plow these two
pussies, and anticipated a good warmup before starting to lift.  She backs off
a little, loosening the pin, setting Jay's feet back on the ground. But first
some humiliation.

"Let's see what you got, man!" Christina demands, painfully jabbing two fingers
into Jay's hollow chest, pinning him to the wall again.  Her tris flash into a
giant horseshoe of muscle. She has to hold herself back from sinking her
fingers into the dude's chest. Christina knows full well the kid is completely
scrawny, but has to be sure everyone knows it.  "You see what I got," and
gestures toward her own sculpted chest and stomach, "So let's see what you
got."

Jay does nothing but tremble, as Christina carefully gathers the thin fabric of
Jay's T-shirt into her two huge paws.  She tears Jay's T-shirt apart, slowly,
deliberately, like opening a candy wrapper. Jay stumbles toward Christina as
the shirt begins to tear. Tim watches goggle-eyed as Christina's humongous
biceps sprang into action.

Jay's shirt is tossed aside to reveal a pale and shallow chest with no
definition whatsoever.  There is hardly any development of the pec muscle
despite three gym workouts and his torso looks kind of emaciated.  The physical
power humming in Christina's body is ominous compared to Jay's pathetic,
subhuman build.

"You wanna work out with me?" Christina offers mockingly.  She puts her
dimpled, dazzling smile right down into Jay's face, as the freshman flinches.
"Let me guess.  You came here to get a real body, right?"  She turns and looks
over at Tim, her face flushing with anticipation of fury, getting angrier,
working up her bloodlust. "How 'bout you, asshole?  What the fuck do you think
you're doing here?  Look at you pussies!  Holy fucking shit!" she shouts.  She
can't believe there are such puny dudes walking around, that they would dare to
come into this gym. "How the hell do you think you can work out here?!" she
roars.

Tim nods in agreement, maybe if they could just avoid antagonizing her further,
she would let them go unharmed.  "Yeah, you know, we just want to put on some
muscle," he offered.  He hoped he sounded unafraid, like he knew what he was
talking about when he talked about muscle, but his voice trembled.  Christina
had obscenely bulging muscle, the kind every scrawny kid wishes for when they
decide to work out.  Christina was bigger and harder than the image Tim had
aspired to himself.  Who knew that the girl who actually had that ultimate body
would ever be real, standing two feet away, and is a mean, dangerous
motherfucker.  Christina laughs out loud at Tim.

"You pussies?" she asks incredulously.  "Look at you! I could smear you in a
heartbeat. The day I walked into a gym I could have put you through a wall! You
think you would ever get huge as me?"

Silence. The thought is ridiculous, but gaining muscle like Christina's is
exactly what pussies like these two usually want.

Christina continues to lecture, she's dealt with losers like this all her life
and she knows the way they think even though they don't.  "You came here
because you wanted muscle like mine, right?  Well guess what?  No one works out
around here unless I say so, and I say today you work out with me!"  That
brought a startling response from the trembling and shirtless Jay.

"But we didn't do anything!" he whines. Tim's plan to appease this girl just
failed. Jay has not realized it is their weakness itself which offends
Christina.

In an instant, Christina's huge fist closes around Jay's throat and she hoists
the scrawny freshman off his feet, straight-armed.  Christina's huge hand
encircles Jay's head, her fingertips reaching a point well behind Jay's ears.
The deathgrip warped the dude's skull slightly near the jaw and closed his
windpipe.  Jay's ears pop from the pressure. If she liked, Christina could
collapse the skull and squish Jay's brains through her fingers. Christina
starts shaking the doomed freshman violently like he is a rag doll.  Both of
Jay's bony hands reflexively claw at Christina's arm to pry it loose from his
windpipe, as his torso and legs shake and whip around.  Christina turns to face
Tim as she strangles Jay, and grins maniacally.

"Do you want to live?" she asks, knowing the answer is irrelevant.  Tim numbly
nods his head up and down quickly, to remove any doubt that, yes, he indeed
wanted to live.  Even if Jay was obviously going to die.

"Then get on your knees and start praying I let you, you pussy piece of shit,"
Christina says in a dangerous whisper.

Tim got down on his knees before the musclegoddess.  He watches his friend's
face turn bright red as he hung, suspended in midair from the musclegoddess'
brutal fist. Christina continued to look at Tim as she choked the pathetically
weak geek.  She tightened her grip for emphasis, to make sure she has Tim's
attention. An odd crunching sound emanated from Jay's head. Blood and mucus
start to dribble from Jay's nose and ears.

The muscle-mountain turned back to Jay's reddening face but continued talking
to Tim, as if Jay has already ceased hearing.  "You wait until I'm done working
out with your friend here," she ordered, gesturing with a nod.

Christina should have been winded, but didn't show it in her voice, even a
little. She exerted little energy in throttling Jay, even though thick cords of
muscle in her extended arm bulged grossly from holding Jay aloft.  When
Christina was assured Tim would meekly wait for his turn in the maelstrom she
was about to unleash, she focused her full attention again on smothering the
pussy in her grip. Otherwise, Christina would happily entertain any objections,
as soon as she imploded Jay's skull.

Smoothly, Christina reached underneath and grabbed the kid's crotch with her
free paw. The huge musclegoddess gracefully hoisted Jay up higher, until he was
suspended over Christina's head, pinned in midair.

Christina handled the boy's weight effortlessly.  Fact is, she was accustomed
to significantly heavier loads than Jay's mere 95 pounds - that didn't amount
to a bar and two plates.  Christina warms up with more than that.  She wasn't
merely supporting a barbell either, she had total control over Jay's body, and
its precarious location in space.

She had total control over everyone who could see the attack!  Dudes were
captivated by the sight of Christina's unnatural muscle in use, fascinated,
drawn to Jay's deadly predicament.  Everyone knew it might have been any of
them in Christina's clutches. Christina usually went for destroying bigger
guys, they were more of a challenge than these feeble dweebs.

Christina wheeled around to face the mirrored wall behind Tim, whirling Jay in
the air.  She noticed in the mirror the crowd of her admirers which had
gathered at a respectful, and safe, distance away to watch her go apeshit on
Jay.

She planted her feet shoulder's width apart and hefted Jay a few times, until
the meager bodyweight was evenly distributed on her extended arms, her thick,
rippling back, and columnar legs.  Christina proceeded to rock Jay by flexing
her arms at the elbow, slowly lowering the boy behind her head and then raising
him, again and again, pumping her ponderous triceps muscles.

"Shiiiiit!" an admirer said in reverence, "She's using the kid as live weight
for french curls!  Awesome!  Look at those fuckin' tris!"  They watched their
heroine admiringly from a vantage point across the gym, as the blood vessels in
Christina's tris started to bulge and throb.  At the bottom of each rep, Jay's
upside-down face became briefly visible to the kneeling Tim.  He could see that
Jay was conscious. That was good, Tim thought.  Jay hadn't been seriously hurt,
not yet.  But a pale, wide-eyed look on Jay's face indicated sheer terror.  He
was powerless, at the mercy of a brutal demoness working into a major
bloodlust.

After ten minutes, the pace of Christina's reps slowed.  Her tris were gorged
with blood and they swelled up.  Her face held a sadistic smile, without a
trace of effort of stretching Jay out the length of her arms.  On about her
400th rep, Christina paused before one last rep.  She grit her teeth, and
forced the breath from her lungs.  Her chiseled abs stood out in sharp relief,
and sweat ran in rivulets down along the ridges of the muscles.  Finally, after
pumping up her chest, she brought the freshman down to rest along her upper
chest.  She tightened her hand on Jay's neck, once again cutting off the
life-giving oxygen supply. She could feel how hot and hard her triceps had
become, and could sense them growing bigger and stronger.  Christina turned
again and displayed her victim to the crowd of admiring bodybuilders.

"Dudes!  How do you think this dork gets slaughtered?" she queried, as if
holding a poll on an important issue.  Christina already knew the answer.  But
shouts rang out among the small throng of bodybuilders.  They were, of course,
unanimous in the opinion that Christina should do exactly whatever Christina
wished to do.

"Drill his face open, Christina!" one yelled. "Tear his limbs off!" encouraged
another. "Pound him through a wall, babe!" urged yet another.

Seeing Christina use her arsenal of muscle to destroy guys was a reasonably
frequent event for most of the regulars in Christina's gym, but it was always
amazing to watch. Each of them had at one time or another fallen into her
terrible path, but usually Christina was more interested in dominating the gym
rats than in harming them. Plus she needed them to keep her pussy sated. But
she was humiliating Jay for the fun of it, because she could.  Christina
brought Jay's face up to her own, like the boy was a puppet, a living plaything
for an angry musclegoddess.

[Seldom]

"What the fuck ever gave you the idea I would let a pussy-boy like you work out
in my gym?" she asked.  "Now I have to teach everyone a lesson.  I have to
kill. And you have to die. That is the lesson."

The crowd of gym rats were excited at the prediction.  They were going to see
Christina snuff another dude!  They've seen Christina snap limbs, thump faces
into bloody pulp, even crush dudes' skulls inside truly "killer" side chest
poses. Jay's execution promised to be a terrifying spectacle.

The beast that was abusing him so terribly held Jay easily, practically
upside-down, speaking quietly. Christina was in a philosophical mood and spoke
softly into Jay's face.  "What's it like to know its my decision alone that you
die today?" she asked rhetorically. "What's it like to be within moments of
death, knowing only my muscle has given me the power to pound you into
oblivion?"

From where he knelt, behind the bench press, Tim looked up at Jay, whose nose
oozed red blood. "You like workin' out with me, dude?  You want to know what
having really big muscles is like?" Christina asked Jay.

Jay looked up at his musclegoddess, then squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to
speak. Christina hoisted Jay overhead again and slowly began performing
military presses with the kid's body.  As she lowered the boy, Tim could see
how Christina's magnificently sharp abs and serratus worked to support her
gigantic torso.  Just as he noticed how far open Christina's lats spread, like
wings from her back, when she held Jay overhead, there was a blur of motion and
a loud CRAAAACK!

Christina had lunged forward lightning fast, knelt on one knee, and slammed the
small of Jay's back into her upraised knee.  Jay's body folded explosively
across Christina's wide quadriceps, and his spine snapped with a loud report.
Christina allowed Jay's broken body to flop off her knee, rebounding, and land
in a twisted heap on the floor in front of Tim. Blood sprayed from Jay's head
onto Christina and in the air and everywhere.

Jay screamed briefly in pain and panic until blood began to spew from his mouth
and he lost consciousness.  Christina stared at a quivering Tim, ignoring the
screams of Jay, digging the shock and profound fear she saw in Tim's face.
They knelt together, face to pec, as a pool of blood from Jay collected around
them.  Christina smiled vainly, proudly at Tim, and raised her giant guns into
a barbaric double biceps pose.  Like a little boy showing her vanity, 'See what
I can do?'  Tim couldn't focus on much beyond the two huge biceps muscles
practically bursting through the skin on Christina's blood-spattered arms.

"You think your friend is hurt, man?" Christina asked softly.

Tim was trying to think fast.  How was he going to get out of this alive?  This
girl is a killer!  She is unstoppable!  She used Jay to pump up and then
effortlessly broke him in half in the space of fifteen minutes! Those other
guys were laughing and cheering! This was a nightmare.  Jesus, look at this
girl's body, pure muscle, and she is huge! Physically, Christina was without
comparison.  If Tim was going to live, it was only because Christina was going
to let him.  Tim just needed to convince Christina to spare him.  But now that
Jay was likely dead, without much effort at all, that seemed very unlikely.

"Hey, man!  I'm TALKIN' to you!  You see what working out can do for a pussy
like you?"  Christina did not like being ignored, especially by dudes she was
gonna beat to death.  She looked at Tim, but Tim wasn't seeing her.  They were
both on their knees, each facing the other.  Christina had almost one and a
half feet in height over Tim, and the difference was readily apparent.
Christina decided to really draw Tim's attention. Obviously, breaking his
friend in half wasn't enough.

Christina got to her feet again, reached a long arm down, and roughly seized
Jay by his throat once more.  The boy's unconscious face was slick with
blood. Vestigial legs dangled loosely from his upper body.  The small of his
back, where Christina had snapped his vertebrae, was marked with an ugly
bruise.

Christina brought Jay's lifeless body to rest against the front of Christina's
own body, nestling the crown of Jay's head deep into the cleavage of her
pectorals, right below her chin.  Christina wrapped her other gargantuan arm
around Jay, securing the dying freshman against the meat of mighty chest
muscles.  Then she freed her other arm from its grasp on Jay's throat and
wrapped it snugly on top.

Jay was trapped, enclosed in a cocoon of steel-hard muscle, held fast in
Christina's powerful arms.  Large, tunnel-like veins throbbed near the surface
of the skin on his biceps and forearms. Jay's naked torso was barely visible,
covered by Christina's arms, roughly pressing the scrawny teenager against
slabs of granite muscle.  Jay's feet didn't reach the floor.  But he wasn't
going anywhere.  His eyes rolled back in their sockets as he faded in and out
of consciousness, but somehow he knew what was about to happen.  This was it.
Christina had decided to put a final end to this pussy. Her deadly pythons
slowly wound tighter and tighter around the living corpse that was Jay.

Christina took a small warm-up breath, put one foot back to stabilize her
stance, and clenched her quarry.  There was another loud CRAAAACK! as Jay's
twig-like arms snapped, echoing from inside the cavern of muscle in which he
was encased.  Tim was brought out of his reverie by the sound of breaking bones
and saw his friend approaching death, crushed inside Christina's massive arms.

Christina smiled again right at Tim, knowing she had Tim's full attention now,
and bore down again, this time splintering her victim's ribs, slowly, dragging
out the crunching sound Jay's bones made as they broke. Christina dug the
bending of the ribs and the "pop" of bones breaking against her mass. It was
horrible, Tim thought, that Jay was being slaughtered in front of him, for no
reason.

As Christina's arms tightened and flexed the muscles in them became absurdly
rock-hard. Her heavy pecs stretched and striated and blew up, and when the
skeleton in Jay's upper body had turned to meal, they no longer protected the
vital organs within from Christina's attack.  Now Christina leaned down so
Jay's bloody face was closer down to Tim.  It oozed blood and bile from its
openings.  Christina wanted to be sure Tim saw his friend die up close.

Like the last rep of a final set, Christina took another breath, set her face
into an eerie, unseeing smile, and collected the vast reserves of her strength.
The pressures she was about to generate were awesome and as she unleashed them,
Jay's organs burst out his mouth and blood spurted from his ears. Christina
emptied Jay like a tube of bloody toothpaste.  Jay's eyes blew out of their
sockets in a spray of thick blood.  As she finally crushed her victim to death,
both Christina and Tim were splashed with remnants of Jay's wrecked organs.

After a second of two, Christina loosened her hold and transitioned into a
pose, a most muscular pose.  She brought her two giant fists together inches
from Tim's face and flexed her deadly muscles, which allowed the twisted,
broken corpse to slide to the floor.  Christina's body was dripping with blood,
which accentuated the peaks and valleys of her unthinkably lethal physique.
She was breathing heavily, and her massive chest heaved with each breath.  No
one spoke, so all that could be heard was Christina's panting.  All Tim could
see was the bloody, cavernous interior of Christina's most muscular pose, where
Jay had just died.  If Christina wanted to, her quivering fists would blast
Tim's face apart in an instant.  Christina knew it, Tim knew it, everyone knew
it.  But instead Christina stood up.

"You ready for your turn?" she asked Tim.

Christina walked up to the trembling Tim.  She reached out with bloody hands
and firmly grasped the sides of Tim's head.  As Christina maneuvered Tim's face
into position, Tim could see Christina's thick clit clearly through the spandex
workout shorts, as it started to harden.  Suddenly he felt his ears pop as
Christina began to flex again.

"You want to live?  Give me that tongue."

* * * * *

I invite anyone to finish Christina's assault on Tim.  I'm excited to see what
you come up with.

I normally post all my stories on DtV and have just discovered Bra-wna [?], so
am posting there as well.  I don't know if this story is quite appropriate to
either, and, since I don't know the original author, I don't know how to get
permission.

[Seldom]

Nice, thanks man. Is the original story going on?

No, the original story ends with Pounder pulling the guy's head towards his dick (the only man-specific part of the story), but I thought it would be fun to see Christina in action again, and I'd like to see what other writers will do with her. I made her just superhuman enough that she can be as cruel and massively violent as she wants, but still tantalizingly frightening and close to possible.

Wow, looks like someone's been waking up on the wrong side of the bed for their whole life.

[Seldom]

Before He Cheats
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
Sleeping around on a muscle-bound killer? Probably a bad idea. VERY gory.

***** Author's Note *****

I know you've heard the song played to death on the radio. I still like it.  And I can't help but wonder how much damage a hurt, vindictive, gorgeous girl like Carrie would do if she had a little muscle...

* * * * *

Her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and tucked under a baseball cap, fire in her ice-blue eyes and a determined, dangerous, don't-fuck-with-me set to her lips. A head taller than the other pedestrians and freakishly, terrifyingly built. White running shoes pounded hard against the pavement under her bulk, tube socks stretched to the limit around diamond-cut, excessively large calves. Mind-blowing bulky thighs cut with deep separations, great slabs of thick hard muscle balling and tensing with each step. Rugged cut-off jean shorts stretched to the limit, struggling to contain hard round glutes pushing against the overwhelmed fabric with each sway of her broad hips.

A red midriff tank top revealed the pulsing billiard balls of her ripped stomach, abs developed to a frightening brick-hard extreme. Massive fake breasts straining the front of the tank top, pushing out into two firm round mounds, deep tan cleavage with a hint of jiggle, capped with thick nipples hard with anger and the rub of fabric against bare flesh, each behemoth tit bigger than her head and supported by a thick slab of overly-developed pectoral, brutishly powerful muscles with their own cleavage contributing to the depth of her colossal chest.

A thick bull neck snaked with angry blue veins started at her jaw and broadened to enormous shoulders, vast boulderous deltoids extending to titanic arms, outrageous slabs of ultra-developed beefy biceps and triceps exploding from the sleeveless top in an excessive display of unparalleled upper-body brawn. Bulky vein-streaked forearms pulsated and flexed as she pumped colossal fists in barely-controlled rage.

Well-dressed businessmen and women obsessed with their cell phones squawked in surprise as they bounced off her unyielding bulk, their protests dying as they caught her hulking size and expression, her mood almost a visible black cloud.  Her scantily-clad juggernaut body cut a swath through the crowded afternoon banking district, bee-lining for a specific downtown garage.

