Donnie Has A So-So Night

[Ncsn]

It starts out not-so-great, and then takes a distinct turn for the better... for a while.

This is the first chapter in the first story I ever wrote. Hope someone likes it!


Chapter 1: The Call

When the call came she was in the kitchen, working on dinner. She cursed softly when she saw the name on the screen, sighed and answered: "Lockwood". She listened for a moment, said "I'll be there in an hour" and hung up. She stood by the kitchen counter for a moment, making calculations in her head, then cursed again and called out: "Janice!". There was no reply. She waited a few seconds, and called again, this time putting in a well-practiced note of menace. There was the sound of a muted "Jeeeez!" From the living room, and a few seconds later her daughter's head popped through the door, every fiber of her being radiating her displeasure at that totally unwarranted parental infringement of her private space: "what?!" Melanie ignored her tone - again, she's had a lot of practice at that - and said: "I had a call from work, I have to go. You're in charge of dinner." Janice couldn't believe her ears: "What?? Are you fu... Are you kidding me? I made dinner last Tuesday, am I, like, the maid now, or something?!"
Melanie sighed, but she was laughing inwardly. Almost 17, her daughter has inherited her father's ash blonde hair and blue eyes, but her figure was definitely taking after her mother's. Not for the first time, Melanie thought that it might be time to bring her into the family... business. A little work would do her a lot of good - and she would be very good at it, Melanie was sure. That temper...! "You don't have to make dinner," she said "though that would have been nice. Get a pizza or something - just make sure everything is cleaned up after you finish." Janice withdrew, grumbling, and a minute later Melanie heard her shout: "Get down here, dickwads! We're having pizza again!" Followed by cheers from upstairs, and the sound of two boys rumbling down to the living room, ready for The Eternal Battle of The Anchovy.
Melanie put the half-frozen meat into the fridge, making a mental note to make stew tomorrow. She took off her apron, and went out of the kitchen. Her 3 kids were in the living room, already deep in animated discussion over several take-out menus. She crossed into the corridor and went down to the basement, where she was greeted by the sound of heavy dumbbells thudding on a carpet, followed by cursing. Her husband was sitting on a bench, a couple of dumbbells at his feet, looking dejected.
Melanie whistled. "50 lbs! Someone is aiming high tonight!" He looked up at her, his mood immediately brightening. "Hey, honey! Come to spot me? Those sons-of-bitches are killing me, was going for a full set but I can't get more than 3!"
She shook her head, sideling up to him, putting her hand on his broad shoulder.  "Sorry, Sweetie, you're on your own - just had a call from Nadine, he wants me tonight, special show... Told them I'll be there by eight". He gave her a surprised look. "I thought things were quite... what is it - cartel guys? Journalists?" She shook her head, sitting down on the bench beside him. "Personal - like, really personal stuff - and it's bad." He looked at her, not saying anything. She sighed. "Helen Mercer's kid - Donnie? Remember what I told you?" Her husband gasped, putting his hand on her thigh. "Oh my god... he went through with it?!" Melanie nodded, feeling miserable. "Yeah, and Mr. Collins of course found out, and take one guess on how he took it..."
Brad Lockwood leaned back, stunned. "Oh my god... he's a moron, but he's just a kid... what is he, like, 20?" "21. And, yeah, he's a moron.I told him... Shit." Her husband hugged her, his hands barely traversing her broad shoulders. "Don't beat yourself up, honey, there was nothing you could have done. 21 is the worst age - you're bursting with hormones, you're dumb as shit and there's nothing anyone can tell you that could change your mind once you set it to something..." she smiled wanly, putting her head on his shoulder. "I know, sweetie. I'm thinking about Helen. That boy has given her so much trouble, but she loves him so much..."
They sat in silence for a minute, hugging, finding comfort in each other. Finally, she stood up. "Well, I need to change, and it's a 30 minutes drive. Janice is in charge of dinner..." "Really?!" She smiled, some warmth creeping back on to her face. "Well, pizza can be considered dinner, right?" Ignoring his groan, she added: "and think about the $4000 - she's been throwing around a lot of hints about getting a car, and that would make for a nice down payment!" she kissed him on his lips, cutting off the protests that she knew were coming. His hand went up to her breast, but she drew away. "I have to go, sweetie. Better get to work on those 50Lb bad boys - I want you all nice and buff when I get back home!" Smiling, she went up the stairs.
Brad's eyes followed her as she left. Sighing deeply, he patted the growing bulge in his gym shorts. "Sorry, buddy, I tried, but we'll have to wait till tonight!" And once again - like he has been doing every day since his sophomore year in high school, he asked himself: how the hell did I get so lucky?!

[Ncsn]

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[WapWap]

Very interesting start.  I'm looking forward to seeing where you take this.  Karma!

[Ncsn]

Very interesting start.  I'm looking forward to seeing where you take this.  Karma!

Very happy to hear this! I was actually stuck in the middle of the second chapter (there are four planned, overall), but you jolted me into a writing frenzy... hope to post it, soon.

[Ncsn]

Chapter Two: Regarding Hand-Puppets

The man at the gate strolled out of the booth, taking his time. But his demeanor changed instantly the minute he recognized her. "Mrs. Lockwood! I... I didn't see it was you... I'll open... right away". He was stammering as he almost ran back inside to open the gate. She didn't acknowledge him, waiting for the gate to slide open and then driving up the wide driveway, parking her car near the entrance to the giant mansion. The man standing guard on the wide porch almost snapped to attention as she passed him, his nervous smile going unacknowledged.
Nadine, Mr. Collins's personal assistant, was waiting for her inside. "Melanie! Thank you for making it on such short notice. We would like to begin at 9:30, if it's OK with you. If you like, I'll have them send some refreshments to your dressing room, or perhaps..." Melanie cut her short. "Where's Donnie? I'd like to see him before we start the festivities." Nadine looked surprised. "Oh? Do you think that's wise? Maybe I should ask Mr. Co..." Again, Melanie cut her off. "Mr. Collins is probably enjoying dinner with his lovely girl friend, I don't think we should interrupt them for this." Nadine didn't look convinced. "I don't know, you know how he can be, maybe we should..." "Oh, for God's sake, Nadine! I've been friends with his mom since high school! I'm just going to see how he is, I own her at least that much!" Nadine still seemed dubious, but didn't press the matter. Melanie Lockwood was Mr. Collins's favorite employee, as well as... well, it was best to stay on her good side. She pointed to the back corridor. "He's down in the holding cells, Mr. Carver is guarding him". Melanie smiled grimly, putting a heavy hand on the older woman's tiny shoulder. "Thanks, hon, I appreciate it." Nadine blushed, smiling nervously, opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and rushed away.

Coming out of the stairwell into the brightly-lit corridor, she saw Mark Carver - a burly, clean-shaved bull of a man, sitting on a chair opposite the four cells, fidgeting with his phone. He looked up as she walked towards him, and his bored expression changed immediately. "Mrs. Lockwood! I... I thought we were slated for 9:30, do you want me to..." She cut his babbling off. "It's on for 9:30, I just want to see him." His eyes widened, surprised."Oh? Well, I guess... I guess it's OK... Though, maybe I should ask..." He petered out, almost wilting under her steely gaze, thinking "Jesus, this bitch is fucking scary!" Out loud he said: "He's in cell 3, I'll unlock it for you". He turned to the control box, but she stopped him. "Did he have anything to eat?" Carver guffawed. "What?! Hell no! This asshole can eat shit, far as I'm concerned, because of him..." Her hand shot out, grabbing him by his jaw, shutting him up. He felt his feet leaving the floor, and for a terrifying moment he stared into her cold, grey eyes, not thinking anything, nothing but her eyes and the pain in his jaw filling his world. She finally spoke, her tone almost gentle. "Go to the kitchen, ask Anton to make him a burger. And fries. Tell him I asked for it." She let him down gently and let go of his jaw, and he scrambled towards the stairs, whimpering a little. She cried out after him: "oh, and go change your pants!"

. . . . .

He ignored the the sound of the door latch released, and then the door opening. He was curled up on the hard cot, his face to the wall, all wrapped up in a world of misery and fear. The sound, when it came, was unexpected. "So, dumbass, what have you gotten yourself into, now?" He wheeled around and gaped at the figure filling the doorway. Melanie Lockwood was not very tall - he knew she was 5'11" - but she was still the largest human being he has ever met in his young life. She was wearing the tightest pair of jeans, hugging her monsterous thighs, and a plain t-shirt that did nothing to hide her large breasts, her boulderous shoulders and her enormous, almost obscenely-muscled arms. And her face... she was older, now, a few lines added around her eyes, but she was still every bit as beautiful as she was on that Sunday afternoon, 9 years ago, when he lay on his bed, still wet from the pool, jerking off frantically, thinking about the goddess lounging by the bar pool, messing his hair and telling him that he would make some lucky lady a fine man, someday...
He smiled up at her, as he always did - and then it hit him, the realization of what her presence here meant. He sank back on the cot, his head between his hands, mumbling brokenly "ohgodohgodohgod...". She walked in, towering over him, hands on her hips, looking down at the young man. "When you told me about it, I never thought you'd actually go through with it. I would have broken your legs had I thought so. Just what the fuck were you thinking?!" He was silent for a moment, his back resting on the wall, eyes closed. Finally, he said "I love her." She snorted, and he looked up, defiant "And she loves me!" She looked at him for a moment, considering her words, then said "And so, because you love that bimbo, you go and cuckold the most powerful man in the south, the guy who likes to have people who displease him beaten to death - if they're lucky. Smart move, Donnie." He looked up at her, still defiant, but couldn't meet her steely gaze. "She's not a bimbo, and she loves me too! Why should she be with him, anyway - that motherfucker is 30 years older than her!" He finally looked her in the eyes "I did it, and I'll pay the price, but I'm not sorry! I did it for love!"
Melanie sighed, exasperated. "You have any idea how he found out?" He was silent for a moment, looking at the floor sullenly, and then muttered an answer. 'What?" He looked up, anger and embarrassment playing on his handsome face "She told him, OK? He wouldn't get her a Mustang she wanted, and she told him, to make him mad!" She looked at him for a moment, unbelieving, and then broke out laughing, the sound echoing through the empty corridor, outside. He just went back to staring at the floor, every pore radiating despondency. She broke off, after a moment, and looked at him, her smile grim. "I'm sorry, Donnie. I shouldn't be laughing. But you are a moron."
There were now tears in his eyes. "I'm so fucked... My mom... this is going to kill her! She's your friend, can't you do anything? Please..." Melanie sighed. She sat down next to him, the cot creaking alarmingly as her 190 pounds pushed down on it. Her voice was gentle. "I'm sorry, Donnie, you know there's nothing I can do. You knew what the risks were, and you chose to take them - this isn't kindergarten, there are consequences to your actions, and a price you pay." But the young man was animated now, imploring her, almost shouting " come on! I know you don't like him, and you're my mom's friend... you're my friend! Damn, I remember you coming to my eighth birthday, I still have the Indian chief hand puppet you brought me, Brad gave me 15 bucks and told me not to spend it gambling... please! You can't just..." she cut him off, her voice harsh. "Donnie, I like you, I always liked you, but I'm not putting my family's safety at risk on your behalf. No fucking way."
He was crying now, his shoulders shaking with the sobs. "Then, I'm dead... I'm done for. This is it... dead..." she looked at him, feeling compassion for the young man she's known for all his life. She thought back to Sunday afternoons at the country club pool, young teenager Donnie doing his best to pretend to be reading a book, stealing as many glances as he could at her body... "Come here", she said, extending a heavy, vein-covered arm, and pulling him into her body. She stroked his dirty blonde hair with his other hand. His head resting on her massive, soft breast, his sobs gradually died away. She smiled, her hand going to his chin, lifting it, looking into his wet eyes. "You'll be OK, I know you're a tough little bastard, we'll get through it, together." He didn't answer, resting his head back on her breast, his hand now exploring the rock-hard abs underneath it. She whistled softly, noticing the growing bulge in his cotton pants. "Oh, my... there seems to be some life left in you, you randy little rascal..." her hand moved down to his pants, her fingers swift and deft, unbuttoning them in seconds, letting his straining shaft loose. "Oh, my..." she couldn't help but be impressed. "Now I see what is driving all the girls crazy". Donnie still said nothing; his hand was climbing upwards, across the silky smooth, granite hardness of her abs, and his mouth was now gently nuzzling her suddenly very erect nipple, which was trying to tear through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. Melanie moaned softly, and cupped his gigantic shaft in her heavily-callused hand. "Yes... auntie Mel is going to make everything allll right..." her hand was now moving, faster and faster, stroking his throbbing manhood. He whimpered quietly, his hand now stretching her shirt over her breasts, exposing the magnificence of her chiseled torso and the majesty of her large, motherly breasts, their softness belying the cragginess surrounding them. His mouth hungrily sought the large, dark-pink nipple, latching on to it and suckling hungrily. Her eyes were closed, her mouth half-open, as her hand moved, up and down, fingers that could crush a walnut with but a flick gently stroking his engorged manhood, driving him into a frenzy. "Oh, baby, give mama a big one... show mama what you got..."
He came for what seemed like an eternity, in wave after wave, his whole body shuddering, his mouth now open in a silent, rapturous scream, his semen spreading all over the room, creating psychedelic patterns across the grey cement floor. His head fell back on her warm, generous breast, his breathing quick and loud. She kissed the top of his head and sat for a while, stroking it softly. That was how Carver found them, a few minutes later, when he walked in with a tray of food. He almost dropped it, but recovered fast, losing only a bagel. She motioned at the shelf near the door. '"Put it over there. I'll be out in a minute". Carver said nothing. Eyes still wide with shock, he put the tray down and backed out.
Melanie slapped Donnie gently on his face. He opened his eyes, and smiled at her dumbly. "Yeah, I know", she said "ten years of fantasies have finally come true. I'm thrilled for you. Now, get up and get some food in your bellie. You'll all of your strength for what's coming." His face clouded. She stood up, pulling her shirt down. "And try not to slip... god, what a mess! Looks you've been stocking the stuff up!" He grabbed her leg, desperate again. "Tell me the truth... do I have a chance? Do I walk out of here tonight?" She was silent for a moment, thinking. "Whatever happens, I wouldn't count on walking too soon, if I were you." Seeing the look of horror in his eyes, she added "you can't really know, with Mr. Collins. But he does need to be satisfied, there's no getting around it." She bent down, her breasts brushing against his chest, and kissed him gently on his quivering mouth. "Bye, baby", she said, "be strong!" She walked away, careful to walk between the darkening lakes on the floor. At the door she turned back, saying "and eat some food!".