Luis considered himself lucky to have an almost legitimate job. He didn't take many risks, rarely had to do anything illegal, and made a decent under-the-table wage. He parked hot cars and could fantasize about owning them. The majority of his day he watched soaps and read men's magazines.  America was a great country; parking sweet rides and dealing to well-connected businessmen beat the hell out of dealing on the street or, God forbid, farming the drugs. He looked up and swallowed hard at the immense contradictory vision of female voluptuousness and hard strength stalking towards him like an angry predator.

"Good day, ma'am. Can I help you?"

"Thaddeus Jackington," she growled.

"I'm sorry, and you are?"

She glared at him. "Thaddeus Philip Jackington the Third, now."

Luis pretended to consult his chart. "Yes, well, I still need to see your identification, ma'am," he said, clearing his throat.

The woman pulled back her brawny arm and punched straight through the plastic shield separating them. Her fingers clenched around his throat in an iron grip. "I'm the woman who's going to snap your neck in ten seconds if you don't tell me what level Tad's car is on," she hissed angrily. Luis' eyes bulged as he struggled for breath, barely able to comprehend the size and strength of her vascular pumped arm, heavy with dense dangerous muscles ready to snuff the life out of him in a moment.

"T-top level," he gasped out. The colossal musclewoman released his throat, only to rip away the plastic separator. Her massive hand closed around his shoulder in a crushing painful grip and she yanked him out of the attendant box with one arm, easily holding his slight frame in the air. "Let go of me!" He struggled to free himself so she simply crushed his shoulder until she felt bones pop and then snap in her brawny fingers.

"Stop struggling and shut up." She tossed him over her oversize shoulder like a sack of potatoes and headed for the stairwell. Massive thighs propelled her up ten flights with little effort. Luis' face bounced painfully against the hard muscles of her back but he gritted his teeth against the pain, remembering how easily the psycho muscle bitch had broken into his box and crushed his shoulder.

At the top of the stairwell rather than open the door she angrily kicked it, the heavy metal door wrenched off its hinges and flew twenty feet to smash into a Miata. She had to enter sideways to fit her beefy shoulders through the door frame, bashing Luis' head against the metal as she did so. Luis was under the distinct impression she didn't care.

The woman spotted the metallic blue Lexus SC coupe she was looking for and gave a low grunt of satisfaction. She stalked over to it and shrugged Luis off her shoulder, casually holding him in the air with her long hefty fingers clutching his skull. "Please, ma'am, can you let me go now?" Luis asked, choking back a sob. He clawed futilely at her steely forearm. The woman glanced at the annoying attendant struggling in her grip and slammed his face into a concrete pillar. His jaw broke sickeningly against the cement, spraying blood and teeth. She then exerted little effort in pushing her palm into his skull, powered by those insanely thick and striated biceps and triceps bulging with ripped vascularity, Luis' bones giving with a wet crunch. She let go of the deformed half-skull and Luis fell to the ground with a gory splat.

The woman turned to the coupe with her eyes blazing, the butchered attendant already forgotten. She clenched her fist, bent down, and smashed the driver side headlights. A trickle of blood ran down her fist where the glass sliced her. She pulled a pair of heavy gloves out of her pocket and pulled them onto her large hands. One blow from her massive fist smashed the passenger headlights. She drove her hands into the crack where the hood met the frame and violently tore the metal from its hinges. Four hard blows cracked the engine and rendered the sporty car undrivable. She gave it one last double-fisted sledgehammer and the engine chassis ripped free from the frame and collapsed to the ground with a heavy metallic clunk. "Don't need a fucking bat," she growled.

One punch shattered the windshield. Her knee, propelled by her keg-size super-powered thigh, crumpled the flimsy driver side door. With a brief flexing of her enormous biceps she ripped the door free from its hinges and tossed it through the windshield of another luxury car. She tore the driver seat free from the frame and flexing her concrete slabs of pec muscles she crushed it into a tiny ball of plastic and fabric. She slammed her gargantuan ass into what was left of the coupe's sidewall, sending the car screeching several feet to slam into the SUV parked next to it. Her steely fingers made short work of the tires. For her finale, she squatted down, braced herself, and flexing every muscle in her impossibly muscle-bloated body she lifted the tiny car over her shoulders, then threw it across the lot. With a lusty sigh she blew a strand of sweaty blonde hair out of her eyes and gazed with satisfaction at her handiwork, unconsciously posing with her left hand caressing her flexed billiard-ball abs and her right hand holding the back of her head in a mind-blowing bicep flex.

"What the hell? Carrie?" Thaddeus exited the elevator and looked in shock from his destroyed car to his girlfriend's bloated, sweat-soaked body to the dead parking attendant with his smushed head spilling blood and brains onto the concrete. His chest constricted in fear. "What's going on?" he gulped. She turned to him with murder in her eyes. He finally found his feet and high-tailed it for the elevator.

A low growl emanating from her thick throat, Carrie slowly lumbered over to the elevator doors, but not before taking out her cell phone and snapping a few quick pictures of the carnage, the destroyed cars and the dead attendant. She found it darkly amusing that Tad thought he could escape her. Not content simply to pry the doors open, she sank her fists into the metal on either side of the door frame and with a tremendous flex of her mighty back and arm muscles she crunched the metal and tore the doors from the frame with a horrific metallic shrieking. Thaddeus heard the noise from the elevator car and shivered, knowing he was doomed; there was no escape from his pissed-off homicidal psycho girlfriend.

The car shuddered at the impact of her excessive weight slamming onto the roof. She slammed her fists through the roof and ripped the metal back. She dropped into the car and casually put her fist through the control panel. The elevator lurched to a stop. Carrie turned to her boyfriend, quivering in the corner. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of his wet pants.

"You're pathetic, you two-timing shithead," she spat without preamble.

"Carrie, please, you're angry, I can see that, what happened..."

"Save it, asshole," she cut him off with a growl. "How fucking stupid do you have to be to cheat on me? You must have figured out what I do for a living. You think the fact we were fucking is gonna save you?" She cracked her knuckles with an evil grin. "It just means I'm going to enjoy this more."

She advanced on the quivering businessman with a slow sadistic pace, feeding off his fear. "Oh god please no please Carrie don't hurt me..." he babbled. She caught his hand almost gently and pushed it against hers, the comparison laughable, her long, thick, strong fingers more than twice the length and breadth of his. Just her palm nearly spanned the length of his whole hand. She slowly, cruelly enveloped his hand in her fist and squeezed, feeling the bones shift under the skin to accomodate the pressure, finally reaching the breaking point as she used a small fraction of her unimaginable strength to crush her boyfriend's fist. He screamed in pain as his fist crunched in her grip, the bones smashing and jagged fragments tearing through his skin, a squelching sound coming from the useless pulp as Carrie's forearms bulged with crushing power, blood leaking between her fingers. She smothered his cries in her enormous chest, long nipples tenting her top as she got off on torturing the helpless man.

Carrie released Tad's mangled fist and licked the blood from her fingers. She gently caressed his sobbing face with one hand and leaned down to kiss him softly. Her other hand went down his pants, easily tearing the weak wool and cotton fabric, and fondled his dick until her ministrations dulled the pain and he grew hard in her grip. "Carrie, I'm sorry, please forgive me," he sobbed. She shushed him with a playful peck on the forehead. She clutched his crotch in her huge powerful hand and slowly lifted him up to eye level by his balls. He cried in new torment.

She looked him in the eyes and shook her head slowly. "I think you've used this enough," she whispered.

"OH GOD NO PLEASE DON'T DO IT OH SHIT OH SHIT" *Squelch* his balls burst in a bloody implosion, followed quickly by his dick, blood and flesh oozing from her fingers in a horrific gory paste. Carrie laughed and slammed her gigantic firm tits into his face, slamming his head against the wall and smothering him in her cleavage. She pushed his head down into her sweaty flesh and kept him trapped there, suffocating him.

She pulled her fist away, tearing his privates off in a bloody spray. She pushed her blood-soaked fingers into her shorts and masturbated as she destroyed the pathetic eunuch who used to be her boyfriend. When his struggles ceased she reluctantly released him. He fell to the floor, unconscious. She pulled her hand from her sizzling hot juicy pussy and licked the girl cream from her fingers. Her shorts dropped to the ground, revealing her pink hairless pussy in its pristine perfection. She pulled his head into her crotch and rubbed herself on his face, pushing her thick pink clit against his nose, slick wet labia coating his chin with sticky white strands. Eventually she grew bored and slapped him awake, each thunderous blow cracking bones in his jaw. He looked up at her in glazed, painful terror. "Eat me," she commanded simply, engulfing his neck in her enormous thighs, holding him in place.

His tongue snaked out and began licking her frantically. She moaned in pleasure. Her steely fingers reached behind to grab his shoulders and punched in, puncturing skin and bone as easily as tissue paper. "Continue!" she commanded when he stopped licking to scream, the vibrations lost in the undulating sea of thigh muscle. She came violently, clenching her fists, tearing through his shoulders. She brought her fists up in a massive double biceps flex, still gripping his severed arms. Blood poured out of the wounds and spilled onto her magnificent chest and mammoth biceps, pooling on the elevator floor. Her thighs bloated with muscle, instantly crushing him unconscious again.

Carrie's chest heaved as she slowly came down from her orgasmic high. She tossed his useless arms away and squatted, letting his body slip out of her thighs. She checked his pulse and debated whether to pluck out his eyes and tongue and rip off his legs, but decided she rather liked the thought of him walking around armless, able to see his disfigurement. She reached into his mouth, knocking loose most of his teeth with her massive hand, and grabbed his tongue. She pulled it out, his mouth quickly filling with blood. She gazed at the fleshy tongue in her fist. "Well, I guess I'm the last girl you'll ever pleasure," she said, gently patting his bloody face. "Poor baby." She lifted him by one leg and used electrical wiring to hang him upside down. His blood wouldn't choke him, but if he wasn't rescued soon he would die of blood loss.

Carrie pulled her blood-soaked shorts on and took out her cell phone. She snapped a few pictures of him as his blood dripped to the floor. She grabbed the back of his head and roughly kissed his bloody lips. "You're getting off lucky," she reassured the unconscious, nearly dead man.

She sent the pictures off to her friend Lori for her own amusement. Moments later a text message came back, "Dam grl u r 2 xtreme lol! luv and kisses". Carrie laughed.

She punched her way out of the elevator, ending up on the seventh level. She placed a quick emergency call telling the operator where to find Tad, then ripped the public phone from the wall just for fun. She looked down at her gore-splattered body and blood-soaked clothes and grimaced. Not very inconspicuous. Just then a small young man came huffing out of the stairwell near Carrie, muttering "Damn broken elevator." He stopped short at the sight of the dripping red muscle giant.

"What the..." he started to back away but Carrie quickly threw a friendly arm over his shoulder.

"Transportation problem solved," she announced cheerfully. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Um, uh, Neil," the small, slender, nerdy-looking man stammered, heart racing. What was going on? Was that blood dripping from her? Whose?

"I tell you what, Neil. You seem like a nice guy and all, and I'm in a bit of a hurry, so how about I ride with you? I can be very grateful," she purred, rubbing a huge fist over his swelling crotch. The guy liked muscles, convenient for her. Feeling like he was in a dream, he walked the hulking blonde muscle beauty to his car, her gigantic arm warm and reassuringly hard around him. She slid into the passenger seat, pushing it all the way back to accomodate her height and bulk. There was barely room in the car for him, but he squeezed in next to her, her giant boobs in his face. Before he started the car she wrapped her thick arm around his head and drew him to her lips, kissing him playfully. "So Neil, what do you do?" she whispered.

"Um, I'm an IT guy. Banking networks mostly."

Carrie smiled. "Sounds perfect." She shifted her enormous mass around so she could lower her head between his stomach and the steering wheel. She would be invisible to anyone casually glancing in, but if they looked down they would see a gore-streaked sea of bulky, bulging muscle woman. "I told you I can be grateful. Why don't you just drive us back to your place?" she murmured gently, pulling his pants open. Her tongue teased the tip of his swollen dick. "Just drive, baby, just drive." Her mouth enveloped his dick in liquid fire as he started the car. He couldn't believe this was happening, it was too much like a dream, so he went with it, pulling out of the parking garage as an ambulance went screaming in.

Carrie gave him the best two blowjobs of his life as he drove home in an orgasmic daze. She would probably kill him once they reached his apartment, but maybe not. Her moods were fickle, and she found him kind of cute. Who knows, maybe...

The End?

[Seldom]

Delivery Boy
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
A big girl is delivered a boy to play with, and she plays rough.

***** Author's Note *****

This is a story in two distinct parts: the first part is the whole story, the second part is an alternate ending I originally wrote when I let myself get carried away with violence and gore.  It is of course entirely up to you which you chose to read and enjoy, or both.

The usual disclaimer applies, that this is purely my own sick fantasy. Though I kept Heather Policky's physical size and muscularity during the off-season in mind while writing this, it is obviously a caricature and not meant to reflect the real, beautiful bodybuilder. So enjoy, take it in the spirit of fun, dark fantasy, and only read the alternate ending if you're really in the mood for senseless ultra-violence. Also, measurements are obviously exaggerated to cartoonish levels.

* * * * *

Heather felt up her huge chest and looked approvingly in the hall mirror. She spent the last two years bulking up, and now, at 5'7" and 240 lbs of solid muscle, she was the biggest she'd ever been. She'd needed to swap out all her old clothes and build up a whole new wardrobe to contain her phenomenal physique. Fourteen years of muscle building every day had formed one of the most powerful bodies in the world. In raw strength she was beyond human, and in sheer size she was breathtaking.

The sleeveless dress showed off biceps that flexed to an unbelievable twenty-two inches of raw power, tapering to fourteen inch forearms powering long, thick fingers that could crush a block of concrete without straining. The sleek silvery material struggled and just barely managed to contain a chest she'd built up from 38DD to a gravity-defying 52DD chest that needed no bra. Rippling abs that could repel a bullet flexed dangerously under a thin layer of soft fat measuring a sleek thirty inches around, above broad forty-two inch hips. The thin dress stretched as tightly around her gigantic, muscled ass as it did around her tits, ending a scant inches below the tantalizing mound of her pantyless crotch and revealing oaken thighs the size of beer kegs. Her legs had always been the quickest to bulk, and she'd given them free reign to build muscle with weights that had literally crippled the male bodybuilders in her gym who had tried to follow her. They measured an astonishing thirty-eight inches around, massive, steely power pulsating under soft skin and the thin layer of fat that lent a feminine beauty and softness to her beastly physique. Her twenty-four inch calves supported all this heavy muscle, tapering down to thick ankles and huge feet in an elegant pair of black three-inch heels.

Contemplating her own massive size and physical perfection created an insistent warm sensation in her bare hairless mound. With a smile on her gorgeous face and thick, pouty lips she slipped her middle and ring fingers into her already slickly wet pussy. Her vaginal muscles were every bit as developed as the rest of her Herculean body and gripped her fingers with a strength that had broken vibrators and dildos. As she watched in the mirror, she finger-fucked herself in a frenzy of speed, sexual energy, and frightening power. She brought herself to a gasping, shaking, intense full-body orgasm that coated her hand and the inside of her thighs with thick, white girly goo. Several big glops dripped off her hand and landed on the carpet as she shuddered her way back to reality. She gradually became aware of hesitant knocking coming from the apartment door and smiled, licking her luscious lips.

"Yeeees?" she purred as she slowly opened the door.

The pizza boy blinked and his jaw slowly dropped as he realized the reality of what he saw, a giant of a woman towering over his slight, short frame and looming in the doorway in a devastatingly sexy pose. Her beautiful blue eyes sparkled under long auburn hair as she gazed down at him with a predatory, lustful grin. His immediate reaction to being confronted by such a behemoth, to whom he was no more than an insect, was sheer, hysterical, nearly paralyzing terror. "Umm, uh, uh, did you, um, order a pizza?" he asked stupidly, quivering.

Heather giggled softly, which did nothing to reduce the intimidation of her immense size and raw sexuality. The boy was barely out of high school, if that, a meager five feet and change of skin and bones. Large ears stuck out of an unruly mop of bright red hair, completing the image of a tiny, geeky boy utterly overshadowed by the giantess in front of him.

"Why yes, I did," Heather said throatily, her hot, sweet breath washing over the face of the pizza boy as she leaned into him. He backed away a few steps and gulped. An arm thicker than his waist wrapped around his slight shoulders and drew him irresistibly to the beautiful musclewoman. "Come in, let me get you your money," she breathed in his ear. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the sweat of his fear and she gasped slightly.

She kicked the door shut behind him and trapped him against the wall. She took the pizza box and tossed it onto the couch. She held up her right hand, still covered with her sweet cream, and smeared some over his lips. "Lick my fingers," she whispered, flexing her enormous left arm threateningly.

"Wh-what is it?" he squeaked fearfully, painfully aware that she could fold him in half without trying very hard.

"My cum," she purred, licking some off his lips. "Lick my fingers now," she commanded. She gripped his shoulder with fingers that could crush his fragile bones to powder.

The boy did as he was told, licking her long, thick, powerful fingers clean. At first he was slow and hesitant, but as the beautiful woman continued smiling at him and cradling him in her huge arm he grew eager, even boldly sucking her fingers into his mouth so he could get every drop of the sweet white goo. "Good boy," she said, patting his cheek with her saliva-coated hand. She favored him with a kiss from her wet, desirable lips. "What's your name?" she asked while sliding her long tongue over his trembling lips.

"P-Pete," he stammered.

Her long, erect, sensitive nipples brushed against his chest and she gasped. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and slid him up the wall until he was even with her lips. So powerful was she, and so slight was he, she didn't notice she'd done it, holding his puny body up against the wall by the weight of her huge breasts pressing into him. When she backed up he fell four inches. She giggled.

"I'm Heather. Wait right here, Petey," she breathed. She turned around and reached for her purse. She pulled out a few dollars and dropped them to the floor. "Oops," she said. She leaned over to pick them up, shoving her wide muscled ass into his crotch. Her dress slid up over her monstrously huge glutes, revealing her pretty pink pussy still wet with orgasmic juices. Heather shoved her ass back, trapping Pete against the wall with an ass almost twice as broad as his skinny hips. She felt his erection against her butt and smiled, rubbing her round ass and slick pussy over his crotch, soaking his pants with her strong sweet-smelling scent. "Fuck me," she commanded sternly.

Pete didn't have to be told twice. Nothing like this had ever happened to him in his short, geeky life, and he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. "Yes ma'am," he said politely in a shaky, frightened, yet excited voice. He nervously unzipped his wet pants and pulled them down. His boner sprang free and he guided it uncertainly to her hole. Heather wriggled her ass enticingly and shoved back, impaling herself on his rod. He gasped in sudden pleasure as her burning hot cave clamped tightly down on him and pulled him in. Heather's pussy muscles squeezed his cock painfully tight and drew it far in, pulling so hard he groaned in pain.

Heather put her hands on the floor and humped her ass back, slamming Pete into the wall and enveloping his hips in her powerful ass. "Fuck me hard!" she growled. Frightened and pained, Pete put his hands on her wide hips and pushed as hard as he could. Heather's velvety vice crushed his prick mercilessly. Heather smiled at the poor boy's screams and mashed him into the wall. She straightened her legs, flexed her gigantic calves and lifted the boy into the air so he was riding her supported only by her insanely thick butt crushing him into the wall. She had total control over her powerful pussy and flexed harder, slowly increasing the pressure until Pete could only whimper in pain. He stretched his arms over her enormous back and gripped deltoids the size of bowling balls, sobbing into the huge rippling fields of her back muscles.

Heather's overdeveloped pussy could bend steel, crush dildos and vibrators to powder, and contract her vaginal tunnel to mere millimeters in diameter, heedless of any soft male organ trapped inside. Only her perfect muscular control prevented her from unintentionally crushing fingers and cocks during her sexual play.

Without easing up on the sadistic grip of her crushing pussy, Heather began pistoning her hips, slamming his puny airborne body into the wall repeatedly. She gasped at the intense friction of his bruised cock rubbing against her pussy walls and constricted until Pete screamed again, nearly pulverizing his cock while still slamming his bruised butt into the wall with increasingly forceful thrusts. "Yes yes yes yes," she panted as she built to orgasm, moaning and clenching her fists, ripping up her carpet with her long nails and lethal fingers.

Her orgasm came with vast shudders in her Herculean body that bounced poor Pete like a fishing boat in a hurricane, great rippling spasms and quick vaginal flutterings that threatened to rip his cock out by its roots. Just when Pete thought he would sacrifice his dick to her pleasure, when her violent spasms became so intense he was afraid she would simply smush his pelvis into a bloodstain between the wall and her giant, stony ass, she slid forward and released his cock from the painful grip of her velvety vagina and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing and shaking with pain and fear.

Heather slowly opened her eyes and stood up, stretching aching muscles in her post-orgasmic glow. She turned around, reached down and grabbed Pete's shirt, bunching the material in her left hand and slowly lifting him until he dangled inches above the floor, but still beneath her penetrating gaze. She brought her right arm up in a flex that bubbled her bicep to its full twenty-two inches of unstoppable power. It was a move designed to intimidate, and it worked. Pete shook like a helpless leaf in a tornado in her unbreakable grasp. Her gorgeous pouty lips quirked up at the sides in a smile that was anything but reassuring. He felt like a toy in her grasp, a plaything she could easily break at her whim. Her amusement at his pain convinced him she intended to do horrible things to him for her sadistic pleasure.

"Please let me go," he pleaded in barely a whisper. "I have to get back to my job or I'll get fired."

Heather simply lifted him until he was far over her head, her left arm extended but not straining at his paltry weight. "Silly boy," she purred, "your only job is to please me." She flicked his limp, bruised cock. "Besides, what makes you think you have a choice?" She giggled.

"If I don't get back to work, they'll wonder what happened to me," he said in near hysteria. His shaking grew worse and he started to kick uncontrollably. Heather simply blocked his kicks with her arm and trapped his legs against the wall.

She slid him down until he was eye level with her but still not touching the floor. Her clear blue eyes searched his with sympathy. "You poor boy," she cooed, running her fingers along his cheek. "I'm not going to damage you. Well, not too much at least. I like you." To lend credence to her words she leaned forward and tenderly kissed his quivering lips. "Don't be so frightened, baby," she whispered.

"Do you find me attractive?" she asked softly. "Be honest. If you say no, I'll let you run back to your minimum-wage job and you'll never have to see me again."

"You're beautiful," Pete whispered back without hesitation.

Heather smiled in genuine delight. It was a different smile than the predatory grin she wore earlier, or the contemptuous quirk of her lips. It was a smile that showed warmth to Pete for the first time that evening. "Then think of me, this body, these muscles," she flexed her hulking body in a way that showed strength without intimidation, "as our playground. I've worked hard to build this body. It can give pleasure in addition to pain."

To demonstrate, she lifted him a little higher to cradle his tiny body in her huge arms. She kissed his skinny thigh, then his stomach, and finally his pecker. "How does it feel?" she asked.

"Much better," he said, looking down his body at her gorgeous face nuzzling his crotch. "Why did you hurt me?" he asked in a tiny voice.

"Mostly because I love hurting people," she said casually. "That's why I built this body, so I can crush you pathetic normal humans with my huge muscles. Also because I need a lot of friction to get off. You're lucky I didn't just rip your dick off. Sometimes that happens when I'm not careful."

He started shaking again. "Hey, don't go all squeamish on me," she said warningly. "I'm going to need you hard for a long time. Besides, don't worry, that hardly ever happens anymore."

Heather turned her attention to his limp pecker and wrapped her thick gorgeous lips around it, engulfing his cock and balls in her hot, wet mouth. Her tongue swirled around his dick, and despite his fear he became aroused. His dick pushed up into her mouth and she slid her lips along the shaft, insistently sucking in a gentle rhythm. She rapidly built the suction up to an almost painful level, using her lips and tongue to expertly bring him to the brink of orgasm. When he felt he could take no more, that he would explode in her beautiful mouth, she clamped her lips on his hard flesh and sucked until he screamed in mind-numbing pain. She kept sucking, keeping him in terrible agony yet as hard as he'd ever been, slowly dragging her crushing, pain-inflicting lips up his sensitive shaft and over the mushroom head, causing an explosion of pain so powerful Pete's screams of agony transformed into choking sobs of anguish, the pain so intense he could no longer breathe to scream. Finally her lips pulled free of his cock and he heard her chuckle over his whimpers of pain. "You're lucky I like you," she purred throatily, "or I'd start crushing you now, little boy." She licked her lips. "I've made men bigger than you suck their own cocks before killing them," she growled threateningly. He could only whimper pathetically in response.

[Seldom]

Carrying the tiny man across her apartment and tossing him onto her reinforced bed was child's play for the freakishly muscled bodybuilder. He landed in a crying heap. "Please stop hurting me," he choked out.

Heather laughed as she stripped off the silver dress. "I haven't begun hurting you yet," she growled. She slowly crawled onto the bed and onto him, taking her time to let the full intimidating power of her massive nude physique sink into his pain-addled brain. The contrast between them was beyond laughable, it was scary. Her man-crushing muscles strained to devour their helpless prey. She leaned onto him and smothered his crying face in her huge breasts. Her thick arms tore his shirt like it was paper, leaving him naked beneath her.

She scooted her ass back until she felt his still-hard erection against her muscular cheeks, lifted her hips, and thrust herself down on him. Despite her earlier sexual assault, he was unprepared for this new wave of pain as she ground his member in the iron grip of her slick pussy. She extended her long tongue and licked his salty tears before finally thrusting it into his mouth, gagging his sobs. Her lips locked on his as she pistoned her hips, not holding back this time, slamming him into the bed as her pulping pussy crushed his cock.

She reared back as she approached another orgasm, grunting and breathing hard and moaning, listening to his pathetic cries of pain, heedless of his puny fists pounding on her invincible breasts. She thrust harder and faster, nearly pulverizing his hips in her gigantic thighs, her calves wrapped around his legs flexing and bending his skinny thighs almost to the breaking point. She grabbed his tiny fists in her huge hands and slammed them onto the bed, yanking his arms out of their sockets with a sickening pop. Her sweaty breasts slammed into his face, smothering his nose, mouth, and eyes beneath their heavy bulk, robbing him of breath and sight. Then her orgasm hit with full force, her monstrous muscles flexing to obscene proportions. Heather screamed as she bloated her unstoppable muscles, barely releasing Pete's fragile body in time to prevent him from becoming a bloody pulp.

"Oh fuck yes," she breathed as she shuddered her way back to reality. She peeled her sweaty breasts off his face and let his unconscious body start breathing again. Her fingers found the dislocations in his shoulders and quickly pushed his arms back into place. She shrugged. It would hurt like hell when he woke up, but at least he was still alive and there probably wouldn't be any permanent damage. That was the best she could do for him.

The enormous bodybuilder picked Pete's body up with one hand and flung him over one broad shoulder. She carried him around the room as she went to her drawers, his slight weight inconsequential to the massively muscled woman. She found her toy and gazed at it fondly. It was a strap-on, but unlike any other strap-on. The simulated cock was twelve inches of hard rubber shaped like a real dick and colored to Heather's exotic skin. It had an attachment specially fit for Heather, with a rubber stimulator for her clit and a fourteen inch titanium rod to be inserted in her pussy. The harder she penetrated her victim, the more stimulation her clit and pussy would receive. The titanium rod was dented and deformed from Heather's previous playtimes.

She pulled the strap-on into place and secured it, the specially-fitted, flesh-colored straps blending into her waist and thighs and making it appear the simulated cock and balls were really an extension of her own grotesquely exaggerated anatomy. The designer had complimented her on its fit and realism before she took it for a test run on him. She had been over-enthusiastic and ended up skewering his intestines, leaving him to die of internal bleeding when she lost interest in butt-fucking him several hours later.

Heather grabbed a tube of KY and poured generous amounts of lubricating jelly on the rubber shaft. She spread it into an even coating. That finished, she plucked Pete's unconscious body off her shoulder and tossed him onto the bed. She quickly joined him and positioned the tip of her cock at his anus. She lifted his legs so they splayed on either side of her head. She leaned down and kissed Pete's mouth. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she playfully teased. She gave him a few light slaps to bring him around.

"Owww," he groaned, his whole body filled with intense aching pain. He looked up at his beautiful tormentress and saw the dangerous, insane, playful glint in her sparkling blue eyes. Then he felt the cold lubricated rod inserted in his ass cheeks. His eyes widened. "Please noo--" was as far as he got before Heather shoved her hips forward and skewered Pete half-way up the dildo.

"Oh God, no, no, please," Pete sobbed as she violated his virgin asshole. Her powerful fingers gripped his fragile, painful shoulders and she thrust farther into him, shoving eight inches of hard rubber into his ass.

"Shh, baby, this is just the beginning," Heather said affectionately. She bucked her hips back, then plunged forward another inch. Pete squirmed as much as he was able, but his struggles were futile against Heather's bulk and raw, brute strength. All his wriggling served to accomplish was to vibrate the toy and stimulate Heather's clit and pussy.

"The more you struggle, the more it'll hurt. Just relax, Petey, and trust me," Heather said gently. She felt his ass clench tigher and sighed. "Okay, be that way," she said, and plunged the dildo in his ass to the hilt. He let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream. Heather giggled. "I warned you," she said.

She began pistoning her hips faster and faster, pulling half-way out and then slamming back in, crunching Pete's hips and thighs under the enormous weight of her hulking muscles. Warm blood from his torn asshole spilled onto her thighs and sheets, the hot sticky concoction exciting Heather's depraved mind into an orgiastic frenzy of sexual destruction. The speed and friction of the strap-on transmitted through the attachment and built the intensity of sensation to a nearly unbearable level of pleasure in Heather's crushingly powerful pussy. The titanium rod bent and finally snapped in her powerfully pulsating pussy, the screeching tearing metal no match for her invincible, unstoppable muscles.

"Oh yeah," Heather sighed as she pulled out. Blood and fecal matter spilled onto the sheets from Pete's torn, violated asshole. Heather removed the strap-on and pulled the broken rod from her vagina. She looked at the broken piece and sighed. It would need to be replaced.

Heather looked at Pete's pale, frightened face. He made small, pained whimpering sounds. He looked fearfully at his muscular torturer. "Hey," she said gently. "You've been a good boy, Petey. I appreciate all you've done for me." She snuggled down next to him and rolled his body on top of her, resting his chin on her enormous tits. She looked into his pain-filled eyes. "You're such a good sport, little guy. I just want you to do one more thing for me, okay?" He didn't respond, just continued staring at her with glazed, terrified eyes.

She grasped the back of his head and shoved him down her powerful body. She settled his head into her wet, cum-drenched crotch and clamped her enormous thighs around his head. The gigantic steely muscles converged on his comparatively tiny skull and engulfed his head, shoulders, and a good deal of his torso in lethal muscle.

In his pain-filled state, the only thing Pete's brain could understand was that this goddess of pain and destruction was going to sacrifice him to her sex drive, that the last pizza he ever delivered was to a psychotic muscle-bound freak who was going to snuff him for her pure sadistic pleasure. But before she would end his pain with that sacrifice, he had to please her with his lips and tongue. He feebly kissed her engorged clit and flicked his tongue against it. Heather gasped and shuddered. She tasted of sex and pain, of his blood mingled with her cum and sweat, of sadism and terror and primal strength. Her fingers clenched in his hair, shoving his face hard into her pussy as her huge muscular thighs slowly began their slow devouring of his tiny, puny body. They shuddered and started closing with the power of hydraulic presses as he desperately licked her, only wanting to give her one last orgasm before she snuffed him like the insignificant ant he was compared to her infinitely superior physique. He was rewarded with a shuddering through her titanic thighs that encouraged him to lick harder, faster, even as those terrible thighs ground inexorably closer, shuddering more violently, moving closer, the roaring of the ocean mingling with the powerful pulse of her terrible heart feeding man-crushing power to her giant legs as they closed on his ears, the creak of his skull, and finally, yes!, the culminating orgasm as she slammed those killer thighs together, hammering around his poor head until Pete was lost to welcoming oblivion.

Heather slowly opened her eyes and looked down at her sweet lover, so young, cute, and eager-to-please. She peeled her lethal legs from around his poor bedraggled skull and pulled him up to examine him.

Oddly enough, the sheer size of her thighs had saved him, along with the thin layer of softening fat. After a few months of cutting, her thighs would have lost a few inches and turned into true pillars of steel that would have burst his head open like a tomato. "You're a lucky boy, Petey," Heather murmured approvingly. She lay him gently next to her and fetched a wet towel, which she used to clean his wounds and staunch the blood from his wounded anus. She gently massaged his shoulders, feeling for possible muscle damage from her violent dislocations. A half hour later his color had returned and he began to stir. The first thing he saw out of blurry eyes was Heather's beautiful face smiling down at him. "Feel okay, lover?" she asked softly.

"Like I was hit by a truck," he groaned. "What happened?" He looked around, confused and frightened.

Heather pushed him back into the pillow and kissed him. "Shush now, love," she ordered. Her hand drifted down to his cock and began playing with it. Pete closed his eyes and relaxed as her talented fingers brought him to a full erection. His eyes shot open again as he felt something warm and wet envelop his cock. He looked down apprehensively, remembering the last time she gave him a blowjob. She pulled back and smiled up at him.

"Don't worry," she said softly, her hot breath washing over his erection. "No pain this time, I promise." She extended her long tongue and licked up his pole like a lollipop, playing with the sensitive tip with little swirls before devouring the length of his shaft in her delightful mouth. Her thick pouty lips sucked gently at the base, rhythmically sliding up and down his dick in perfect time. Her long fingers gently massaged his balls. She kept up her rhythmic pattern, neither quickening nor slowing the pace, patiently sucking with seemingly infinite strength and energy until Pete writhed and moaned in pure pleasure. She kept the rhythm steady as he whimpered in pleasure, begging for release now, until finally taking pity on him and increasing the tempo and suction until he came in a long, shuddering, quivering release. She swallowed his seed and sucked the last dribbles of cum from his cock.

Heather pulled back and erotically licked her full, plush, pouty lips. "I think it's time for some pizza," she said in a low, sultry voice. She sauntered out of the bedroom, Pete's eyes glued to her huge ass rocking side to side as she walked. He heard her scuffling the pizza box and closed his eyes. Moments later he heard the water running as she brushed her teeth. When she entered, her huge tits came in a full half-foot before their muscular master. Massively pumped biceps and thighs swelled and jiggled as she made her way back to the bed. She grinned at the sight of his swelling boner.

"You ate all that pizza just now?" Pete asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want some?" Heather asked with a sparkling smile. "It was only a large, and I was hungry." Billiard ball muscles rippled in her thick abdomen.

"Um, no, thanks," he said nervously as he watched her eyeing his erection hungrily.

"You do find me attractive, don't you?" she purred as she descended on him, her juggernaut muscles settling around him and enveloping his tiny body. Her pussy swallowed his stiff cock and gently pulsated, creating a warm, wet, pleasantly close cave rather than the bruising pressure she had used before.

"Yes, you're irresistible," he gasped as she used her expert pussy to massage and pleasure him.

"You're just saying that because I have you trapped," she whispered playfully, flexing biceps bigger than bowling balls around his head and shoving a fat, hard nipple in his mouth. His attempt to respond was blocked by the huge tit-flesh covering his face, one of her breasts bigger than his entire head.

"You see," she murmured into her bicep so he could hear, "I can play nice, too." Her pussy pulled and pulsated gently around his cock as her perfect muscular control provided him with a pleasure no normal woman could ever match. She removed her huge breast and allowed him to breathe for a few seconds before again smothering him with her other tit, the long nipple again forced into his mouth. He suckled on her fat nipple while she moaned in pleasure. She lifted her free tit to her mouth and suckled herself, both of her stimulated nipples providing her with a warm glow of pleasure. She was careful not to get carried away, lest she become over-enthusiastic and smother her new plaything to death, losing yet another would-be lover. Her pussy grasped and squeezed his cock quickly and forcefully, impatiently bringing him to another orgasm and then brutally squeezing him dry. He tried to squirm out from under her, but her giant muscles easily held him in place under her huge smothering tit. He bit her nipple, drawing a jolt of pleasure from Heather which contracted her biceps and nearly crushed his skull.

"Good boy," Heather purred as she let his poor, spent, abused prick out of her pussy with a wet suctioning slurp. She lay next to him and pulled him into her giant body, forcing his head to her enormous tits and forcing him to suckle at her nipples for the next hour while she pleasured herself with brutally powerful fingers.