Carver was back in his chair, trying hard not to look at her. As she passed him, she said "Make sure he eats. And get someone to clean the mess in there once he's out!" He nodded, mumbling something in reply. When she reached the door to the stairwell, he called out to her "Mrs. Lockwood...?" She stopped and looked at him. "I... I won't tell anyone... I mean, about what I saw in there". She looked at him for a minute, amused, the silence stretching until the big man started fidgeting. Finally, she said "Do I look like I give a shit?" and walked out

[seldom]

Very intriguing and sexy so far! I would love to read more!

[Ncsn]

Chapter Three: An Evening with Auntie Mel

8:56PM

The staff called this room "the leisure suite". Donnie didn't know why; he never got to see one of the "events" that were held here, and those few people he knew on the staff who did, wouldn't talk about it. He just knew that it was bad, and that Melanie Lockwood was at the heart of it, but until today no one would come out and explain anything to him, he was the new guy, the rookie. But this afternoon, standing outside his cell, Carver explained things to him, taking relish in the growing horror on his face...
Everybody else in Mr. Collins's employee was terrified of Melanie. She wasn't around a lot - her official job was Mr. Collins's bodyguard, but there was the whole crew protecting him, and Donnie always thought she was more for show, an obscene multi-millionaire's quirk; she went  traveling with him when needed, sitting on with him when he was meeting outside people in the mansion. He was at one such meeting, once - scary, Latino-looking people, probably cartel, he was asked in to fix the AV system, which he was very good at; she was sitting behind Mr. Collins, dressed in a tiny, sleeveless top, her hulk-like arms crossed across her majestic breasts, saying nothing as Mr. Collins made small talk. He noticed the guests sneaking peeks in her direction, half-worried, half-lusting. As he left she winked at him, and he almost came in his pants, right then and there... To him she was Mel, the goddess who filled his teenage dreams, but she very quickly also became a friend, stopping to chat with him whenever she was in the mansion. He knew about "the leisure suite' - there were "events" held there from time to time, he saw her arrive several times, when he was doing gate duty, always dressed casually, unlike the times she was with Mr. Collins, when she seemed to dress real nice... He remembered one night, a month ago, he was hanging out in the rec room, Remer came running in, rushed into the toilet and spent the next 5 minutes retching up his intestines. All he would say when he came out, green and sickly, was "that pal of yours is not Human. She ain't!" and walked out. He left that week - the best job you could get in a 200 miles radius, and he just walked out... Well, now he understood.

Feeling the panic building up in his stomach, he tried to take his mind off those thoughts and looked around him, taking in his surroundings. The room wasn't very big - maybe 16"x18"? The walls were covered with some sort of light grey, soft padding, which also covered the one door. At one end there was a large window, beyond which there were 8 very comfortable-looking armchairs - 7, actually, the middle front one was a double - set in two rows. Each had a shelf attached on the side; the double at the front had a bottle of wine, two glasses and what seemed to be... mixed nuts? Each detail he took in just increased the sense of dread that seemed to have his stomach in an iron grip... He tore his eyes away from the eerily fancy viewing gallery, and noticed another thing: there was a contraption, hanging down from the ceiling, high above the ground. It looked like some sort of harness... without conscious thought, he started whining, a soft, scared sound, barely audible.

9:02PM
He was standing like this when Melanie came in through the door. He was naked, his handcuffed hands held in front, barely hiding his dangling penis. It didn't look quite as proud as it did before, on the cot in the small holding cell... She noticed the bruise on his cheek, the dried blood underneath his nose, and felt a spasm of anger. Carver, and that other goon, Black - goddamit, she would have a word or two with them, after this! She realised immediately how silly that was, and calmed herself. She looked at Donnie again. He was a well-built young man - only 5'10", but he kept himself in shape, worked out, quite muscular, really. He was very good looking, in the way that teenage girls seemed to love. How did Janice describe him? "A bit like Zach Efron, only good-looking". She felt a sudden pang of pity, thinking: "However this works out, he's not going to Hollywood after tonight..."
She put the thought out of her head. Pity was not her friend in The Leisure Suite. She took her satchel bag off her shoulder - her "bag of tricks", the one she kept in what Nadine liked to call her "dressing room", keeping it away from home, where one of her kids might find it - and put it in the corner. She walked over to the young man standing in the middle of the room, shivering slightly, staring at her, his mouth making a soft, moaning sound. "Hey!" She snapped her finger in his face. "Snap out of it! We don't know where this is going, don't lose hope!" knowing as the words left her mouth that they were a lie, not knowing if she was lying in order to make him feel better - or herself...
She took the keys that Carver handed her outside the room, and released the handcuffs. he shook them off, dumbly, and she took them, pushing one end in the pocket of her skin-tight jeans. She touched his cheek, softly. "Carver?" His eyes suddenly became animated. "Yeah, that son of a bitch, says the whole crew is now on notice because of me, what the hell has that got to..." She put her finger on his mouth, cutting off his tirade. "I'll have a talk with him later, baby, OK? Would you like that?" He perked up, almost smiling. "Yes, Mel. I would like that very much." She looked at him for a minute, thinking, and then said: " I need to change clothes, get out of those jeans... Would you like to help me?" His eyes widened, and he nodded yes. He was now definitely smiling.

9:06PM
She took his hand in hers, and walked him back, to the corner where her bag lay. He followed, hypnotized by the smooth movement of her round buttocks, encased in the impossibly tight, stone-washed jeans that were at least two sizes too small, her mammoth thighs threatening to burst through the rough fabric with every stride. She stopped, bending down to remove her tan ankle boots. His eyes slid down the curve of her arm - flowing from the thick, knotted neck, past her round, heavily-striated deltoids, criss-crossed with tiny veins, down the bulging deltoids and all the way down, curving through the thick veins running down her brawny arm, her hand looking almost tiny in comparison. She took the boots off, putting them near the bag, side by side, and turned to him, smiling. "Now, here comes the hard part..."
Her fingers released the buttons on her jeans easily enough, but getting them past her generous hips proved a harder task. She wriggled them a little as she pulled the pants down, sending cascading tremors through her upper body, her breasts swaying gently, her tight shirt barely holding them, setting donnie's heart aflutter and his penis soaring. The pants were a little down, revealing the upper strings of a tiny black thong. She raised her left foot and extended it towards him: "OK, this is where you can make yourself useful!" He bent down on his knees, grabbing what he could of the tight-fitting hem, and started pulling. it took them a moment - he pulling, panting with exertion and growing desire, she pushing-pulling the stubborn waist band downward, to glacially glide down the craggy mounds of her insane thighs. He paused when the pants were down to her knees, catching his breath, his gaze eating up the majesty that was a touch away. He noticed with wonder the tiny gap between her thighs, just below the pelvis, beckoning to him... Without thinking, he reached out with his hand, his fingers stroking silk-smooth, rock- hard muscle, feeling the tiny, almost ethereal veins criss-crossing it, loving the warmth and comfort it radiated...
"Woah there, cowboy!" Her voice was stern yet gentle as she took hold of his roving hand. "we're not done, yet." He looked up at her, saw her smiling down at him, her lips soft, her green-grey eyes sparkling, accentuated byrings of tiny, almost invisible wrinkles, wisps of chestnut-brown hair running down her brow... His heart ached - his mind thrown back to other times, to a sun-drenched pool, in a world where everything was possible, because Melanie Lockwood, the most beautiful woman in Greenville - no, the world! - told him that he was cool!
She pulled him up to his feet, steadying him with her other hand. "All right, that was a job well-done. I Can tell you've had experience with that kind of work!" She bent down again, pulling the pants all the way off. She straightened up, folding the pants neatly with experienced move, and then put them on top of the boots. With her back still turned, she said: "We have a choice to make, now..." She bent down to the bag, searched inside it, and after a minute came up with a jumble of cloth and string. "OK, it's your call, now. This..." her right hand holding up a tiny, black sports bra that he in no way could believe would fit over her gargantuan chest, "...or this", her left dangling a minuscule, teeny-tiny, yellow string bikini. His hand shot out instinctively, pointing with his finger. Her brow creased in mock puzzlement. "wow, I never would have guessed you would go for this one...mmm..." She tossed the black bra over her shoulder, to fall on the bag. "Now - no peeking!"
She turned around, her back to him, and pulled her t-shirt up.