"Heather?" Pete asked hesitantly, finally pulling back from her delightful soft tit. She cocked her head. "If I had said no earlier, would you really have let me go?"

She smiled. "I knew you weren't going to say no, baby. I owned you the moment I opened the door." She sighed. "But to answer your question, no, I wouldn't have. You never had a choice tonight. You would have just made me mad, and you'd be nothing but a bloodstain in my tits now. But we both know you never stood a chance against me anyway."

Pete swallowed hard and accepted this without comment. "What happens to me now?" he asked, trying hard to keep from sounding pathetic.

Heather laughed. "You mean your stupid job?"

"It pays my rent," he said defensively. "I can't afford to lose it."

She reached an enormous arm over him and pulled him in to snuggle into her gigantic, pillowy breasts. The contrast between hard bicep and soft tit was somehow comforting, her warmth, femininity, and strength combining to make Pete feel welcomed and safe. "I told you, I like you, Petey," she said. "You're a sweet guy. If you lose your job tonight, we'll figure something out." She stroked his unruly red hair tenderly. "You're my boyfriend now. I'll take care of you."

It wasn't a question. She didn't care if he already had a girlfriend (he didn't), if he wanted to be her boyfriend (he did), she simply took him without asking. She wanted him, he was hers. She owned him completely.

She snuggled him closer into her titanic body. "You're sleeping with me tonight," she murmured. "Goodnight, baby." Vast steely muscles closed around him, removing any possibility of him leaving the bed.

Pete wrapped his arms around Heather's thick neck and rested his head on one of her perfect breasts. For some reason he no longer felt worried. Life could be a lot worse.

[Seldom]

Alternate Ending (very grisly)

Carrying the tiny man across her apartment and tossing him onto her reinforced bed was child's play for the freakishly muscled bodybuilder. He landed in a crying heap. "Please stop hurting me," he choked out.

Heather laughed as she stripped off the silver dress. "I haven't begun hurting you yet," she growled. She slowly crawled onto the bed and onto him, taking her time to let the full intimidating power of her massive nude physique sink into his pain-addled brain. The contrast between them was beyond laughable, it was scary. Her man-crushing muscles strained to devour their helpless prey. She leaned onto him and smothered his crying face in her huge breasts. Her thick arms tore his shirt like it was paper, leaving him naked beneath her.

She scooted her ass back until she felt his still-hard erection against her muscular cheeks, lifted her hips, and thrust herself down on him. Despite her earlier sexual assault, he was unprepared for this new wave of pain as she ground his member in the iron grip of her slick pussy. She extended her long tongue and licked his salty tears before finally thrusting it into his mouth, gagging his sobs. Her lips locked on his as she pistoned her hips, not holding back this time, slamming him into the bed as her grisly pussy crushed his cock to pulp.

She reared back as she approached another orgasm, grunting and breathing hard and moaning, listening to his pathetic cries of pain, heedless of his puny fists pounding on her invincible breasts. She thrust harder and faster, nearly pulverizing his hips in her gigantic thighs, her calves wrapped around his legs flexing and bending his skinny thighs almost to the breaking point. She grabbed his tiny fists in her huge hands and slammed them onto the bed, yanking his arms out of their sockets with a sickening pop. Her sweaty breasts slammed into his face, smothering his nose, mouth, and eyes beneath their heavy bulk, robbing him of breath and sight. Then her orgasm hit with full force, her monstrous muscles flexing to obscene proportions, his cock squelched into an unusable purple mess, his thighs snapped like twigs against her bulging calves, his hips splintered under her thunder thighs, her fists clenched and ground his hands and wrists into pulp with sickening wet cracks. Heather screamed as she mutilated poor Pete's defenseless body, heedless of his bones crumbling under the onslaught of her unstoppable muscles.

"Oh fuck yes," she breathed as she shuddered her way back to reality. She felt the squishy remains of the broken body beneath her and chuckled. "Oops," she said without remorse. She peeled her sweaty breasts off his face and let his unconscious body start breathing again. Her fingers found the dislocations in his shoulders and quickly snapped his arms back into place. There was nothing she could do for his broken legs and mutilated, pulped hands. She shrugged. It was unlikely he would survive the night anyway.

The enormous bodybuilder picked Pete's body up with one hand and flung him over one broad shoulder. She could easily have fit two of him on each shoulder, so wide was her back. She carried him around the room as she went to her drawers, his slight weight inconsequential to the massively muscled woman. She found her toy and gazed at it fondly. It was a strap-on, but unlike any other strap-on. The simulated cock was twelve inches of hard rubber shaped like a real dick and colored to Heather's exotic skin. It had an attachment specially fit for Heather, with a rubber stimulator for her clit and a fourteen inch titanium rod to be inserted in her pussy. The harder she penetrated her victim, the more stimulation her clit and pussy would receive. The titanium rod was dented and deformed from Heather's previous playtimes.

She pulled the strap-on into place and secured it, the specially-fitted, flesh-colored straps blending into her waist and thighs and making it appear the simulated cock and balls were really an extension of her own grotesquely exaggerated anatomy. The designer had complimented her on its fit and realism before she took it for a test run on him. She had been over-enthusiastic and ended up skewering his intestines, leaving him to die of internal bleeding when she lost interest in butt-fucking him several hours later.

Heather grabbed a tube of KY and poured generous amounts of lubricating jelly on the rubber shaft. She spread it into an even coating. That finished, she plucked Pete's unconscious, broken body off her shoulder and tossed him onto the bed. She quickly joined him and positioned the tip of her cock at his anus. She lifted his broken legs so they splayed on either side of her head. She leaned down and kissed Pete's mouth. "Wake up, sleepyhead," she playfully teased. She gave him a few light slaps to bring him around.

"Owww," he groaned, his whole body filled with intense aching pain. He looked up at his beautiful tormentress and saw the dangerous, insane, playful glint in her sparkling blue eyes. Then he felt the cold lubricated rod inserted in his ass cheeks. His eyes widened. "Please noo--" was as far as he got before Heather shoved her hips forward and skewered Pete half-way up the dildo.

"Oh God, no, no, please," Pete sobbed as she violated his virgin asshole. Her powerful fingers gripped his fragile, painful shoulders and she thrust farther into him, shoving eight inches of hard rubber into his ass.

"Shh, baby, this is just the beginning," Heather said affectionately. She bucked her hips back, then plunged forward another inch. Pete squirmed as much as his broken body was able, but his struggles were futile against Heather's bulk and raw, brute strength. All his wriggling served to accomplish was to vibrate the toy and stimulate Heather's clit and pussy.

"The more you struggle, the more it'll hurt. Just relax, Petey, and trust me," Heather said gently. She felt his ass clench tigher and sighed. "Okay, be that way," she said, and plunged the dildo in his ass to the hilt. He let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream. Heather giggled. "I warned you," she said.

She began pistoning her hips faster and faster, pulling half-way out and then slamming back in, crunching Pete's hips and thighs even more under the enormous weight of her hulking muscles. Warm blood from his torn asshole spilled onto her thighs and sheets, the hot sticky concoction exciting Heather's depraved mind into an orgiastic frenzy of sexual destruction. Her fingers clenched, easily snapping his collarbone and grinding his shoulders to a gory pulp. The speed and friction of the strap-on transmitted through the attachment and built the intensity of sensation to a nearly unbearable level of pleasure in Heather's crushingly powerful pussy. The titanium rod bent and finally snapped in her powerfully pulsating pussy, the screeching tearing metal no match for her invincible, unstoppable muscles.

"Oh yeah," Heather sighed as she pulled out. Blood and fecal matter spilled onto the sheets from Pete's torn, violated asshole. Heather removed the strap-on and pulled the broken rod from her vagina. She looked at the broken piece and sighed. It would need to be replaced.

Heather looked at Pete's pale, frightened face. He made small, pained whimpering sounds. Unable to move his arms or legs, he could only look fearfully at his muscular torturer. "Hey," she said gently. "You've been a good boy, Petey. I appreciate all you've done for me." She snuggled down next to him and rolled his broken body on top of her, resting his chin on her enormous tits. His arms and legs flopped uselessly. She looked into his pain-filled eyes. "It's almost over, baby," she said. "I just want you to do one more thing for me, then I'll release you from your pain. Okay?" He didn't respond, just continued staring at her with glazed, terrified eyes.

She grasped the back of his head and shoved him down her powerful body. She settled his head into her wet, cum-drenched crotch and clamped her enormous thighs around his head. The gigantic steely muscles converged on his comparatively tiny skull and engulfed his head, shoulders, and a good deal of his torso in lethal muscle.

In his pain-filled state, the only thing Pete's brain could understand was that this goddess of death and destruction was going to sacrifice him to her sex drive, that the last pizza he ever delivered was to a psychotic muscle-bound freak who was going to snuff him for her pure sadistic pleasure. But before she would end his pain with that sacrifice, he had to please her with the only parts of his body she had left functional, his lips and tongue. He feebly kissed her engorged clit and flicked his tongue against it. Heather gasped and shuddered. She tasted of sex, pain, and death, of his blood mingled with her cum and sweat, of sadism and terror and primal strength. Her fingers clenched in his hair, shoving his face hard into her pussy as her huge muscular thighs slowly began their slow devouring of his tiny, puny body. They shuddered and started closing with the power of hydraulic presses as he desperately licked her, only wanting to give her one last orgasm before she snuffed him like the insignificant ant he was compared to her infinitely superior physique. He was rewarded with a shuddering through her titanic thighs that encouraged him to lick harder, faster, even as those terrible thighs ground inexorably closer, splintering what remained of his arms and torso, shuddering more violently, moving closer, the roaring of the ocean mingling with the powerful pulse of her terrible heart feeding man-crushing power to her giant legs as they closed on his ears, the creak of his skull, and finally, yes!, the culminating orgasm as she slammed those killer thighs together, squashing his skull like an overripe tomato, crunching his bones, his brains and gore spraying in a hot splash on her flooding pussy and vibrating thighs, covering her abs, lower body, bed, and walls in viscera as her lethal legs smashed his body into an unrecognizable pulp.

Heather slowly opened her eyes and looked down at the remains of the sweet Petey, so young, cute, and eager-to-please. She wrinkled her nose at the splash of bones, gore, and grey matter, nothing even remotely resembling a human left between her legs. "Ew," she said, and sighed. "Too bad, Petey, I liked you."  She lay back, absently pushed a couple of gore-drenched fingers into her pussy, and began masturbating, fantasizing about what might have been with the cute little boy she had just murdered.

[jos73]

Sonja the Barbarian
by Seldom (seldomlasts@yahoo.com)
A giant sword-wielding barbarian redhead in a fantasy world? Quite brutal.


***** AUTHOR'S NOTE *****

I like to think of this as a tribute to that gorgeous comic book heroine, though other
than her name and occupation, this Sonja is not Red Sonja.

I love hearing from you. I really do. Please e-mail me if you like this story, and even if
you don't, tell me what you didn't like. Let me know if you'd like me to continue to write
about Sonja, and if so, what should she do? Warning: This story is brutal, violent, and
sexual.

* * * * *

Her eyes scanned what remained of the village.

The scene was one of absolute destruction and carnage. Men hung from the roofs of gutted
houses, their stomachs split open, their insides long ago drained to lie in rotting gory
clumps underneath the corpses. More than a few women, clothing torn, lay dead in the
streets, their bodies horribly violated. They had screamed for a long time before they
died, brutally raped while their husbands were forced to watch. Children and babies were
among the dead, skulls crushed, small bodies mangled. All told, several hundred corpses
littered the streets and surrounding crop fields. The few people normally needed to keep
peace, the lord's garrison, seemed to have taken the longest to die. Several body parts
were missing altogether.

Her grip tightened slightly on the hilt of her sword and her eyes narrowed. She walked
over to investigate a small whimpering sound. A teenage girl lay huddled under a pile of
blankets, sobbing quietly to herself. She would have been quite pretty were it not for her
blood-soaked skin. The blankets tried to hide the tell-tale signs of rape. She had been
violated multiple times.

Sonja clamped her huge hand on the girl's slender arm and rolled her over. The girl gasped
and shook in terror when she saw Sonja. The enormous redhead simply waited for the girl to
calm down, which she did when she realized Sonja was not going to hurt her. Sonja extended
one finger to stroke the girl's soft cheek.

The girl wept, clutching Sonja's hand tightly. Her small, slender fingers disappeared in
Sonja's grasp. Eventually she passed out from blood loss, pain, and terror. Sonja tenderly
picked up the teenager, the girl's weight nothing in Sonja's thickly muscled arms.

She seemed to be the only survivor. Sonja searched for others, sloshing through the bloody
streets, but found none. She carried the girl to another town, long strides easily eating
the distance. She found a doctor and lay the girl where he directed. He peeled off the
bloody blankets under Sonja's silent gaze. After examining her he looked at Sonja. Her
massive, bulky frame towered over him.

"She's in bad shape, but she'll live. I'll need to keep her here for awhile." Sonja
nodded. "You're Sonja, aren't you, the amazon warrior from Palmyra?" She nodded again. "I
had no idea you were so big, or so beautiful...Are you here to save us?" She didn't
respond.

He shook himself and continued, "Thank you for bringing this girl to me. She would have
died soon without attention." The doctor cleaned and dressed the victim's wounds,
concentrating on the girl's big, soft, cut-up breasts and bloody genitals, which had
received the most damage. When he finally looked up, Sonja was gone.

* * * * *

Rex's Raiders only accepted the foulest and most brutal men from all over the known world.
Rape, torture, multiple murders were minimum entry requirements. They did as they pleased,
terrorizing Larin. The girl's village was an extreme example of their handiwork. Larin was
a poor agricultural country and didn't have the resources to stop their brutality, nor the
economic leverage to buy an army. Thus Larin's villages were raped and slaughtered at
will, the king frustrated and helpless to stop them.

The perfect place for Sonja to have a little fun.

She watched the camp. The men were drunk and partying until they dropped. The sound of
women's, and, in some cases, boys' screams mixed with the music and harsh laughter.

The guard she had grabbed and forced to eat her had expired in her pussy long ago. She
grunted and threw his corpse aside. She drew herself up to her full formidable height, her
monstrously large muscles flexing and expanding. It was time to join the party.

The men at the first camp fire she walked up to scrabbled away in fear as the pale
redheaded goddess stepped into the fire light. The glow flickered over her gigantic form,
highlighting every bulging muscle in full relief. Without expression she simply kicked the
nearest man. Her foot rammed right through his head, exploding his skull and splattering
his brains over her foot and some of the other men. The others started yelling for help.
Sonja smiled.

She loved to kill. She hadn't even unsheathed her sword yet; she enjoyed crushing these
men with her bare hands too much. She enjoyed slowly bringing her thighs together,
splattering the skulls of men who happened to be between them. She grabbed men left and
right, easily squashing their chests flat between her unstoppable arms. The slaughter she
unleashed on these men was equally if not more brutal than anything they had meted out.
She was not a nice woman, and she satisfied her blood-lust on these scum.

Sonja walked through the camp dispensing carnage left and right. She raped men at will,
then crunched their pelvises in her iron grip. None were spared in her violent appetite.
Dozens died during her earth-shaking orgasms. The only noises heard were her animal growls
and the screams of men she encountered. She did not discriminate between the members of
the camp and their victims; she gleefully killed all she encountered. Men were rended limb
from limb; gory bits of what once were humans were splattered all over the camp. The
terrifying banshee was unhindered by anything in her way, human or animal, flesh and blood
or steel. She crushed boulders between her thighs to show off to her victims before slowly
tearing them apart.

All too quickly (for her) it was over. She came down from her last gut-wrenching orgasm
still shaking and grinning.

There was one problem: she hadn't found Rex.

She saw one last unbroken man cowering before her. She stalked over to him. There was a
man alive on the ground between them. She had torn open his stomach with her fingers and
his guts were leaking onto the ground.

Sonja looked at the shaking man in front of her and slowly brought her foot down on the
skull of the man between them, sighing contentedly as she felt his skull crack and his wet
brains slither around her foot. She wiggled her toes, the gore making disgusting squishing
noises. The last man alive threw up.

She lifted him up with one bruising hand engulfing his puny shoulder. He shook
uncontrollably. Her expression grew serious. She was eerily beautiful in the flickering of
the dying camp fires. She raised her right arm and drew it back, then stopped. The man
squirmed in her grasp, no more than a child next to her awesome strength and stature. He
knew one blow from her and his head would be no more than a fine bloody mist. He pissed
himself. Sonja wrinkled her nose and slowly brought her fist forward, looking at the man
questioningly.

He caught on. "N-n-no, p-please don't kill me!" he howled. "Rex is at cards! He's in the
village not ten miles east of here! Please, Sonja, please spare me!"

She seemed to consider it. She toyed with his body held aloft in her arms. He began to
have hope she would let him live.

Sonja's reputation for quick yet sickeningly brutal results was not unfounded, though. She
grasped one of his arms in each hand and slowly pulled. She looked into his eyes, enjoying
the terror she found there. Agonizingly slowly yet inexorably she pulled, listening to the
pops and crackles of his muscles and ligaments being torn apart. He howled in pain, adding
to her sadistic delight.

His bones pulled out of their sockets. His skin tore. He fell to the ground before Sonja,
unconscious but alive, the stumps where his arms used to be pumping blood and gore onto
the ground. Sonja tossed his arms aside. She knew he would die of blood loss within
fifteen minutes, but that was not good enough.

She slapped the man until he was awake, each powerful blow shattering something in his
jaw. She wanted him conscious for her final sickening act.

She pulled up her battle skirt, revealing her furry, large, moist crotch. "No, please God
no," the man between her thighs pleaded. She spread her large labia and let them drip over
his face, the juices hot and stinging. Her pussy was large even for her immense size. She
let her pussy lips drape over his head, her powerful vaginal muscles easily pulling his
whole head inside her. Normally she simply let men suffocate in her, but that was not a
painful and brutal enough end for a member of Rex's ex-Raiders. She clamped down with her
pussy, sucking in more and more of him. Her soft labia chewed gently at his shoulders
until eventually his whole upper body was trapped in her huge pussy. She fingered her
large erect clit, getting off on his weakening struggles.

His end was as short as it was painful. Her orgasm hit with even deadlier force than
before. She stood and flexed every muscle in her unbelievably powerful body, grinding his
lower body to gory paste between her long thick thighs. His skull and torso were squashed
into a bloody tube in the powerful contractions of her vagina. His flattened body was
washed out in a flood of her juices. Her fatal orgasm killed the last member of Rex's
Raiders. The last except for Rex himself.