It was a picture Donnie knew he would carry with him until the day he died. Melanie, standing a few feet away, her back to him, her arms raised above her head, the flimsy t-shirt going up over her head. He took it all in: the bare feet, looking almost delicate in comparison to the rest of her body. Her thickly muscled calves, almost relaxed but still jutting out to the sides. The taut hamstrings, popping out from the back of her thighs, the mighty muscles at the front straining to the sides. The round, sculpted glutes, accentuated by the tiny black triangle of the bikini bottom in the middle. The hips wide and generous, framed by the black bikini strings. The waist, not quite small, not huge - a respite for the weary observer midway across that mountainous body - suddenly flaring out, muscles bunched, flowing and dancing all across her upper torso, cords of muscle reaching up to her neck, the deltoides pulsating with indescribable power, the mighty biceps exploding upwards, their husky peaks bulging, with huge veins snaking across them...
He felt dizzy, his penis stretching up and forward, reaching for the heavenly apparition in front of him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his senses. He opened them, and the shirt was folded on top of the pants, Melanie tying the top of the bikini over her neck. "Give me a hand over here, baby...?" He almost sprang to her, reaching his arms around her Herculean back, accepting the two yellow strings. He was almost overpowered by her smell, by the massive presence she radiated, standing there relaxed, mighty, almost inhuman muscles performing a subtle dance all over her body with every breath she took. His fingers fumbled with the thin strings, as his straining manhood brushed against the base of her back...
"Everything OK back there, cowboy?" she asked, cooly. He stepped back, finished, wiping the sweat that - despite the chill in the room - was somehow pouring from his brow. "Done", he croaked. She turned around, slowly, and stood in front of him, smiling. "So, what do you think? Not bad for a 43 years old mom, right?" This sounded so much like his mom, that he guffawed, soundlessly. But the woman who stood in front of him was not his mom, was not like any other woman he has ever seen. She was still beautiful - no sign of steroid abuse on her face, her chin strong and round, her lips soft, half-open with an expectant smile, the wrinkles around her eyes radiating warmth. Her pectoral muscles were HUGE - two giant slabs of muscle, protruding forward, striations running inwards from the sides, veins reaching all across them. Her breasts - her pride and glory, the subject of Dannie's teenage dreams - were barely reined in by the two flimsy pieces of yellow cloth, the dark nipples underneath straining to burst out. They obviously were the breasts of a 43 years-old mother of three - they were heavy, sagging a little, but they were most certainly 100% her, spilling to the sides of the bikini triangles, soft and inviting... They stood in sharp contrast to the chieselled eight-pack underneath, that looked like it was cut in stone, a large, dark vein running down the side, disappearing behind the small bikini bottom.
Donnie swallowed several times. Breathing was hard, and his voice, when he tried to speak, came out as a croak. "I... ah...". She smiled, glancing down at his now painfully throbbing penis. "Oh, I think I know how you feel, baby." She started moving towards him, her hips swaying seductively. Her body moved into his, her glorious breasts squashing into his chest, her hands going up to cup his chin. "I think we have a few moments, baby, I..."

She stopped, as a low, metallic hum sounded from above. A dry, precise, almost gentle voice said: "Ah, Mrs. Lockwood, Mr. Mercer. I see you have gotten acquainted. Excellent. I believe we can start now."

[Lupus753]

I really like where this is going!

[Ncsn]

Can't wait to see where this goes.

I'm not sure you do, buddy.  this is going to some pretty dark places...

[seldom]

Can't wait to see where this goes.

I'm not sure you do, buddy.  this is going to some pretty dark places...

I'm in! Great story so far, well written, teasing, hinting. Looking forward to the rest of it. (I like it dark sometimes!)

[Ncsn]

Please ignore this chapter's sub-title. This most certainly IS going to get awful.

Chapter Three: An Evening with Auntie Mel
This might just turn out not to be so awful after all!

8:56PM

The staff called this room "the leisure suite". Donnie didn't know why; he never got to see one of the "events" that were held here, and those few people he knew on the staff who did, wouldn't talk about it. He just knew that it was bad, and that Melanie Lockwood was at the heart of it, though until today no one would come out and explain anything to him, he was the new guy, the rookie. But this afternoon, standing outside his cell, Carver explained things to him, taking relish in the growing horror on his face...
Everybody else in Mr. Collins's employee was terrified of Melanie. She wasn't around a lot - her official job was Mr. Collins's bodyguard, but there was the whole crew protecting him, and Donnie always thought she was more for show, an obscene multi-millionaire's quirk; she went  traveling with him when needed, sitting on with him when he was meeting outside people in the mansion. He was at one such meeting, once - scary, Latino-looking people, probably cartel, he was asked in to fix the AV system, which he was very good at; she was sitting behind Mr. Collins, dressed in a tiny, shimmering sleeveless top, her hulk-like arms crossed across her majestic breasts, saying nothing as Mr. Collins made small talk. He noticed the guests sneaking peeks in her direction, half-worried, half-lusting. As he left she winked at him, and he almost came in his pants, right then and there... To him she was Mel, the goddess who filled his teenage dreams, but she very quickly also became a friend, stopping to chat with him whenever she was in the mansion. He knew about "the leisure suite' - there were "events" held there from time to time, he saw her arrive several times, when he was doing gate duty, always dressed casually, unlike the times she was with Mr. Collins, when she seemed to dress real nice... He remembered one night, a month ago, he was hanging out in the rec room, Remer came running in, rushed into the toilet and spent the next 5 minutes retching up his intestines. All he would say when he came out, green and sickly, was "that pal of yours is not Human. She ain't!" and walked out. He quit that week - the best job you could get in a 200 miles radius, and he just walked out - and this on a boss you don't just "walk out" on... Well, now he understood.


Feeling the panic building up in his stomach, he tried to take his mind off those thoughts and looked around him, taking in his surroundings. The room wasn't very big - maybe 16"x18"? The walls were covered with some sort of light grey, soft padding, which also covered the one door. At one end there was a large window, beyond which there were 8 very comfortable-looking armchairs - 7, actually, the middle front one was a double - set in two rows. Each had a shelf attached on the side; the double at the front had a bottle of wine, two glasses and what seemed to be... mixed nuts? Each detail he took in just increased the sense of dread that seemed to have his stomach in an iron grip... He tore his eyes away from the eerily fancy viewing gallery, and noticed another thing: there was a contraption, hanging down from the ceiling, high above the ground. It looked like some sort of harness... without conscious thought, he started whining, a soft, scared sound, barely audible.

9:02PM
He was standing like this when Melanie came in through the door. He was naked, his handcuffed hands held in front, barely hiding his dangling penis. It didn't look quite as proud as it did before, on the cot in the small holding cell... She noticed the bruise on his cheek, the dried blood underneath his nose, and felt a spasm of anger. Carver, and that other goon, Black - goddamit, she would have a word or two with them, after this! She realised immediately how silly that was, and calmed herself. She looked at Donnie again. He was a well-built young man - only 5'10", but he kept himself in shape, worked out, quite muscular, really. He was very good looking, in the way that teenage girls seemed to love. How did Janice describe him? "A bit like Zach Efron, only good-looking". She felt a sudden pang of pity, thinking: "However this works out, he's not going to Hollywood after tonight..."
She put the thought out of her head. Pity was not her friend in The Leisure Suite. She took her satchel bag off her shoulder - her "bag of tricks", the one she kept in what Nadine liked to call her "dressing room", keeping it away from home, where one of her kids might find it - and put it in the corner. She walked over to the young man standing in the middle of the room, shivering slightly, staring at her, his mouth making a soft, moaning sound. "Hey!" She snapped her finger in his face. "Snap out of it! We don't know where this is going, don't lose hope!" knowing as the words left her mouth that they were a lie, not knowing if she was lying in order to make him feel better - or herself...
She took the keys that Carver handed her outside the room, and released the handcuffs. he shook them off, dumbly, and she took them, pushing one end in the pocket of her skin-tight jeans. She touched his cheek, softly. "Carver?" His eyes suddenly became animated. "Yeah, that son of a bitch, says the whole crew is now on notice because of me, what the hell has that got to..." She put her finger on his mouth, cutting off his tirade. "I'll have a talk with him later, baby, OK? Would you like that?" He perked up, almost smiling. "Yes, Mel. I would like that very much." She looked at him for a minute, thinking, and then said: " I need to change clothes, get out of those jeans... Would you like to help me?" His eyes widened, and he nodded yes. He was now definitely smiling.

9:06PM
She took his hand in hers, and walked him back, to the corner where her bag lay. He followed, hypnotized by the smooth movement of her round buttocks, encased in the impossibly tight, stone-washed jeans that were at least two numbers too small, her mammoth thighs threatening to burst through the rough fabric with every stride. She stopped, bending down to remove her tan ankle boots. His eyes slid down the curve of her arm - flowing from the thick, knotted neck, past her round, heavily-striated deltoids, criss-crossed with tiny veins, down the bulging deltoids and all the way down, curving through the thick veins running down her brawny arm, her hand looking almost tiny in comparison. She took the boots off, putting them near the bag, side by side, and turned to him, smiling. "Now, here comes the hard part..."
Her fingers released the buttons on her jeans easily enough, but getting them past her generous hips proved a harder task. She wriggled them a little as she pulled the pants down, sending cascading tremors through her upper body, her breasts swaying gently, her tight shirt barely holding them, setting donnie's heart aflutter and his penis soaring. The pants were a little down, revealing the upper strings of a tiny black thong. She raised her left foot and extended it towards him: "OK, this is where you can make yourself useful!" He bent down on his knees, grabbing what he could of the tight-fitting hem, and started pulling. it took them a moment - he pulling, panting with exertion and growing desire, she pushing-pulling the stubborn waist band downward, to glacially glide down the craggy mounds of her insane thighs. He paused when the pants were down to her knees, catching his breath, his gaze eating up the majesty that was a touch away. He noticed with wonder the tiny gap between her thighs, just below the pelvis, beckoning to him... Without thinking, he reached out with his hand, his fingers stroking silk-smooth, rock- hard muscle, feeling the tiny, almost ethereal veins criss-crossing it, loving the warmth and comfort it radiated...
"Woah there, cowboy!" Her voice was stern yet gentle as she took hold of his roving hand. "we're not done, yet." He looked up at her, saw her smiling down at him, her lips soft, her green-grey eyes sparkling, accentuated by rings of tiny, almost invisible wrinkles, wisps of chestnut-brown hair running down her brow... His heart ached - his mind thrown back to other times, to a sun-drenched pool, in a world where everything was possible, because the most beautiful woman in Greenville - no, the world! - told him that he was cool!
She pulled him up to his feet, steadying him with her other hand. "All right, that was a job well-done. I Can tell you've had experience with that kind of work!" She bent down again, pulling the pants all the way off. She straightened up, folding the pants neatly with experienced move, and then put them on top of the boots. With her back still turned, she said: "We have a choice to make, now..." She bent down to the bag, searched inside it, and after a minute came up with a jumble of cloth and string. "OK, it's your call, now. This..." her right hand holding up a tiny, black sports bra that he in no way could believe would fit over her gargantuan chest, "...or this", her left dangling a minuscule, teeny-tiny, yellow string bikini. His hand shot out instinctively, pointing with his finger. Her brow creased in mock puzzlement. "wow, I never would have guessed you would go for this one...mmm..." She tossed the black bra over her shoulder, to fall on the bag. "Now - no peeking!"
She turned around, her back to him, and pulled her t-shirt up.
It was a picture Donnie knew he would carry with him until the day he died. Melanie, standing a few feet away, her back to him, her arms raised above her head, the flimsy t-shirt going up over her head. He took it all in: the bare feet, looking almost delicate in comparison to the rest of her body. Her thickly muscled calves, almost relaxed but still jutting out to the sides. The taut hamstrings, popping out from the back of her thighs, the mighty muscles at the front straining to the sides. The round, sculpted glutes, accentuated by the tiny black triangle of the bikini bottom in the middle. The hips wide and generous, framed by the black bikini strings. The waist, not quite small, not huge - a respite for the weary observer midway across that mountainous body - suddenly flaring out, muscles bunched flowing and dancing all across her upper torso, cords of muscle reaching up to her neck, the deltoides pulsating with indescribable power, the mighty biceps exploding upwards, their husky peaks bulging, huge veins snaking across them...
He felt dizzy, his penis stretching up and forward, reaching for the heavenly apparition in front of him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his senses. He opened them, and the shirt was folded on top of the pants, Melanie tying the top of the bikini over her neck. "Give me a hand over here, baby...?" He almost sprang to her, reaching his arms around her Herculean back, accepting the two yellow strings. He was almost overpowered by her smell, by the massive presence she radiated, standing there relaxed, mighty, almost inhuman muscles performing a subtle dance all over her body with every breath she took. His fingers fumbled with the thin strings, as his straining manhood brushed against the base of her back...
"Everything OK back there, cowboy?" she asked, cooly. He stepped back, finished, wiping the sweat that - despite the chill in the room - was somehow pouring from his brow. "Done", he croaked. She turned around, slowly, and stood in front of him, smiling. "So, what do you think? Not bad for a 43 years old mom, right?" This sounded so much like his mom, that he guffawed, soundlessly. But the woman who stood in front of him was not his mom, was not like any other woman he has ever seen. She was still beautiful - no sign of steroid abuse on her face, her chin strong and round, her lips soft, half-open with an expectant smile, the wrinkles around her eyes radiating warmth. Her pectoral muscles were HUGE - two giant slabs of muscle, protruding forward, striations running inwards from the sides, veins reaching all across them. Her breast - her pride and glory, the subject of Dannie's teenage dreams - were barely reined in by the two flimsy pieces of yellow cloth, the dark nipples underneath straining to burst out. They obviously were the breasts of a 43 years-old mother of three - they were heavy, sagging a little, but they were most certainly 100% her, spilling to the sides of the bikini triangles, soft and inviting... They stood in sharp contrast to the chieselled eight-pack underneath, that looked like it was cut in stone, a large, dark vein running down the side, disappearing behind the small bikini bottom.
Donnie swallowed several times. Breathing was hard, and his voice, when he tried to speak, came out as a croak. "I... ah...". She smiled, glancing down at his now painfully throbbing penis. "Oh, I think I know how you feel, baby." She started moving towards him, her hips swaying seductively. Her body moved into his, her glorious breasts squashing into his chest, her hands going up to cup his chin. "I think we have a few moments, baby, I..."