She toweled the blood and gore off herself and surveyed the remains of the camp. The
devastation was even more complete than what they had done to the village. Body parts and
bits of skull and brain littered the dirt and rocks. Satisfied, she went off in search of
the leader.

End of sonja1

[jos73]

John's teeth chattered as he led Sonja into her room. She closed the door behind her,
making it clear that he was to stay. He moaned in terror. No man survived a night with
Sonja.

She was even more impressive in person than the legends said. She was gigantic and proud,
with shoulders broader than he was tall. Her bulging forearms were as thick around as his
thighs, and her biceps were larger than his waist. She had more muscle in one arm than he
had on his entire body. Her wavy red hair flowed down in a tangled fiery mane to her
thickly muscled butt.

John found her extraordinarily beautiful, in spite of his fear. He was captivated by her
emerald eyes, her high cheekbones, her thick lips and exaggerated figure. She was
uncommonly pretty. She had huge impossibly firm breasts and wide hips, with a slight
suggestion of an hourglass shape in spite of her thick muscular abdomen. Every inch of her
bulged rock-solid muscles and unimaginable, frightening power.

Sonja stripped off her blood-soaked battle garments without hesitation. John turned away,
color flooding into his cheeks. The musky aroma of her sweat filled the room. He was
embarrassed at the erection which popped up at her scent, aroused even while terrified.

She turned toward him and he cowered back, whimpering in fear. She paused. "Please, ma'am,
please," John choked out. "I don't want to die. I'm only thirteen. Please don't kill me!"

If Sonja had heard half the stories John had about her, she would have laughed. Twenty
feet tall she was, and breathed fire. She devoured men for breakfast! All of these
thoughts ran around and collided in John's confused, terrified mind.

John shut his eyes tight and waited for the terrible blow that would end his life, or the
equally fatal horrific rape he was sure was coming. Instead he felt her thickly calloused
finger caress his cheek. He hesitantly opened his eyes. Sonja was looking down at him
with...what? Tenderness? John saw a softness in her eyes he would never have thought
possible from this horrifyingly violent woman. He was still shaking, though. After all, he
had seen her casually swipe off the head of the leader of Rex's Raiders!

He felt something soft and squishy press into his hand. He grasped it and realized she had
just handed him a sponge. He almost cried in relief.

Sonja stood before him expectantly. He tried not to think too hard about the red streaks
and bits of white he wiped off her huge body. He ran the sponge around her arms, her
shoulders, down her broad, muscular back. He traced the deep furrows of muscle along her
shoulders and upper back. He hesitantly moved to the front, wiping off her stomach. Her
abs rippled with power, each muscle vibrant and alive.

He worshipped her.

She lowered herself down and closed her eyes, allowing him to sponge off her face and
ears. The overpowering intoxicating scent of her sweat hypnotized him. He ran the sponge
over her bull neck and under her shaved armpits, occasionally cleaning it in the water
barrel. He stopped at her upper torso. She opened her eyes.

Her powerful hand, capable of easily crushing rocks and more fragile things, like human
skulls, engulfed his hand and guided it gently but firmly to her chest. He marveled at her
firm, huge breasts. They were dense but slightly springy to his touch. He had never seen
naked breasts before but he imagined that these must be the most perfect pair in the
world.

He slowly and lovingly sponged every part of her glorious breasts and the dense valley of
muscle between. He stroked the undersides of the huge globes, cleaning away accumulated
dirt and gore. Gore under her breasts? He tried not to think about how that got there.

The sponge grazed over her huge, erect nipples, each the size of John's thumb, mounted on
brown aureola the size of saucers. She gasped as he touched her sensitive nipples. He
looked up at her face and saw that she had her eyes closed and her beautiful red lips
slightly parted. He slowly reached out and stroked her huge nipple with his fingers.

She stood. Sonja towered over John, her vast heavily muscled body in sharp contrast to his
slender pretty frame. He continued the sponge-bath, lovingly cleaning her wondrous thighs,
lingering over each huge flexed muscle. He traced the lines of her legs, the ridges and
valleys, cleaning every inch in awe and respect. He moved around to her back and cleaned
off her wide, powerful glutes. She relaxed her butt and allowed him to wash her crack, his
hand and sponge almost lost among all that dense, powerful muscle. He shuddered as he
thought about what would happen to his hand if she suddenly tensed.

Sonja lay down on the bed and parted her legs. John stared at her thick tangled fur, the
large, pink, moist pussy lips, and the long erect clit. She waited patiently. He caressed
her fur, cleaning her pussy. He almost came in his pants the wonderful scent from her
aroused pussy was so strong. The blood and gore around her pussy kept him from climaxing.
He reluctantly stopped cleaning her pussy once he had thoroughly gone over every part of
her massive genitalia.

Working his way down the massive trunks of her legs, he couldn't help fondling and kissing
the huge muscles. She didn't seem to mind. He tenderly washed and kissed her vast, rock-
hard calves. She pointed her toes and the ball of muscle sprung out at him, harder than
steel.

He cleaned her feet, shuddering as he wiped the blood and gory splatters of brain from
between her toes. He was reminded at every smooth curve just how deadly this muscular
goddess was.

Sonja opened her eyes when she felt John insistently tugging her hand. She looked down
curiously. "Please, mistress, I would like to wash your hair." She grinned and nodded. She
allowed him to bend her over another barrel of clean water and moaned as he thoroughly
washed her long flaming hair. His little fingers tugging on the strands of her hair,
massaging her scalp, felt sooo good. She loved his tender touch, washing her ears,
worshipfully attending every strand.

John towelled her hair, thoroughly drying the tangled mass. He took a brush and sat her on
the bed. Even sitting she towered over him imposingly. He crawled up behind her and
brushed the tangles out of her waist-length hair. Nobody had ever attended to her body
with this much loving care, and she revelled in it. She let him brush her hair for more
than an hour, enjoying every moment of the soft tugging on her scalp.

Finally he was done. He didn't want to leave. He was completely smitten by this mysterious
flaming creature. He wanted to run his hands over her hard tanned skin, feeling her
massive muscles flowing underneath, for the rest of his life.

Sonja lifted John into the air with one hand, setting him on her wide lap. She shredded
his clothes without effort, tossing the rags to the floor. He looked up fearfully. "Are
you going to kill me now?" he asked in a whisper.

She stroked his cheek, roaming her hand and eyes over his pretty body. He was just
beginning to develop body hair. She ran her fingers over his erect cock. All men's cocks
were equally tiny to her; she filled her pussy with men's bodies, not their dicks. Still,
she liked playing with his cock, stroking it and squeezing it. She could easily smush it
between her thumb and forefinger, instead she just pinched it teasingly.

"I don't want to die," he whimpered, tears falling down his cheeks. She placed one large
finger over his lips to shush him. He looked at her, afraid. She shook her head and smiled
gently. She was bad, not evil. He was young and pretty; she just wanted to play with him.
He might survive.

He gulped and rested his head on her shoulder while she played with his body. He shuddered
as she ran her fingers over his inner thighs, squirmed when she inserted a finger into his
ass, giggled when she tickled his tummy and armpits. She laughed delightedly while she
manipulated his puny body. She was totally uninhibited, and in her tender care he shed his
own reservations.

He jerked in surprise when he felt her long wet tongue stroke his back. He relaxed in her
powerful grasp, feeling her smooth dripping tongue coat him with her saliva, cleaning him.
She ran it over his whole body, licking the dirt off in huge swaths. He moaned in pleasure
as her warm mouth engulfed his genitals, rolling his balls gently over her tongue. She
stuck her tongue out farther, cleaning his butt and licking his crack. Her strong
insistent tongue was thorough, not allowing a single inch of him to remain uncoated. He
giggled and squirmed as she tickled his feet and washed between his toes. He felt warm and
safe in her arms, covered in her slime. He loved her tongue bath and wished it would never
stop.

He lay in her arms when it was over, purring as she stroked him with her long, thick,
powerful fingers. His head rested on her solid bicep. Her clit poked against his butt, the
gentle pressure creating a warm glow of contentment in Sonja. She looked down at him,
admiring how delicate and pretty he was. Hers to play with.

John pushed her arms away and hopped down from her lap. He pushed her back onto the bed.
Surprised, she did as his gentle touch demanded. He rolled her over and left the room.
"I'll be right back," he promised.

He returned twenty minutes later with a bowl of heated scented oils and a rag. She moaned
in pleasure at the touch of the hot oil on her smooth tan skin. His small but amazingly
strong fingers went to work on her back, massaging small knots in her muscles. The knots
were bigger than his biceps, John saw. He worked her back for hours, letting his hands
uncramp every half hour or so. His magic touch soothed her lethal muscles, warming her and
giving her a peace she never thought possible. She fell asleep. He rose and fell with her
gentle breathing, his knees braced on her broad muscular back.

He worked his way down her body, in no rush to finish the job. He smoothed the muscles in
her arms and shoulders, her back, her glutes, her massive thighs (careful not to put his
head between the columns of deadly muscle), her stone calves. He massaged her ankles, then
moved his expert hands to her feet. He caressed and licked the calloused pads of her feet
and toes. He ran his tongue between the strong digits, rubbed oil into the powerful
muscles in her foot, compared his own scrawny body to the power contained just in her
awesome feet. He knew these feet had crushed skulls and ground men's bodies into a gory
mess. The thought excited him. Her power, her incredible exotic beauty, voluptuous figure,
and impossible muscles turned him on more than he had ever been in his paltry thirteen
years of existence.

* * * * *

Sonja awoke feeling more refreshed and alive than she had in ages. Her muscles, instead of
being sore and knotted after her night of play, felt smooth, warm and limber. She moaned
softly.

John jerked around. She smiled at him. He smiled back weakly and returned to what he was
doing. After a moment she saw that he was cleaning her equipment, thoroughly washing her
armor, sword, and clothing. He had to struggle to maneuver the heavy pieces of metal,
putting his whole body into moving items of equipment she tossed around with one hand.

She was content to watch him. She had never known such a thorough, attentive and willing
slave. She was a bit surprised that he was still alive. She must have fallen asleep early.
Watching him work she was glad he survived.

There was a hesitant knock on the door. Sonja growled loudly, the sound deep and menacing.
John shrank away from her. The knocking stopped.

"Miss Sonja," came the voice of the owner. "So sorry to bother you, but the king's men are
here. They wish to take you to see the king."

Sonja grunted. The owner walked away from her closed door.

The huge redhead stood, seeming to fill the entire space of the small room. She allowed
John to struggle with the equipment for a while before impatiently tossing him aside and
putting her armor on herself. John cowered in fear and shame. Sonja growled at him and
motioned that he was to follow her.

Sonja emerged into the bar where two soldiers stood waiting. The bar's owner gaped in
surprise when John followed her in. John shrugged sheepishly and stood by Sonja. The owner
wisely didn't say anything; Sonja had paid more than a fair price for the life of one
young inexperienced servant-boy.

"The king wants to see you. Follow us," the bigger of the two soldiers grunted to Sonja.
She followed them. John had trouble keeping up with their long strides. Sonja simply
lifted him onto her shoulders and let him ride above her head. She slowed her pace to
remain between the two soldiers.

The larger soldier, the head of the king's personal army, kept glaring over at Sonja. It
was obvious he didn't like her. He felt challenged by her size and strength. Her
reputation for brutality and quick results threatened him. He was clearly resentful of
her. Sonja pretended she didn't notice his rude and imprudent glances.

They arrived at the castle. Sonja was unimpressed. It was smaller than some duke's castles
she had seen. There wasn't even a moat. She grunted her disapproval and followed the
soldiers in. She swung John down from his perch, firmly planting him several steps behind
her. They entered the king's chambers.

Trumpets called and the king entered. "All kneel before King Harold, mighty ruler of
Larin," called out the court herald. The lesser dignitaries all bowed. Only the king, the
king's guard, Sonja, and John remained standing. John glanced uncertainly from his new
master to the aggressive soldier, caught between his loyalty to Sonja and the necessity of
bowing before the king.

He paused too long. "On your knees before the king, boy!" growled the head of Larin's
small army, shoving John roughly. Since he couldn't shove Sonja, shoving her weak little
slave was the next best thing. John stumbled to his knees, tears of humiliation forming in
his eyes.

The head of the army felt himself lifted high into the air. He struggled as he felt one
huge hand close around his shoulders and another around his waist. The strong steel
yielded like putty to Sonja's powerful grip. She squeezed, crushing the steel into the
arrogant soldier's body. Ribs snapped. Without changing expression she drew her hands
apart. The man's armor shrieked horribly, nearly as loud and terrifying as the man's own
scream. Sonja dropped the two gory halves of the corpse to the floor.

The soldiers, king, and various other people in the room stood in shock. Sonja had just
executed the king's favorite for his poor judgement. She stood boldly before the king, not
bowing her head even an inch in respect.

Slowly the king collected himself. He motioned for the corpse to be disposed of. His face
was ashen as he stared at Sonja in fear and anger. "I, I suppose he deserved that," the
king stuttered out. "Thank you for ridding my kingdom of the scourge of Rex's Raiders. We
are a poor country so we cannot thank you enough. Please accept the hospitality of any
home in the land as gratitude, and this modest tribute as payment." A well-dressed
trembling young man offered a bag of gold to Sonja. She took it.

Sonja bared her teeth at the room in a fearsome grin, turned, and walked out. John hurried
after her.

Abrams, now head of the king's army and personal guard, shook in rage. "Sir, the, the, the
arrogance! She killed George! Why did you let her leave alive? She must pay!"

The king laughed bitterly. "Perhaps some day she will, Abrams. But George paid for his
stupidity with his life. Look at her. All of our men together couldn't challenge Rex's
Raiders, and she wiped them out for fun. We never asked for her, we could never have
afforded her services had she charged us. The token we gave her really was a token, though
it strains the limits of what we can afford." The king's look darkened. "Perhaps she will
meet a foe who will best her and that devil will meet the fate she deserves. But it will
not be today, and it will not be us." He raised his voice. "No man is to challenge Sonja!
I do not need more dead soldiers. Let the general's fate be a lesson for us all."

Abrams stood at the castle's gates and glared after Sonja and that pathetic little figure
following her, that weak poor excuse for a boy who was the reason for his superior's
death. Pure hatred burned in his eyes.

[Seldom]

Executive Recruitment

For those who haven't read it elsewhere, I'm looking for comments/criticisms on this story. It's the second in a series of 3, but it's the first one I finished.

I usually visualize my stories as I write them.  This one I picture as an anime, which makes me wish I could draw.  I even have a decent soundtrack in mind.  Anyone know a good animator looking for a violent story?

Warning: nsfw / violence.  There's also a bit of cyber-dorkage in this.  Mostly because I get so frustrated when movies and television get the simplest things about computers so terribly, completely wrong, when all they would have to do is consult one single programmer!

As always, please let me know what you think!

* * * * *

Mumbai, the financial capital of India, Asia's fastest-growing economy, a strange mishmash of ancient culture and Western money, gleaming skyscrapers a painful reminder of unattainable prosperity to the dull-eyed, unambitious masses in the filthy streets below.  Brilliant limousines so black they hurt the eyes vied with three-wheeled auto drivers hell-bent on taking their low-priced fares on a pulse-pounding joyride.  Money was the heartbeat of the city, from haggling over rupees in the all-night bazaars to multi-billion dollar negotiations played in a cleaner but far more dangerous environment.  Swiss bankers, German industrialists, American multi-nationals all vied to extract as much money from the world as possible, while Indian programmers and tech support slaved away beneath keeping the whole machine grinding on.  Corporations found their greatest friend in India, a resource-laden, nouveau-riche, relatively stable democracy with the ineffective and corrupt government of a third-world country, where people and laws can be bought and sold, and nothing is illegal if the price is right.  And bankers found their greatest friends in Mumbai.

A non-descript gray car, noteworthy only in that it was clean and new in a city where anything new meant wealth, pulled up to the valet station at the Hilton Towers.  If anything the car was not worthy of the dazzling monolith of glass and concrete.  The answer to why became clear soon enough when two giant, muscle-bound blondes stepped from the car.  Bodyguards, clearly, German ex-military by the look of their crew-cuts and boring yet expensive suits.  One of them reached an enormous hand into the car and pulled out a tiny brown-skinned girl.  She barely reached his chest, even in heels.

The girl was delicately beautiful, and timeless in an oriental fashion.  From a distance she could be anywhere from twelve to thirty.  She carried herself well, though she was clearly scared.  Her tiny size and oriental features marked her as one of the depressingly large number of Nepali child prostitutes kept in sexual slavery for the bizarre and insatiable appetites of powerful foreigners.  Demand creates its own supply, powerless victims in an unfair world.

One of the European giants gently but firmly guided the girl into the hotel's gleaming lobby.  The clerk's dark face was carefully neutral and respectful.  He was not paid to judge the ways of white men.  The girl glanced up at her handler, who smiled down at her not unkindly.  "Come on, be a good little girl," he murmured in German.  Her face was blank and terrified.

The younger giant joined them in the elevator.  Together they rode higher and higher in the tower.  "Weren't you saying something about today?" the huge German asked.

"My granddaughter's birthday," the man with his hand gripping the tiny prostitute said.  "She'll be two."

The other German laughed.  "And you here in this fucking city in this goddamn backwards shithole of a country," he said through a grin.

"I'm glad you find it so funny.  It proves we aren't nearly so humorless as the world believes," the first man said dryly.  That shut his companion up, and they finished the ride in silence.

The other bodyguard made to frisk the girl when they reached an ostentatious, tackily decorated suite, his eyes a little too eager.  The first man stopped him and knelt down to look into the girl's frightened eyes.  "It's okay, I have to do this," he said, but it was clear she couldn't understand him.  He quickly and efficiently frisked the girl, not lingering.  The other bodyguard grunted in disappointment.

A door opened, the entrance to the inner bedroom, and a corpulant elderly man waddled out, yelling impatiently into his cell phone, barely glancing at his bodyguards and their expensive cargo.  He had thinning white hair and purple fingers and he wheezed as he yelled.  "Don't tell me you can't do it.  I want that company buried and I want Morgan destroyed, do you understand me?  I want him tossed into the street, spat on, villified, I want his wife and children to abandon him!  No, better, I want her to commit suicide with the shame of it!  Now get it done!" he screamed before snapping the phone shut and throwing it irritably at the younger bodyguard, who easily caught it.