She stopped, as a low, metallic hum sounded from above. A dry, precise, almost gentle voice said: "Ah, Mrs. Lockwood, Mr. Mercer. I see you have gotten acquainted. Excellent. I believe we can start now."

[yatz]

Yeah, sorry about that previous double-posting... Hope this makes up for it. This is the big event. Hope to have the aftermath done after the weekend.

9:30PM

Melanie closed her eyes briefly, sighed resignedly, and turned around. Mr. Collins was standing in front of the viewing armchairs, smiling his usual opaque, cold smile. He was dressed casually yet immaculately, in a dark sweater and light gray slacks, his salt and pepper mane meticulously coiffed above his high brow. He gestured to his right. "I believe you both know Miss Thorne..." Beth Thorne was a strikingly beautiful woman, with luscious, full lips, large, pale blue eyes and swirling, golden-red hair cascading down her bare shoulders. She was wearing a tiny, beige belly shirt, hugging and accentuating her perky full breasts, and a black mini skirt that showed off her long, shapely legs. Melanie guessed she was wearing high-heels, as she almost towered above Mr. Collins' 5'7". Her body language belied her appearance, radiating as it did total misery - and now Melanie noticed the tell-tale smudges around her eyes, the almost invisible streaks of mascara, the subtle signs of hastily-wiped tears. "Good!", she thought grimly. Donnie was a moron, yes, but the whole thing might have been avoided if this gorgeous piece off ass wasn't such a fucking spoiled brat...
Mr. Collins looked at his companion. "You might notice that Miss Thorne does not feel so good... Probably something she ate. I hope you two can provide her some good, clean entertainment to lift her spirits." Melanie groaned inwardly. The man saw himself as some sort of a Bond Villain, always putting on a show... What disturbed her most, though, was the body mike he was wearing. Usually he was quite during her sessions, letting her run the show, only occasionally using his seat mike to make a suggestion. It was obvious that today he meant to be part of the performance, and she was not happy about it. She considered herself something of an artist, was proud of the way she made each session unique, finding small, subtle ways to surprise her audience... No, today was not going to be enjoyable. For Mr. Collins, this particular session was very personal, and he wanted to have his say - and he very much wanted to make sure his dumbass bombshell of a girlfriend knew who was calling the shots, here.
The two spectators were seating themselves in the double-seater at the front. "Now, as soon as Mr. Shannon here would pour some of that excellent Chardonnay for us..." Jeff Shannon materialized from the side of the window, hurrying to serve the couple the wine from its chilled holder. Mr. Collins waited till he was finished, his hand now on the sullen Beth's shoulder; he then raised his glass and smiled affably. "Mrs. Lockwood - whenever you're ready..."
...

She turned around to face Donnie. He was standing slack-jawed, seemingly in a daze, his eyes fixed longingly on the girl slouched on the armchair, behind the thick, double-pane tempered glass. "Donnie" she said quietly. He was having trouble tearing his gaze away from his ill-fated lover. "We are starting", she said. His eyes slowly moved to hers, the dawning of ralization starting to give them focus. She punched him in the gut, a short, vicious jab, her arm never traveling back, driven by the power of her monsterous tricep alone. He doubled over in pain, gasping for air, his face contorted into a mask of agony. She walked around him, sauntered to the middle of the room, stretching her arms, swiveling from side to side. At age 43, she knew all too well the dangers of sudden exertion without proper stretching. She thought, feeling a pang of sadness, that today will not demand too much exertion on her part.
She turned back towards Donnie and the viewing gallery. Mr. Collins was sipping his wine, slowly, his hand on his companion's almost completely-exposed thigh. She, on her part, was sitting upright, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on her doomed lover. Donnie was getting up slowly, his hand on his stomach. He looked very, very young, his eyes hurt, uncomprehending. "I... I thought..." She stood in front of him, her mass almost dwarfing him. "Hit me." she said. His eyes widened, and then narrowed, his mouth setting. She could see the calculations going through his head. There was no way he could take her in a fist fight or a wrestling match... there was just - maybe! - one way. His hand lashed out, lightning fast, leading with the heel of his palm, aiming for the area under her nose. She moved back and to the side, her speed unbelievable in someone so massive, and shoved him back, not using his momentum to tumble him. It was stupid, and she could see Mr. Collins starting to fidget, but she wanted to know that she at least gave the kid the semblance of a chance... He regained his balance, haunched his sizeable shoulders, and then launched himself at her, putting all of his back into a series of powerful jabs at her midsection, obviously trying to get at her kidneys. He stepped back, looking for any effect. She smiled at him, sucking her stomach in a bit, the ridges of her armour-like 8-pack coming into even greater relief. She waited for two ticks, and then drove into him with her right fist, her whole body behind it, not holding back. He flew back 3 feet, his back smashing into the large window, and crumpled to the floor. She strolled over to him, leisurely, her hips swaying a little, and stood over him, giving the two spectators a close-up view of her magnificent upper body, her breasts barely held by the two tiny, yellow triangles, looking almost small against the craggs and nooks of her humongous pectorals. She could feel Beth Thorne's gaze fixed on her, and she smiled to herself. Was the little bitch actually starting to get into it? She bent down lazily, picking Donnie up by his neck, lifting him up like you would a doll. He still had some fight in him, trying to punch her, his fists hitting feebly at her pecs, but she just ignored him. She half-turned, giving the onlookers a nice view of her side-boob - always a big fan favorite! - holding the now slumping Donnie high in the air with her right hand, and delivered a series of short, vicious jabs with her left fist, smashing into his stomach again and again, visualizing the kidneys  crushing inwards, the stomach smashed into a pulp... She stopped, admiring the black and blue stains beginning to spread across his tortured abs, and then delivered a devastating blow to his side, his body twisting in her hand, hearing the sickly sound of ribs cracking. He screamed in pain, eliciting the first full-toothed smile from Mr. Collins.
She was holding him by his neck, watching him writhing in pain, whimpering weakly. Whatever she felt before, she was now completely into it; she was the tigress, he was the prey she was stalking - just nature at work, the strong eating the weak. She smiled at him, now completely into it, happy, well into her comfort zone. With a heave of her mighty arm,  she flung him across the room, to crash into the wall opposite them. He screamed, weakly, and she knew his cracked ribs were now broken. She turned slowly and walked over to his writhing body, putting an extra sway into her gate, knowing the fluid magnificence of her round, slinking glutes will not be lost on her audience.
As she strolled over, she was thinking that her fears regarding Mr. Collins were overblown; he was very well-behaved, letting her run the show - respecting the artist, as it were. Because, yes, she was an artist, the consummate performance artist, giving the spectators an experience they will not soon forget...She thought about her next move - take it up a notch, as it were; both in the destruction of Donnie ("The Destruction of Donnie"! She liked the sound of that), and in her presentation of herself. And maybe - just maybe - Mr. Collins will not address the fact that she was speeding things up, skipping some of her favorite hits...