"Aha," the Swiss banker said, finally eyeing the slender young girl like a prime piece of meat.  He smoothed his thinning hair back and instantly oozed charm.  "Come here, my dear, come here," he said in English, coaxing the girl into his embrace.  She looked back at the older bodyguard fearfully, her eyes pleading.  The bodyguard looked sad, but it was not his place to change the way of the world.

"We're a fucking circus of stereotypes," he observed as the fat banker closed the door on them.  He tried not to hear the girl's cries of pain that followed.

* * * * *

THWACK!  The man's fist landed hard on the back of Pin-Mei's neck.  She winced and choked back a sob as he threatened to split her in two.  Her everything ached, and after a full hour of being slapped, punched, kicked, and raped she was barely conscious.  Wouldn't the banker ever come?  Maybe he couldn't come.  The thought made her blood run cold.  She needed an opportunity.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he roughly grabbed her thin but surprisingly firm shoulders and squeezed brutally hard, ramming into her ass and jerking so hard she twitched with him.  "Aaaaugh," he said finally, collapsing back onto the bed with her still impaled on him.

Now.  Pin-Mei casually reached into her thick mane of jet-black hair held up by an ornamental clasp.  She pulled the clasp out and shook her hair loose, letting it cascade down her back.  "Lovely," the banker murmured through slitted eyes, watching the light gleam off the sharp-looking tongs of the hair clasp a split-second before Pin-Mei used it to gouge out his throat.  He didn't have time to scream as his esophagus and a good chuck of his neck were torn out like so much meat.  How could this tiny girl be so strong?

The banker clutched his throat and gurgled as he died.  He looked up into the prostitute's child-like face, but there was nothing childish about her cold, dead, completely emotionless gaze as she watched him drown in his own blood.  She wiped her hair clasp clean with his shirt and glanced at the door, wondering when the bodyguards would come to check up on their master.

She felt a familiar reluctance.  There could be no witnesses, of course, she didn't question that, but it still felt wrong.  Well, there was nothing that could be done about that.  She inhaled and let out a piercing scream.  Seconds later the door crashed open as the two Germans broke in, guns drawn, their eyes instinctively settling on the banker's gory corpse.

Pin-Mei struck faster than they thought possible, kicking the gun out of the younger man's hand and plunging stiff fingers into his throat, tearing out a big chunk of his meaty, muscular neck.  As she ripped his neck out with one hand she caught his gun with the other, pressed it into the older bodyguard's chest, and pulled the trigger.  The bulk of his muscular body muffled the gun's explosion and he jerked back, staggering backwards and falling to the floor.

She turned her attention to the man in her unbelievably strong grip, strips of flesh and muscle squishing in her tiny, powerful fingers.  He looked up at her in panic.  She calmly pushed the gun barrel into his mouth.  His brains splattered against the wall, the force of his head's explosion coating her in bits of gray matter and bloody viscera.

The older German wheezed and gurgled.  The bullet had punctured his lung.  He stared in wild-eyed terror at the horrific oriental she-demon.  She dripped gore from her slim, shapely naked body as she calmly stepped towards him, her utterly expressionless face more terrifying than the incredible violence she had just unleashed.  "Es tut mir leid," she murmured.  Not wanting him to suffer needlessly, she reached down, cradled his head in her arms, and, with that seemingly superhuman strength she had, quickly snapped his neck.

She waited by the door to see if anyone had heard the muffled gunshots or the scuffle of bodies hitting the floor, but nobody came to investigate.  Satisfied, she took a quick shower to rinse off her small but hard-muscled, finely-tuned body, careful to leave the bathroom door open so she could hear if anyone entered.  She collected her torn clothing, patched it together as best she could, adjusting it to cover her rapidly bruising skin.  The banker had hit her harder than most.  She took one of his coats, an expensive but non-descript dark cotton which she swam in.  After a deep breath, letting her adrenalin subside and her heartbeat return to normal, she walked out the door and slipped out of the hotel unnoticed, invisible when she needed to be.  She walked the four kilometers of dirty, crowded streets back to her hotel, a quiet lodging that asked few questions and accepted her fake identification without a raised eyebrow.

Once in her small, simple but clean room, she pulled out her most expensive possession, the Syndicate laptop.  She slid her thumb over its scanner and entered her password, waiting as it established an encrypted satellite link and received authorization to decrypt the system software on its shielded hard drive.  Whenever the system was powered down, the volatile memory was rapidly reset thirty-two times, then every bit randomly flipped, the same happening to the scratch space on the hard drive.  The system software was strong encrypted, and no data was stored locally between sessions.  The laptop was built with a paranoia the world's intelligence agencies could only dream of, and quality-control procedures matched only by the glory days of the U.S. military (before it became mostly privatized in the name of efficiency, of course, another brilliant Syndicate maneuver).  As a final, gross physical backup, any attempted tampering would detonate the hard drive, RAM, and CPU cache in addition to melting the LCD monitor.

The connection established, Syndicate servers uploaded whatever relevant session data and programs they thought she should have.  She confirmed the banker's termination, along with the two witnesses, and reflexively checked for another assignment.  Rarely was she required more than once a month, allowing her crucial decompression time.  Assignments were usually given at least a week in advance as well, time to travel to a target area, analyze the situation, and proceed with the termination.  The Syndicate liked their assassins well-trained, well-armed, well-rested, and most of all, completely invisible.

Pin-Mei was careful to keep her reservations to herself.  She was bought and paid for, fully owned by the Syndicate, and any deviation would not be tolerated.  She was also the best, so she was given considerable discretion.  To her surprise, a flashing icon indicated a message for her.  She frowned.  The signature was not her handler's.  She opened the message and stared at the simple English proposal in dumbfounded confusion for a long time.

"My dear Pin-Mei, if you want out, meet me at 7:30 tonight."  There was an address appended to the message, a small diner in the financial district.

Pin-Mei logged off the laptop, watching as it ran through its paranoid erasure routine, for once grateful for the extraordinary measures.  She sat back and pondered the implications.

Someone knew who she was.  Someone who could break into the Syndicate's communications channels at will, a ghost in their machine.  It should be impossible, nobody outside the Syndicate should even know its servers existed.  They were firewalled from normal internet traffic, reserving most communications for secured satellite links.  But someone could do it, and that someone had found her.  Someone wanted to meet her.  Pin-Mei felt an uncharacteristic fear, different from the keyed-up adrenaline-filled high-intensity fear of an assassination, this was a deeper, more primal dread, the fear that comes when you know someone is behind you, staring right at your head.

Another thought gave her pause.  This could be a Syndicate test of her loyalty.  She should report this breach right away.  She should tell them their servers were not as impenetrable as they thought.  If this was a test, they would be expecting to hear from her soon.

She told herself she had not yet decided.  But for the first time in a very long time, Pin-Mei was lying to herself.

* * * * *

[Seldom]

At precisely 7:20, Pin-Mei finished assembling the high-powered sniper rifle she had spent the day procuring.  She set up in an empty office several floors up and slightly down the street from the cafe.  It was a cafe that clearly catered to Westerners and those Indians who did business with them, full of high-priced caffeinated drinks with long names that gave no hint of their coffee-related origins.  It was part of a locally-owned chain that had been started during the rise of India's financial prominence and had not yet sold out to the coffee multinationals, but only because they hadn't found the right price.

Pin-Mei paused before looking through the rifle scope.  Did she really want to do this?  She should contact the Syndicate before it was too late, or they would surely kill her for betraying them, whether she did it or not.  But still, she had to know.  Just one look, she promised herself.  She lowered her eye to the scope and focused on the cafe across the street.  She blinked, focused, and rapidly received the two largest shocks of her young life.

The first was that she had seen this man before.  In a Syndicate-wide memorandum circulated to all their in-house and contracted assassins.  His face was on an immediate-termination notice, meaning that anyone who saw him must kill him instantly, no questions asked, and report the termination.

Which led to her second shock.  She had seen that notice eighteen months ago, which meant that this man had been living for a year and a half with a Syndicate death blanket wrapped snug around him.  Nobody, nobody, nobody ever lived that long.  Yet here he was, calmly sipping coffee, waiting for the Syndicate's most deadly assassin to join him as if he had no worries in the world.

Her finger tightened on the trigger as she contemplated whether to take him out.  It would be insane not to.  If she didn't take the shot, she would be marked as well.  On the other hand, the risk that this was a Syndicate test was almost non-existent at this point.  "Pin-Mei, if you want out..."  Of course she did.

The cross-hairs were centered on his head.  A mild wind blew from the ocean, not strong enough to alter the bullet's trajectory at this range.  Pin-Mei kept him sighted and studied him.  There was nothing in his appearance to suggest he was a threat to the Syndicate.  Medium height, chubby, he had the look of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time.  There was an underlying athleticism to his soft, pudgy body.  He had a round, trusting face with kind blue eyes and an easy smile which he was currently using to charm his small, pretty, Indian waitress.  This was the man who defied the Syndicate?  He looked the opposite of the supreme superman Pin-Mei had expected, and she felt vaguely disappointed.

He held today's India Times in his hands and was casually reading it, glancing at an inexpensive watch from time to time.  He was clearly waiting for her.  There was something strange about his right hand.  It was gloved and didn't move.  A prosthetic!

Pin-Mei finally admitted to the decision she had reached when she first read his message.  She disassembled the sniper rifle and dumped parts of it in various cracks and office trash bins.  She pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt, not cold but the ocean breeze made it cool enough that she was not out of place.  She could pass for a wealthy Indian teenager, or, if someone looked at her face, the young consort of a Chinese businessman.  She melted through the crowded street and entered the air-conditioned interior of the cafe, now truly chilled by the blasting cold air.

She observed the man without letting him see her yet.  He glanced around from time to time, still looking at his watch.  It was just now 7:30.  Pin-Mei slipped into the booth across from him and looked up, letting him see her face.  He paused as he took in her gorgeous features.  For a moment she was afraid he would be stupid enough to say her name, but he didn't, waiting for her to take the lead.

"Well," she said in English.

"Well," he replied.  "You're here."  She nodded.  When she didn't reply, he said, "I assume you've been watching me, wondering whether to blow my head off."  He almost pulled off a nonchalant tone, but not quite.

"No.  I should have, but I was not going to shoot you."

He grinned, and suddenly he was stunningly handsome, his smile warm and infectious, wrapping around her like a soft blanket.  She was alarmed at her mind's and body's responses.  Her cheeks flushed and she felt things she couldn't define.

"That's comforting," he said, still smiling.

She could not figure him out.  He had evaded Syndicate capture and execution for eighteen months, yet he had calmly sat here knowing that she was probably aiming a gun at him.  "Start talking," she said more harshly than she intended.

His grin disappeared, replaced by an intense focus on her every bit as hypnotic as his smile.  "Down to business, good," he said, talking quietly and rapidly.  "I have a proposition for you.  Something I hope you will consider and accept.  I hope this because if you don't, you will shoot me."

"You'd better make it good, then," she said.

He stared at her for a few seconds before breaking into another grin.  "Darling, you made a joke!" he said proudly.

Pin-Mei felt her carefully controlled expression cracking, and she forced back a smile of her own, keeping her face studiously neutral.  "Your proposal?" she said.

He looked around, making sure they were not being overheard, and dropped his voice.  "I have a very important question for you.  Do you enjoy killing?"

She pondered that for a few minutes, staring back at him.  Finally, she said, "You already know the answer."

He nodded.  "Yes, I do."

She frowned.  "No, I don't enjoy it.  Sometimes there is a certain satisfaction, like today---"

"Yeah, that guy was a real scumbag," the man interrupted.

"---but no, I don't like killing.  I'm just good at it."

The man's voice was quiet, intense, and sad.  "Honey, you're great at it.  Spectacular.  The best in the world.  Thirty-eight targets in ten years, hundreds dead."

Pin-Mei did not deny it.  "How do you know this?" she asked.

He looked into her beautiful dark eyes.  "The same way I knew you weren't going to kill me," he said.

"I might have.  You took an awful risk," she countered.

"So did you."

She looked away.  When she looked back, she found he was still watching her with that strangely intense concentration.  "You were born into the Syndicate," he said.  "Raised from birth as a child prostitute, but with your natural athleticism, intelligence, and talents, they quickly trained you as an assassin. It must have been brutal," he said sympathetically.

She couldn't bear the intensity of his gaze.  "It's hell," she admitted finally.  "A nightmare I can never wake up from."  She finally worked up the courage to glare back at him.  "How can you possibly know all this?  Are you Syndicate?"

He shook his head.  "They are arrogant, and not nearly so mysterious and impenetrable as they like to believe.  They think billions of dollars can buy them safety.  They are as blind, stupid and arrogant as my government."

She couldn't help it.  She grinned.  "You're American," she observed.

He chuckled.  "Very, and damn proud of it.  You better not let me hear you talk about my country like that."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"So are you ready to hear my proposal?"  She raised one perfect delicate eyebrow and waited.  He pulled out a plain manilla folder and handed it to her.  She opened it as he started to explain.

She couldn't believe it.  It was all here.  Her life story, boiled down to a few beaurocratic euphemisms in a global conspiracy born from the darkest recesses of the human soul.  She tried to pay attention to his words as he walked her through the documents, every page revealing a new memory she wished she could forget, another assassination of some poor innocent with the wrong political agenda, or someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  All the screams that she kept carefully locked away, the lock ripped off and their ghosts rampaging through her mind.

He paused.  "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

Pin-Mei looked up at him and frowned.  She had not cried since she was a child, she would not start now.  "Of course," she snapped.  "Continue."

He finally came to the interesting bit, the operational details of her life in the Syndicate.  It turned out that the Syndicate's paranoia extended to its own members and staff.  It was a highly compartmentalized organization, each branch running operations in parallel, ignorant of what the others were doing, but all following the same basic agenda: controlled chaos, the rise and fall of empires, safely catering to the depraved appetites of the most rich and powerful men in the world, child prostitution, murder, rape, kidnapping, orchestrated genocides, horrors banal to truly mind-numbing in scope.  Yet in the midst of that chaos, there was a chain of command that came down to two people.  Two men in the entire Syndicate who knew that Pin-Mei existed: her handler, the man she met when she needed direct contact with the Syndicate, and a mysterious, unknown case worker who handled several assassins at once.

That man was mysterious no more.  His face stared up at her from the manilla folder.  His name, address, the names of his immediate family, all of it right there for her to see.  The two men she needed to kill to be truly and totally free of the Syndicate, forever.

"I can handle the computer end of it.  You'll be wiped from the system like you never existed.  You have to handle the hardcopies and..." he trailed off.  "And the people," he finally forced himself to say.

Pin-Mei looked up, a strange, knowing smile on her lips.  "You don't want me to kill them," she said.

He couldn't meet her gaze.  "I don't want anyone to die," he admitted.  "But you're right, they have to."  His expression hardened and he looked at her.  A new, steely glint was in his eyes, making him at the same time much less attractive, and much more dangerous-looking than his pudgy body would indicate.  "And probably a lot more people, too."

Pin-Mei understood.  These names, this file, these men, wiping the computer, giving her a new life.  This was the payoff.  He wanted something in return, something only she could provide: the world's most effective killer.  "Okay, then, what do you want from me?"

He leaned back and crossed his mismatched hands over his stomach, trying to thread the fingers of his left hand through the prosthetic, his expression settling back into a friendly concern.  "Me?  I just want my wife back," he said softly.

When he didn't elaborate, she tentatively held out her hand.  He took it and smiled at her.  "I met Daphne three years ago," he started.  "Beautiful, god she's beautiful, smart, strong, tough, she's too good for a geek like me, I always knew that, but she loves me, God help her.  For some reason she married me.  Then, on our honeymoon, we were kidnapped by the Syndicate.  Turns out Daphne had a few skeletons in her closet, like being a killer in a secret underground cage-fighting tournament set up for the amusement of the Syndicate."  He laughed harshly.  "What gets some people's rocks off, huh?  Anyway, Daphne broke us out, then left me to fight the Syndicate."

He stopped again, seeming to become absorbed in his own memories.  "And?"  Pin-Mei prompted quietly.

He roused himself.  "And, well, she was supposed to contact me to let me know she was okay once a month.  A little over a year and a half ago I stopped hearing from her.  So I went looking.  But the Syndicate found me first."  He shook his head and laughed bitterly, holding up his prosthetic hand.  "Gave me this and a limp before I persuaded them to let me go."

The termination order, she thought.  "Let him go" like hell.  This out-of-shape, completely ordinary fat guy escaped from a Syndicate torture facility?  Well, she thought, obviously he's far from ordinary.  "How did you do it?" she asked.

"Will you help me?" he countered.

She thought it over.  "She's probably dead by now, you know."

"She's not dead."  He said it with a quiet, fanatical intensity that invited no argument.

"Do you know where she is?" she asked.  He nodded.  "And you want me to help you get her out?  From a heavily guarded, state-of-the-art Syndicate facility?"  He nodded again, and she grinned, a full, warm grin with real feeling behind it.  "Sounds like fun!"  She felt giddy.  Not just quit the Syndicate, but quit with style.  Fuck the bastards, she thought happily.  Fuck them all!

He smiled at her, and the world brightened again.  "Good!" he said.  "And to answer your earlier question, I had some help.  You'll meet her in Russia."

"Russia?"

The man pulled out another folder.  This one had several passports, driver's licenses from various countries, and matching credit cards.  Pin-Mei was startled, but not entirely shocked, to see that all the photos were of her.  "There's a half million dollars in credit there, fully backed by anonymous accounts in non-Syndicate banks," he explained.  "You have one week to do what you need to do.  Call me with this," he indicated a small, sleek, stylish cell phone, "when you're finished and I'll take care of the Syndicate computer system.  Don't forget, you have to destroy the hardcopies of your files.  Eight days from now I will pick you up from the airport in Moscow.  Don't get caught."

He stood to leave.  "Wait," Pin-Mei said.  He paused.  "What's your name?"

"Keith Richards," he replied with a wink.  "No relation."  And with that, he tossed some money on the table to cover the coffee, limped to the door, and disappeared into the crowded, dark Mumbai streets.

"Relation to who?" Pin-Mei idly asked the air.  Nobody paid her the least attention.  They never did.

[hatour]

Girl Up the Street
by Seldom

I settled into a chair on my parent's porch with a glass of ice water. Home from my third year of college for the summer, I was ready to relax and just watch the old neighborhood for a while when I caught sight of a bombshell walking up the street. Long black hair and just the most gorgeous voluptuous body I've ever seen poured into a tiny little halter top and soccer shorts. Thick muscular thighs reached down out of the shorts, huge hard calves bulged the long soccer socks. She had a sports bag slung over her broad, powerful-looking shoulders, the strap lost between the cleavage of two enormous breasts.

She was tall, maybe five-ten I saw as she approached. She caught sight of me staring and gave me a cheerful smile. "Hi!" she chirped brightly. Her skin and clothes were streaked with dirt and sweat.

"Um, hi," I managed. She turned to my house and walked up the stairs to the porch while I tried (unsuccessfully) not to make an ass of myself. She stood expectantly, so I willed my erection down and stood, a dumb smile on my face. She stood a good two inches taller than me. Up close, I could see she was younger than I thought, sixteen or seventeen. Too young, I sighed inwardly. Still, nothing wrong with a little company. "Richard," I said, sticking my hand out.

A hurt expression crossed her beautiful face, a pout ten times sexier than it had any right to be. "I know, Rich. Don't you remember me?" she asked, half tease and half genuine hurt.

I racked my brains. I sure would have remembered anyone like her! Thankfully, I suffered a well-timed flash of insight, a years-old vision of a skinny girl from up the street, all knobby knees and elbows, playing with my old dog. "Lexi?" I asked in disbelief.

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile. "You remember me!" she squealed and grabbed me in an enthusiastic hug. Her huge breasts squashed against my chest, giving me very un-neighborly thoughts. I was glad I got her name right.

"Lexi, wow, you've, um, grown," I said, looking up at her once she'd released me. Her arms were large and powerful like the rest of her. "You used to be so skinny, and now, umm," I realized there was no good way I could finish that thought.

"Hey!" she protested. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

Only in the right places, my dirty mind immediately came up with. I used the excuse to look her up and down, catching another eyeful of her spectacular chest. "Oh, um, of course not," I stammered, my face red.

She made a face. "I'm just teasing. I know I've gotten pretty big. You used to be so much taller than me! Feels weird looking down on you."

Truth be told, I'd nearly forgotten about her, but I wasn't going to say that. I was just counting myself lucky to be talking to this tall sexy goddess. "Yeah, um, weird," I said.

She stepped closer to me, still smiling down at me. "Weird, but kinda exciting," she said. She inhaled deeply, bumping the front of her breasts into my chest. Her nipples pressed against the front of her shirt and into my chest, visible and feelable even through her sports bra and tight top.

I reddened further. "Can I, uh, get you a, um, a drink?" I asked, quickly stepping away. I hoped she wouldn't look down to my shorts. She did, and her smile grew subtly sexier, her look slightly more evil.

"Sure," she purred. "Water, if you have any."

"Oh damn, we're fresh out," I said. She laughed and stuck her tongue out at me.

I brought out a glass of ice water. Struck by inspiration, I put a cherry in it. She took the water with a smile and a soft "Thank you" that set my heart racing again. She took the cherry stem and popped it in her mouth. I saw her jaw working, and a few moments later she stuck the stem out of her mouth. I slowly drew the stem out while she sucked at it teasingly. The stem was tied in an overhand knot.

"Hah," I gulped. "Neat trick."

She winked at me. "Mom taught it to me."

Her mother I remembered, a tall statuesque brunette who inspired many a teenage fantasy.

I quickly changed the subject. "I haven't seen you around the neighborhood in years. Last I remember you were just a little girl. Now you're, what, seventeen, eighteen?" I asked, hoping.

"Sixteen," she giggled. "Sorry, still jailbait."

I blushed again, deeper. Damn but this girl had me flustered. "I didn't mean, um, oh, Christ," I said.

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed," she said with a giggle. "You know, I had such a huge crush on you when I was little."

I started. "You did?"

She giggled again and fixed me with a warm smile that lifted my heart. "Of course I did. I was just this lonely little girl, I don't know if I told you that I didn't have any friends, and you were always just so kind to me. I remember one day when I was crying because some kids were mean to me, and you hugged me and took me swimming down in the creek. You spent all afternoon cheering me up."

"You remember that?" I asked. She nodded, still smiling, her eyes moist and shining. I vaguely recalled doing things like that, but I was just being neighborly, it didn't hurt me to be nice to a picked-on little kid. "Well, you must be pretty popular now, have a lot of friends, right?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, nodding again. "I mean, I'm a cheerleader, and pretty."

"You're beautiful," I said honestly.

She laughed easily. "Thanks. So a lot of guys want to get to know me." Her smile turned ironic. "Not so sure they want to be just friends, though."

I smiled. "What, you think maybe they want something else?"

She laughed again. "Just maybe," she said. Her face turned serious. "It's nice talking to you again. My family moved to France for a couple of years, and when we moved back, you were already off at college. I was heartbroken." She chuckled and shook her head slowly. "I guess maybe I still have a little crush on you." She looked away, suddenly shy. When she looked back, the sexy flirting look had returned. She reached out and touched my arms. "You've filled out nicely, though. I remember you were just a scrawny guy."

It was my turn to chuckle. "Yeah, well, you know. I went to college, got the freshman fifteen. So I joined a gym, did some sports. I work out now, try not to get fat."

"Kind, smart, and hot," Lexi said affectionately. "My nerdy little crush turned into a hunk."

"The skinny little girl up the street turned into a babe," I returned.

She looked into my eyes, and I returned her gaze, her big pretty brown eyes growing gradually closer until she kissed me. She gathered me up in her powerful arms and squeezed me to her soft chest, kissing me hungrily. I surrendered to her heat and strength. Her big thigh pressed hard into my erection, slowly rubbing it. I moaned softly. My hand strayed down to her shapely round ass and squeezed. The cheek was hard and unyielding, a perfect round ball of muscle. Lexi playfully flexed her glutes, and her hard ass jumped in my grasp and turned the consistency of rock.

"Wow," I breathed worshipfully.

Lexi hooked one of her much longer and thicker legs around mine and shoved so I went sprawling onto my back. She quickly pounced on top of me. I nervously looked up and down the street to see if anybody was watching. Lexi didn't seem to care as she quickly straddled me and held my arms above my head, easily pinning me. She must have outweighed me by at least twenty pounds of hard muscle, so there was no way I was going anywhere. She ground her crotch hard against my dick while I groaned in a mix of pleasure and pain.

"Don't cum," Lexi hissed into my ear, licking it.

"Then don't, ungh, grind me," I protested.

Her hips thrust down harder, and her powerful arms flexed hugely as she pulled my arms so hard I thought she'd tear them out of the sockets. "Don't tell me what to do!" she grunted angrily.

Suddenly she let go of my arms and grabbed my head, pulling me into her big soft cleavage. I nuzzled one of her large breasts through soft cotton. I ran my hands over her huge hard thighs and squeezed her big muscles while I nipped playfully at her breast. I slid my hands under her soccer shorts and boldly squeezed her hard inner thighs, straying farther north than was strictly decent.

"You like my legs?" Lexi moaned throatily in my ear.

"God yes," I mumbled into her boob, making her giggle.

"You don't think they're too big? Too muscular?"

"Nooo not at all," I said happily. "I like big and muscular. They're so hard and strong." I moved one hand to her cotton panties. They were damp with sweat and musk. I rubbed my fingers firmly over her panties, tracing her firm young pussy.

Lexi moaned and flexed her body, arms exploding in mountainous muscle that shoved her breasts together, shoving the top of her breasts out of her tight shirt and surrounding my head in even deeper cleavage. Her hard thighs flexed and grew under my groping hand. I continued rubbing more firmly, finally slipping the panties aside and thrusting two fingers into her slick wet pussy. Lexi gasped and whimpered.

"No," she protested. "Not yet. Too fast."

I quickly withdrew my hands from her shorts. "I'm sorry," I said, kicking myself for pushing too much. She's just in high school, I reminded myself.

Lexi grabbed my hands and planted them back on her thighs. I hesitantly started massaging them again. "You're, ungh, lucky I, ooh, like you," she panted. "I've beaten the shit out of every boy who's tried that."

I hesitated a moment. "Are you going to beat the shit out of me?" I asked, half-hopefully.

She chuckled evilly. "We'll see," she said. I pinched a large chunk of her muscular thigh and she squealed.

Lexi pulled her shirt and sports bra up to her neck and let her huge breasts flop around my face with a wet smack. I kissed the smooth tan flesh and tasted salty sweat. She shoved her arms together, trapping me in her hot, wet breast flesh. Her breasts sealed over my ears and mouth and her hard pecs squashed my nose, barely letting me breathe. Emboldened, I set one hand to rubbing her pussy through her panties, figuring since it was okay before, it wasn't going too far. I heard her moaning and felt her writhing, but couldn't hear anything she said. Her hips ground and bucked on my dick, making it very hard and very hard not to cum, but I struggled to obey her.

Suddenly her breasts lifted off my face. She scooted around and plopped her ass where her breasts used to be, enveloping my head in hard muscular thighs and her firm round ass. She rubbed her shorts over my face and ground my head in her powerful quads. I felt her hand grip my shorts in a strong grasp and begin kneading my hard dick. I moaned into her crotch and her thighs tightened brutally. I fought for breath through her shorts, her musky smell surrounding me.

Driven by lust, I nipped playfully at her shorts, moving the material aside with my teeth and tongue. I licked at her sweaty inner thigh, salty, smooth. I forced my tongue into her panties, searching for her clit.

Her thighs jolted hard. "Bad!" I heard her growl angrily. Suddenly I was flipped onto her, her enormous legs flexing hugely as she poured on crushing power. I cried out in agony and tried to escape, but her powerful arms and legs easily kept me pinned to her. Spots floated in front of my eyes as the agonizing pressure mounted. A new sensation of pain came to me as she reached under my shorts and boxers to dig her strong fingers into my ass, kneading it like putty. Her fingernails dug in like claws. Tears flowed from my eyes as I sobbed into her crotch, unable to escape from the terrible crushing power of her legs. I was rapidly losing consciousness, my world fading to nothing but the horrifying power in those gigantic muscular thighs.

She started pulsing her legs as she ground her crotch into my sobbing face, each jolting constriction harder and more painful than the last. The musky smell intensified. I could feel the vibrations of her body through the muscles clamped around my head, her mouth moaning into my shorts, teasing my dick through the denim. She was cumming, I realized faintly. My ass stung as she spanked it mercilessly, sharp cracks filling the air as her big hands hammered down in painful blows. The combination of pleasure and pain she inflicted on me was too much to bear, and I blacked out.

I came to still in her thighs. She had me clamped firmly but gently in her thighs, massaging my head with powerful flexes of her glutes and quads. When her thighs parted enough to allow me to hear, satisfied whimpers reached my ears. I slowly reached my hands up and stroked her legs. Her thick, jagged calves locked above my head. I lovingly caressed the hard balls of muscle. Her legs gradually unclamped. I carefully rolled off her magnificent body. She looked at me over the huge jiggling mounds of her breasts, a lazy predatory smile on her lips. Her hand reached out and caressed my still erect dick through my shorts.

"Are you going to jerk off thinking about this?" she asked.

The question, so casually tossed out, startled me. "Um, do you mind?" I asked.  Lexi shook her head. "No, of course not. I think about you when I masturbate."

My eyes widened. "What?"

She giggled happily. "I have since I was twelve. Oh Rich, I've wanted you for so long." She sighed in contentment. "Of course, I think about what you were like when you were sixteen, all skinny and pimply. Now that you've gotten so handsome, I'm going to have to update the fantasy." Her hand reached out and stroked my cheek. "Too bad though, I enjoyed thinking about what it would be like to be a lot bigger than you."

I eyed her unflexed bicep. "I think you still are," I said.

She cast her eyes down, suddenly insecure again, a scared teenage girl with a crush. "Do you mind?" she asked softly.

I carefully pulled her bra and shirt down, covering her breasts again. I leaned down and kissed her bicep. "What do you think?" I asked rhetorically. She flexed her bicep for me, the skin jumping as the ball of muscle rose proudly. "You're beautiful," I whispered and kissed her lips gently.

"So are you," she whispered back. She suddenly grabbed me and pulled me down on her, her powerful arms squeezing me tightly. "I'm so glad you like me."

She released me and I helped her up. I stared at her in frank admiration as she towered over me. She caught me staring and stuck her tongue out at me.

"You know, you're a little old for me," she said with a giggle. Then, noting my confused and disappointed look, "I'm teasing! You're not that old." She leaned down to kiss me. "Take me to a movie this weekend."

"Sure," I said.

She smiled and winked. "I gotta run," she said. "See you later." She bounced happily, picked up her bag, and ran up the street.

"Later," I called after her, then settled back into my seat, taking a sip of ice water. It was going to be a hot summer.

[jos73]

Birth of a Goddess
by Seldom

Part - 1


Jonathon Smith was unremarkable. Neither intelligent nor dumb, neither
tall nor short, neither too fat nor too slim, neither attractive nor
unattractive. In fact, the only extraordinary thing about Jonathon Smith
was his unshakeable faith that the world is a good and just place, and
that if you are good and just to people you will lead a happy and
fulfilled life. You might think this an admirable quality in the
abstract. You might think him hopelessly naive. Nothing could rid him of
his conviction, not being mugged, nor taken advantage of by his friends,
nor cheated on by the girls who called him a sweet guy, nor being laid
off after ten years of faithful service to a faceless corporation. Nor
having all the above happen on the same day. Today. The last day of his
life.

Another man might have felt a little bitter about coming home after
receiving his two weeks notice to find his girlfriend in the arms of
their best friend. Then he might have suspected fate had it out for him
when two men brandishing knives had demanded all his money.

And, indeed, Jonathon knew this was the worst day of his life. The pain
and betrayal he felt washed up in unspeakable grief, a torrent of guilt
and sadness that could find no outlet in mere speech, in empty
utterances. Jonathon thought maybe he could find his salvation at the
bottom of a whiskey glass. He drained his drink and checked. It looked
suspiciously like the bottom of an empty whiskey glass.

Jonathon sighed and got up to pee. Returning from the bathroom he heard
a muffled sob of anguish, the cry of a fellow soul in pain. Curious and
compassionate, he turned to look. A huge shapeless mass covered in great
reams of cloth sat at a dark table in an unlit corner. Twelve shot
glasses were arranged in front of it, all empty.

"Looks like you're in pretty bad shape. Would you like some company?" he
asked sympathetically, his own plight forgotten. Even sitting the dark
creature towered over him.

The behemoth shifted and turned to look down at him and he could see its
face through the cowl. Jonathon was startled to find himself looking
into the bloodshot, tearful eyes of a stunning young woman. He quickly
checked the rest of her to make sure he wasn't seeing things. What could
be hiding under that huge bundle of fabric? Considering the quantity of
alcohol she had obviously consumed, she didn't look in the least bit
inebriated.

"Yeah, sure, I mean, if you want," the girl said shyly. Her voice was
soft, warm, and thrilling. There was barely enough room at the table for
him. Jonathon slipped into the bench opposite and signaled the bartender
for two waters.

"What's wrong?" Jonathon asked as their drinks arrived. The bartender
cleared the empty shot glasses and looked at the woman apprehensively,
as if afraid she might suddenly fall over dead, before lumbering back
behind the bar.

"Today is the worst day of my life!" the girl moaned in self-pity, tears
falling down her cheeks again.

"Tell me about it," Jonathon replied with a chuckle. He held out his
hand. "Jonathon," he said.

The girl hesitated a moment before bringing a cloaked arm the size of a
barrel onto the table. Her hand was the size of a ham, the fingers
thick, veiny, and hard, not the chubby fat he was expecting from this
mountain of a woman. Jonathon clasped it gently and was rewarded with
the tiniest of squeezes. "Sylvia," the girl said, bravely attempting a
smile.

"Beautiful name," Jonathon said. The girl blushed. "Care to talk about
what happened? Must have been terrible," he said.

Sylvia looked around fearfully, as if afraid the bar's few other
customers might be listening. "I, I don't really want to talk about it
here," she whispered.

"Okay," Jonathon said agreeably. Not everyone wanted to talk about their
sorrows.

Sylvia's gorgeous brown eyes were wide open. "Do you really want to
know? Or are you just being nice?" she asked.

"Both," Jonathon replied. "Only if you want to tell me."

She smiled again. It lit up her pretty oversized face delightfully.
"You're so sweet," she said, eyeing him appraisingly. "Can we go
somewhere else to talk? I mean, if you don't mind," she amended hastily.

Jonathon found himself captivated by this monstrously large woman,
wondering what she kept hidden under the folds of fabric. From her
muscular fingers he didn't think she was fat, but he wasn't sure. Her
smile was delightful, her face pretty, and her demeanor shy and sweet.
"I wouldn't mind at all," he said, smiling. "In fact, I'd be honored.
Where?"

Sylvia thought a second. "How about...um, how about my place?" she
suggested shyly.

Jonathon could hardly believe what was happening. He met a pretty woman
at a bar and she was asking him to her place! He had always been
attracted to taller, stronger women, but the reverse was not true. He
wanted to help her, soothe her pain, and hopefully his own.

"Okay," he said. She looked apprehensive. "Don't worry, I don't want to
hurt you," he said, trying to reassure her.

She looked slightly amused for a moment, then a terrible anguish crossed
her face. "You can't," she said.

"No, I wouldn't," he agreed.

She looked at him seriously, her eyes glittering coldly. Her hand
clasped his again and squeezed, more firmly this time. Bones ground
painfully in his wrist. He yelped and tried to pull away but found he
couldn't. Her squeeze continued until he thought a bone would snap.
"No," she said bitterly, "I mean you can't. I would rip your arms off
before you tried." She released his hand and he rubbed it tenderly.
"Sorry," she muttered. She looked embarrassed. She bit her lip and cast
her eyes down shyly. "I won't hurt you, but if you don't want to come, I
understand."

He was frightened and awed, but above all curious. He wanted to know
what could hurt such a magnificent creature. He leaned forward and said
earnestly, "I've had a shitty day too. Meeting a pretty girl like you is
the best thing that's happened to me."

"I'm hideous," she whispered.