Donnie was on all four, sluggishly trying to raise himself from the floor. Bending down, she grabbed by the back of his of his neck, her other hand going between his legs, viciously digging into his upper thigh. She bent her knees a little, making sure to keep her spine neutral, and raised him in one, clean motion, bringing him to rest at shoulder height, his naked back resting on her soft breasts. As someone who easily cleared 400 lbs in the clean and jerk, his 160 pounds were insignificant, but if 20 years of bodybuilding has taught her anything, it was: always respect the back... After all those years, her back was pain-free, and she was damned if she was going to have this change on account of Donnie Goddamn Mercer! His head was dangling to the side, unseen, but she could hear his feeble whining, begging her to stop. She ignored him, turning and walking back, his arms and legs dangling at her sides, to stand in front of the viewing gallery.

"I see you're going straight to the big hits, Mrs. Lockwood!" Mr. Collins' voice was flaccid, as usual, but she didn't miss the underlying note of sarcasm. The bastard was on to her. She didn't say anything, her mind or her next bit. Planting her right foot solidly into the hard floor, she raised her left knee, muscles dancing madly on her mammoth thigh, and held it up, at a 90 degrees angle to the floor. The girl behind the window, who has obviously been crying, looked up, puzzled. Melanie raised donnie's body, slowly, making sure that the play of muscle on her sumptuous upper body was not lost on the spectators, Beth's eyes now wide, her mouth agape, Mr. Collins slunk back in his seat, his right hand playing with his girlfriend's golden hair, his eyes hooded, his smile tight, full of anticipation... Donnie was crying, pleading with her, invoking their friendship, his mom, her kids... She just smiled, taking the time to admire her biceps, now pumped to their full 20", huge veins exploding all over them... She looked back to the viewing gallery, catching Beth's eyes, holding them for a moment, smiling at her - a quite, knowing smile - and brought Donnie's body down, brutally crashing his back on her unmoving, unforgiving thigh.

He screamed, his body twisting and jerking, each jerk bringing fresh pain, renewed screams - guttural, unintelligible, animal screams. Melanie stood silent, holding his flailing body, still holding Beth's eyes. "Consequences, bitch!", she thought grimly. she enjoyed the look of indescribable terror in her eyes, the silent scream, covered by the back of her hand, her exposed, thin shoulders making her look oh-so vulnerable... As she put her leg down, letting go of the wrecked body and letting it tumble down to the floor, she thought idly "that girl is very fuckable..." Donnie was a moron, but now she could kind-of understand him...

Mr. Collins' dry voice broke her reverie. "That was indeed breathtaking, Mrs. Lockwood." smiling his polite smile, a far-away light now dancing in his eyes. She didn't say anything, knowing there was more. He mused for a minute, tapping his mouth with his finger, his right hand now rubbing Beth's quivering shoulder. "I must say, I missed your usual foreplay, Mrs. Lockwood. It was almost as though you were trying to get it over with as fast as possible...?" Ending on a questioning note, which she hated, but still she said nothing, letting him have his little game. He tapped his finger on his front teeth, looking into the mid-distance - really selling it - and then looked up at her, smiling brightly. "Mrs. Lockwood, I do believe I have the solution! You see, Bethany," speaking to his companion " Mrs. Lockwood cares a lot about aesthetics - perhaps a bit too much; and young Mr. Mercer being so - how shall I put it - well, unattractive... our dear Mrs. Lockwood just wishes to get him out of her sight as soon as possible..." Melanie felt a tightening knot of dread growing in her stomach. The son of a bitch was having so much fun, hamming it up, playing the psycho villain, and she knew where this was going. He was not going to let it go, and she might find herself faced with a tough decision...
"Mrs. Lockwood... May I suggest you make use of your renowned skills, and try and rearrange young Mr. Mercer's face? Perhaps you could make his hideous facade more... presentable?"
She was staring at Donnie's tortured torso, not really seeing it, her mind a blank.  Time was crawling to a standstill.
"Mrs. Lockwood? I take it your mind is trying to formulate the best of action...?"
She still said nothing, but her eyes started to focus and she raised them, looking directly into Mr. Collins' eyes. "No", she said.

His smile stayed on,but it tightened a little, a hardness coming into his eyes. "I beg your pardon?" She folded her arms, defiant. "No," she repeated. "He's had enough." Mr. Collins nodded, his smile fading a little. He laid back in his seat, his hand gently stroking Beth's shoulder. The girl has stopped sobbing, and was now looking up at Melanie, something resembling hope dawning in her eyes. "I see... mmm. And that observation is based on...?" Her adrenaline rush was starting to subside, and she felt the first pangs of apprehension, but knew she needed to be resolute, show him she was serious. "He's just a dumb kid. He's 21, for christ's sake, he's just a young moron who fell in love and..." she stopped just in time, knowing Mr. Collins would not take kindly to her mentioning the fact that Donnie screwed his girlfriend. She went on fast, trying to cover up her near-guff. "Look, he's practically a teenager, he was in college for two years, he just doesn't know how the real world works, he'll be in traction for a year, he'll never walk right again... he's just a fucking kid..." She rambled to a stop, Mr. Collins looking at her with his usual mild expression, letting her have her say. "Mrs. Lockwood... May I please call you Melanie?" She nodded, not giving a shit what he called her. "Melanie, you've been in my employee... Is it 8 years now? And you've been a most important asset. I needed someone who could intimidate people, hurt them badly when needed, and I know no other person in the world who does both better. We have both greatly benefited from this relationship, and I have even come to look fondly upon you, as a valued colleague and maybe even a friend," raising his hand as she made to answer, stopping her, "but you are very much my employee, and much as I value your input, when I make a request I expect it to be carried out."