"You're beautiful," he insisted. He reached out to stroke her cheek.
Instantly her hand whipped up and crushed his wrist. "Ow!" he yelled.
Sylvia looked startled and quickly released him. He snatched back his
wrist and checked for anything broken. A purple bruise slowly spread
across his flesh.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I thought you were going to slap me," Sylvia
said, her eyes brimming with tears. "I just reacted without thinking...I
should go." She slid away from the table and stood up...and up. She was
at least eight feet tall and almost as broad. With a speed and grace
that belied her huge size, she strode over to the bar, threw a generous
amount of money down, and started for the door.

"Sylvia," a voice called after her. She turned to see the sweet little
man looking up at her. He suddenly looked down, shy himself. "Am I still
invited?" he stammered out.

"Maybe it would be best if you didn't come," Sylvia said. Jonathon
looked crestfallen. "I could really hurt you accidentally," she said.

Jonathon didn't want to press harder than was polite, but he saw the
gorgeous woman of his fantasies about to walk out of his life forever on
what was already a rotten day. That gave him rare courage. "We can just
talk. It's obvious you're in pain, and I...I just want to help you. If I
can," he said.

Sylvia considered for a moment. Finally she nodded. "Okay. I'd really
like someone to talk to." She shut her eyes tight. "Jonathon," she said
in a strangled voice, "I don't know what's happening to me!"

The huge cloaked figure had already raised eyebrows. As it became
increasingly obvious she was a woman, she was attracting unwelcome
attention from the bar patrons. "Stop looking at me!" she shouted.
Instantly all heads turned away from her. She looked puzzled and
frightened. "Jonathon?" she asked in a small voice, noticing even he was
looking away.

He shook himself as if from a trance. "Wow," he breathed in awe.
Remembering what happened the last time he tried to touch her, he
shakily reached his hand out, very slowly and unthreateningly. She
enveloped it in her gigantic fist and ducked out the door, turning
sideways to fit her massive shoulders through. She didn't quite turn far
enough and knocked chunks out of the doorframe. She didn't seem to
notice.

"Should I get us a cab?" Jonathon asked, spying one coming down the
street.

Sylvia shook her head. "I don't fit in one. When I tried I broke the
poor thing."

"Broke?" Jonathon asked.

Sylvia sighed. "When I tried to force myself in, I tore the ceiling,
broke the windows, and crushed the passenger seat. Two of the tires
blew. The cabbie started screaming and drove away while I was still
clutching the door and I ripped it off. Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to
scare you. I'm still not used to what happened to me."

Jonathon quivered in her grasp but resisted the urge to run away. "How
do we get to your house then?" he asked.

"On foot. My feet, I mean," she said, scooping him up and putting him
onto her broad shoulders to straddle her thick neck. She pulled her cowl
back, revealing long, luxurious black hair. "Hold on tight. Don't worry,
you can't hurt me," she said. She took off into the night in a
breathtakingly fast run, easily accelerating up to forty miles an hour
with long, powerful strides. Her shoulders remained level as she
smoothly slid along with seemingly impossible grace, giving Jonathon a
gently rocking ride.

[jos73]

Birth of a Goddess
Part - 2



"Oh my God," he gasped as the city whipped by around them. A car
barreled down on the intersection they were crossing. Sylvia ducked low,
tensing her legs, and sprang off the ground, easily leaping over the car
and landing smoothly on the other side. Before long they came upon a
classier section of town. Sylvia pulled to a stop in front of a large,
rich-looking building.

"Hi Sam," Sylvia said to the doorman.

"Lovely evening, Miss Powers," Sam replied, opening the door for her.

Sylvia hunched down and let Jonathon crawl off her back. His legs shook
and he nearly collapsed. Sylvia gathered him up in her arms and carried
him up to her room. She had to squeeze through the doorframe before
depositing him on a leather couch. She went into the kitchen to fetch a
couple of drinks.

Jonathon looked around the spacious apartment. Gold leaf and glass
adorned most of the furnishings. Several photos showed a tall, slender
young woman, unmistakably Sylvia, and a taller, muscular, handsome young
man. Jonathon felt a stab of jealousy. Some of the photos showed Sylvia
dancing in various costumes. She had a pale unearthly beauty that
contrasted with her flowing black hair and soft brown eyes.

"You're a dancer?" he asked.

Sylvia nodded. "I work on Broadway...um, I mean, I did," she said,
looking down at herself. Her eyes were moist. "I suppose I can't do that
anymore, though," she said quietly. "This isn't exactly a dancer's
build." She quietly handed him a cup of tea. He sipped it gratefully.

"Who's the guy? Your boyfriend?" he asked.

Sylvia choked on her tea. "He was," she said. Tears spilled down her
cheeks again.

"What happened?"

"I killed him," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. Maybe I should start
from the beginning."

Jonathon put down his tea and embraced her giant frame. His arms barely
reached to her sides. Sylvia looked startled, then slowly patted his
back. He withdrew after a moment. "Thanks," she said sincerely.

"You looked like you needed one," he said.

She nodded. "I suppose I did. I doubt I'll get another one after what I
have to tell you."

"You can have as many as you want," he said.

She smiled sadly. "Once I'm done, you'll only hug me if I force you, and
if I did that, you wouldn't survive," she said regretfully.

"Try me."

"Okay. It sounds so crazy, and if I were you I wouldn't believe me, but
it's what happened. And besides, how else would you explain how I got
from there," she gestured vaguely at the pictures, "to here?" Jonathon
just smiled and touched her shoulder reassuringly.

"About two weeks ago I was kidnapped. I felt a little prick and next
thing I knew I was lying on a table with a mad scientist leaning over
me. See, I told you you wouldn't believe me."

"I believe you," Jonathon said.

"Hah. I wouldn't. Anyway, he started raving about me reaching the next
stage in human evolution. Said he spent the last five years looking for
someone with the right background, the right education, the right
physicality, the right genes. Among other things. He ranted a lot. Said
humans were worthless scum, and he would be the one to raise us above
the beasts. He had this assistant, a vile little man, who kept pawing my
legs and drooling over them." She paused a moment. "I had beautiful
legs," she said wistfully, staring at the long smoothly muscular legs of
the woman in the picture.

"Anyway, to make a long story short, whatever he did, I woke up later to
find myself looking like this," she said. She stood up and swept off her
cloak.

Jonathon gasped. Sylvia stood naked, a gigantic, seething, roiling mass
of veiny muscle, an enormous tank bubbling up with huge ridges and deep
valleys at the slightest movement. She held her arms out, flexed, and
slowly twirled around in a graceful dancer's movement. Her pecs had
completely consumed her originally small breasts, so only sheets of
corded pectoral muscle remained with hard little nipples jutting out.
Her deep cleavage was entirely formed by striated muscle. Her shoulders
were impossibly broad and muscular, tapering to a washboard of huge
abdominals, then flaring slightly to comparatively narrow hips. Her legs
matched her arms, gigantic columns of rippling power. Angrily pulsing
veins stretched across every inch of exposed thin skin as she worked a
full-body flex. Muscles jumped to prominence with each shrug, each tiny
shift of her vast bulk. Her thick neck bulged up to support her huge
skull, her beautiful severe face larger and even sharper-edged than in
the photos.

Sylvia smiled wistfully. "I used to be so beautiful," she said.

Jonathon licked his dry lips. "You're gorgeous," he said.

She looked at him quizically. "You...you like this?" she asked,
gesturing at herself, making each pumped muscle jump.

"I love it," he said. "My God, you're the most beautiful creature...can
I, may I touch?" he asked hesitantly.

Sylvia looked suddenly insecure. "I, I guess. This wasn't the reaction I
was expecting. When my boyfriend saw me..." Tears choked her up and she
couldn't finish.

"I'm sorry," Jonathon said automatically. Sylvia settled onto the couch
beside him, her bulk taking up nearly the whole width. Jonathon slowly
moved his hand to her hot skin, and when she showed no objection, he
stroked her enormous bicep tenderly, tracing his fingers over the
powerfully pulsing blue veins. "You're terrific," he said in awe.

Sylvia turned to him and suddenly scooped him onto her lap, then rested
her head on his shoulder and wrapped him in a hug that nearly broke his
ribs. He ran his fingers through her fine silky hair and caressed her
huge muscular neck. "I'm not finished," she finally whispered.

"I woke up in a square room. A tiny naked little man was in there with
me. Well, I guess he wasn't really tiny, only a little smaller than you,
but to me he looked so small! I hadn't gotten used to my size yet. I
still haven't really. I just thought he looked so puny and pathetic. He
was shaking in miserable fright, looking up at me with huge terrified
eyes. 'What's going on?' I asked.

"'Th-they want you to k-kill me,' the tiny little man squeaked. I looked
around. There was a one-way mirror on one of the walls. A
dangerous-looking metal thing hung from the ceiling. Two nozzles tracked
our movements around the room. When the evil scientist saw I was awake,
he laughed into the PA system. He told me to squash the little man, to
feel my true power, to know that I was now a Goddess, and so on. The
little man started crying. I just wanted to hug him and make him feel
better. I tried to reassure him but he kept backing away from me."
Sylvia paused again.

"What did you do?" Jonathon asked, completely absorbed in her story. He
sat on her lap looking up at her, trembling in fear.

"I refused to kill him, of course," Sylvia said, slightly offended. "The
scientist got angry and said that if I didn't kill him, he would destroy
both of us and find someone more suitable. I told him to stop picking on
us! He shouted angrily and somehow I could sense that he was about to do
something terrible. I threw myself over the little man just as two beams
of light shot at us. I felt a mild discomfort. I looked up at the
nozzles and wished they would just stop working. And then they did! I
stared at them in hate and they started melting! I scared myself.

"I must have scared the scientist too, because he said 'Oh shit' and
tried to leave. I jumped up and punched through the one-way mirror. He
was trying to unlock the door and shaking. The twirpy little assistant
was staring at me and drooling again. I just wanted to smash him! I
walked over to the scientist and picked him up with one hand. He begged
me not to kill him. 'I didn't kill that other man,' I said, annoyed,
'what makes you think I'll kill you?'

"'Y-yes you did,' he stammered, pointing. I looked over and saw a red
puddle spreading out from under the poor little guy. I had accidentally
crushed him to death with my freak body! I got so furious. 'You
murdering little shit!' I screamed at him. I guess I screamed too loud
because his head exploded.

"The assistant tried to attack me when I dropped the scientist. I
grabbed one of his arms in each hand and pulled them off. It was easier
than pulling taffy. I was so mad I stomped on his head and my foot
crunched down through the concrete floor. His brains and stuff were all
over the place. It was icky. I was all bloody.

"I walked over to the man I had crushed. I could see he was still
breathing. I was really relieved, but now I felt a bit guilty over
killing the scientist. Not too guilty though. I gently rolled the little
guy over and examined him. It looked like my muscles had crushed his
legs, but otherwise he was all right. I started feeling better. I had
saved him! I had no doubt that beam the scientist shot would have killed
him."

Jonathon was shaking violently. She stroked him soothingly and gently
kissed his cheek. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you," she said again.

"I know," Jonathon said. "But your story, it's so horrible!"

"It gets worse. I took the little man to the hospital. The doctors and
police wanted to know why I was naked, why I was covered in blood and
little bits of bone and brain and other gooey stuff, and what had
happened. I didn't feel like talking to them so I left. The police tried
to stop me, but I didn't want to listen to them, and now that I'm a
Goddess or something, I didn't have to. I told them to shut up and they
did. I guess they were okay though, cause I heard them talking about me
a few minutes later after I left the hospital. I think I can pick up
radio waves when I want to now.

"I wanted to talk to Kurt. He can get a little rough sometimes, but he
is...was...my boyfriend and I needed to talk to somebody. I went over to
his apartment and he was fucking some little blonde slut. I had
disappeared without a trace for two weeks...two weeks!...and the little
shit was fucking somebody else. I got really mad and told her to leave.
She looked really scared and ran screaming out of the apartment.

"Kurt recognized me and demanded to know what happened. When I tried to
explain it to him he got really upset and yelled at me not to lie to
him. He called me bitch and some other things he usually calls me. I
told him he shouldn't say those things to me anymore, I'm a lot stronger
now. He tried to slap me like he usually does when I talk too much, and
I grabbed his arm. I squeezed harder than I intended to and sorta yanked
his arm off. He wouldn't stop screaming so I tried to shut him up, but
when I slapped him his head just sort of collapsed and his brains flew
everywhere. It was really disgusting." Sylvia was crying. "Poor Kurt."

Jonathon scrambled out of Sylvia's lap. She didn't try to stop him. She
just started sobbing. To her surprise he didn't run out of her
apartment. She felt his arms wrap around her neck from behind and his
lips pushed into her ear. He kissed her tenderly. "Kurt sounds like he
was an asshole," he said.

Sylvia stopped sobbing momentarily. "Well, maybe, I guess he was," she
said doubtfully. "I dunno, I am kind of a stupid bitch though, and I am
all freaky now, I can see why he was angry. Killing him was an accident.
I wish I hadn't."

Jonathon hugged her tightly. "You're a beautiful woman, before and
after. Have all your boyfriends been abusive?"

"No, no, they're not abusive," Sylvia protested. "They just get a little
rough sometimes, and I'm not smart enough to know when to shut up! It's
my fault, really. And now Kurt's dead because of me."

"He's dead because he tried to hit you. You don't deserve that, you
never did," Jonathon said angrily. "You deserve so much better than an
abusive asshole."

Sylvia reached behind her and plucked Jonathon off the ground, bringing
him in front of her. She looked into his eyes and saw his care. She was
startled to find she could feel his care, like it was coming off him in
warm, soothing waves.

"Someone better like you, you mean?" she asked, gazing at him lovingly.

"Um, well, I mean, better than me, you know, I'm nobody, and you're a
Goddess," he stammered.

"You're sweet," she said for the second time that evening. She brought
his body to her, ignoring his pitiful attempts to squirm away, and
kissed him. He instantly melted into her embrace. Her tongue forced his
lips apart and she dominantly raped his mouth. She wasn't used to being
the aggressor, but she found she liked it. She wished he was naked. When
she looked down she was surprised to see his clothes had disappeared.

She stroked his rapidly stiffening cock with one long thick finger. He
started to faint and she realized she had sucked all the air from his
lungs. "Oops," she said, releasing him. He gasped in a few breaths and
looked up at her adoringly.

"What are you doing?" he asked when she sat him on the couch and knelt
in front of him.

She looked down at him and smiled fondly. "You've been so wonderful to
me. I've never known a man as sweet and caring as you. I want to do
something for you."

"Y-you don't have to do that," he whispered.

Her eyes hardened. In a voice like thunder she roared, "Your Goddess
wants to give you a blowjob, and you will not resist!" She smiled
sheepishly at his awed expression. "Pretty good, huh?" she said. She
stroked his dick again. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?" she
asked, concerned.

"Of course not," he said shakily. "After all, my Goddess wants to give
me a blowjob, and I will not resist."

Sylvia laughed. "You silly little man," she said affectionately. She
ducked her head and ran her tongue the length of his throbbing dick.
"I've been told I'm pretty good at this," she purred. "I hope you enjoy
it." Moments later his enjoyment was made stickily obvious all over her
vascular forearm.

"Oh God," he groaned.

"Goddess!" she corrected in her thunder voice. He jumped.

"Oh Goddess!" he said instantly.

Sylvia laughed again. "Become erect, now!" she snapped her fingers and
his dick sprang to attention.

"Wow," he breathed as she went down on him again. This time she let him
cum in her mouth and swallowed every last drop, then licked her lips
hungrily.

"My boyfriends used to call me their sex kitten," she said happily. "Now
I'm your sex kitten!"

Jonathon smiled. "I could get used to having a Goddess for a
girlfriend," he said.

"Good," Sylvia purred.

"And to think, I thought this was going to be the worst day of my life,"
he said.

"I did too." Sylvia looked concerned suddenly. "You won't let all this
power go to my head, will you?"

"How can I stop you?" Jonathon asked.

"Don't," she said. "Don't tease right now, please. I'm being serious.
That scientist, he created me to be evil. You won't let me become like
that, will you?"

Jonathon looked at her seriously. He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Of
course not," he said. "If you are good and just, nothing bad can taint
you."

Sylvia grinned happily. "Good!"

Jonathon stood up. Sylvia looked at him curiously. "Can we go to your
bedroom?" he asked.

"Of course, darling," Sylvia said. She took his hand and led him to her
room. He had her lay on the bed, her enormous feet planted on the floor.
He snuggled himself between her legs and spread her gigantic thighs
apart. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"What do you think?" he replied.

"Oooh," she said, and said very little else for the next ten minutes.
When her orgasm hit, it was long and powerful. She thrashed about
violently, destroyed the bed, flexed every muscle in her glorious body,
and howled so loudly it shattered her windows and woke up everyone in
the apartment building.

"Jonathon?" Sylvia whimpered, looking down at the gory mess of crushed
flesh, bones, and blood between her vast oaken thighs. "Oh Jonathon!"
she wailed.

Shh, darling, I'm right here, a ghostly voice whispered.

"What? Who's there?" Sylvia asked, frightened, her head whipping about.

It's me, Jonathon. Here, in your mind.

"H-how is that possible?" Sylvia whimpered.

I don't know, my darling, I don't know. Perhaps it's a side-effect of
your transformation. You love me, and I live. The voice paused a moment
before continuing. I feel so much more alive than I did while I was
alive, more intelligent, more free.

"Are you locked inside me?" Sylvia whispered. The thought of her darling
Jonathon, trapped inside her mind because she had killed him, almost
started her wailing again.

I am inside you, love, but not locked. I am happier than I've ever been.
I can feel your strength, your emotions, your thoughts. Your power is
amazing; you have only begun to tap the depths of your potential. I
could feel your pleasure as you climaxed, and it overrode my pain.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to," Sylvia said.

I know. I'm glad you didn't know what you were doing. The wild pleasure
of your unrestrained orgasm sustained me. I could feel every shudder,
every bit of pleasure as you squeezed me. I want to feel it again.

"So do I, darling. But, but I don't want to hurt anyone," Sylvia
whispered.

The voice chuckled. You don't have to kill if you don't want to, my
love. The potential is here, in your mind. You can feel another's
pleasure and use it to enhance yours.

"Really?" Sylvia asked hopefully. She could feel her lover's pleasure in
addition to her own? Without having to kill anybody? Pretty cool! The
thought was intensely arousing.

Yesss, the voice hissed, sounding pleased. Suddenly she felt Jonathon's
own arousal, enhanced by and enhancing her own. His thoughts and
emotions swirled with hers, a gently morphing consciousness, the perfect
commingling of two lovers.

Goddess opened her eyes, shining with tears of beautiful joy.