She stood still, looking at him, her mind screaming for her to STOP!!! and then, shutting everything out, said: "You're right. I quit." She bent down, picking up Donnie's body, cradling him in her arms, trying not to touch his broken ribs. " I enjoyed working for you, and I..."
He raised his hand again, his smile now gone, his face placcid. "You can of course leave whenever you wish. But..." his hands were now held together, palm-to-palm, in front of his face "have you considered the consequences?"
She felt the adrenaline rushing back, her head lighter. "Is that a threat?" Because a threat she could handle, just give her someone to hit... He smiled, ruefully. "I would never threaten you, Melanie. But there WILL be consequences."  She smiled, showing her teeth. "Sorry, not scared."
He was silent for a minute, and then spoke slowly, deliberately. "Your husband is making a good living, and you yourself have made quite a nice amount in my employee. But at present you have 5855$ in you joint bank account; most of the money has gone to the house extension and the renovation, a lot of it tied up in the kids' college funds, and there IS of course Brad's boat..." "We'll manage" she interjected, He held up a palm. "Perhaps. Brad is greatly appreciated at his job, but almost 60% of Callahan-Silvers business is directly connected to projects owned by myself, and there IS the matter of the Fairview Center, coming up next year. Do you really believe Jonathan Silvers would take the chance of employing a man who could be considered to be in my bad graces?" She started to answer, thought better of it. "Indeed not. I would think most businesses in the South-East would be leery of employing such a man, wouldn't you say?"
He went on, not waiting for an answer. "And then, there's the matter of your family's safety." Holding up his hand again, quickly. "Like I said, I would never threaten you or your family. But you Have made many enemies in the last 8 years, some of them very powerful. The only thing keeping them from getting back at your family is the knowledge that you enjoy my full backing, and any attack on you will be considered an attack on me. Once that backing is gone, you and your family will be fair game. Are you ready to take you family on the run, Melanie? And how far do you think you will get? You are not exactly someone who can blend in, disappear into the scenery..."

He was looking at her intently, his lips pursed together, not moving. Beth Thorne was looking at her, a pleading look on her face. Donnie was moving in her arms, softly moaning. She stood for a long minute, her face blank, her gigantic shoulders hunched forward, trying to protect the broken human cradled in her massive arms. She was trying to think, come back with an answer, but she knew there was nothing to say. He was holding all the cards.

She let the now half-unconscious Donnie slide down from her arms, holding him up by his hair. Unceremoniously, not saying a word, she punched his face, feeling his jaw break under her fist.
Mr. Collins was smiling again. "Ah, yes... Always very pragmatic, our dear Mrs. Lockwood..."He stopped, pulling Beth - who was now standing up, her mouth agape, eyes wide with terror, both hands to her mouth - back to her seat. He mmmm'ed some more. "Now, perhaps the nose...? It seems to be a bit out of whack..." Another punch, breaking soft cartilage. "Excellent! May we..." She held up the now blissfully unconscious Donnie for them to examine. "Excellent, excellent. What do you think, my dear?" Bethany was crying, tears streaming down her high cheekbones, her mouth open wide in a silent scream. "Ms. Thorne is thrilled with the results! We are both very grateful. Now, my dear, Mr. Mercer seems a bit under the weather - perhaps you could put him down, for our medical team to take care of.."
She carried his lifeless body, putting him down by the door, which now opened, two medics coming in. They went to work on what was, a mere 15 minutes ago, a young, healthy, handsome young man, all the time trying their best not to look at her. She ambled back, stood in front of the window, watching Mr. Howard Collins going back to his Bond villain impression. "Now, I'm still a little worried... As a hideously ugly individual, Mr.Mercer has surely not yet known the pleasures of the flesh... No carnal experience, if I may be so crass... I trust that the beautiful new him will be much in demand, so perhaps we should do him the kindness of preparing him for the avalanche of... mmm... sexual activities which the future no doubt holds for him...?" She did not wait for him to finish, moving to the small control box located near the door, her thigh brushing one of the medics' back, making the terrified man frog-leap in terror, almost knocking his partner down. She pressed a button, and there was a low humming sound, as the harness suspended from the ceiling started wheeling in its track, going towards the viewing window. When it reached the end, just above the window, she pressed another button, making it come down, two handcuffs dangling from the sides. She then turned, humongous arms crossed across her immense chest, and waited.
The medics worked for a few minutes more, obviously feeling the pressure of the eyes looking on at them. Donnie came to, slowly, his face horribly mashed, all black and blue, same as his mangled torso. Mr. Collins was silent, his smile now gone, nothing left but gleeful, malicious anticipation. The medics rose, backing away and out of the door, their eyes the whole time avoiding the beautiful, deadly female behemoth standing in the middle of the room. She went over, picking up the husk that was once Donnie Mercer, and carried him back to the window, underneath the harness. Holding him up the against the glass, she raised his hands up, one at a time, putting each in a handcuff. He was now dangling from the harness, his toes an inch above the floor, his face smashed against the cold glass, his mouth making a low, guttural moaning sound. She went over to her satchel bag, bent down, putting her hand inside, searching randomly, not really caring, her hand coming out with a huge black dildo, attached to a harness. She stood up, fixing the 9 inches-long monstrosity over her pubic mound, the harness' belts going around her hips and down her ass, to be buckled at the front. she didn't look up as Mr. Collins spoke again, his voice sounding like a man rubbing his hands together: "Our old friend, The Black Duke! Excellent choice!" She could hear the faint sound of Beth crying and pleading with him, picked up by his throat mic. She moved behind Donnie, taking hold of his buttocks with her hands.

Donnie was vaguely aware of his surroundings. His face was pressed against the window, and he desperately wanted to see Beth, tell her that it's OK, it will all be good, but his right eye was swollen shut, and he just couldn't lift his head to switch position. His ear was squashed against the soundproof window, and he could hear the faint echo of her voice, crying, and his heart went out to her, and then she was wailing and there was a cold, hard thing entering his anus, and he screamed

[jumpy999]

Oh man, I'm both frightened and excited about what Melanie's going to do next. More please! 

[yatz]

Oh man, I'm both frightened and excited about what Melanie's going to do next. More please! 

Well, I AM cheating, here - the big payoff is planned for the next stories... But, rest assured: she will not be taking it lying down!

[yatz]

Brad was already in bed when she got back, watching the Harley Quinn cartoon on the 70" bedroom TV. He turned when she came in, smiling: "Hey, honey, how did it go?" His smile faded when he saw her expression. She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, a giant, brooding colossus, and then said "Don't wanna talk about it." She turned and walked into the bathroom.

He waited for a few minutes, listening. He heard the sound of her struggle with her pants - she loved those jeans, no matter what a battle it was each time, putting them on and taking them off! - and then the water running. He waited a few minutes, allowing her time to wash it off, and then got up and walked in.
He stood there for a minute, taking in the sight that he knew he would never get tired off. She was standing under the shower, her gigantic body filling the enclosure. Her eyes closed, full lips slightly open, the water running over her mountainous pecs, rolling across her slightly-drooping, still drool-inducing round breasts, her nipples dark and glistening, down those insane abs, on to traverse the thickly muscled thighs... Without opening her eyes, she said: "It was bad."
He didn't say anything, waiting for her. She opened her eyes, turned the water off. She raised her hands, slicking her hair back, hard, her monstrous biceps seeming to fill the enclosure. In large part, the extension they built last year was meant to provide her with a queen-sized bathroom and shower enclosure; replacing the shattered glass partitions in the old one was just getting to be too expensive... And shower sex was with Melanie was the greatest sex in the history of human intercourse, worth the price of that extension on its own, and there was nothing he wanted more in the world right now then to join her, to put his body against her, feel her nipples burrowing into his chest, the feeling of his dick trapped between their bodies, extending, crawling up against her divine abs, her luscious lips locking with his... He shook his head, thinking: "not yet, you horny bastard..." and stood, waiting, his hands crossed across his hairy chest.
She stepped out of the shower, extending her hand to him. He handed her a towel. She started to dry herself, and he waited. After a minute, he said: "So?". Without stopping, she said: "really bad". She was silent for another moment, her hands going thoroughly over every nook and cranny across the vast expense of her body, and she spoke again, seeming more animated. "It went OK, at first, I gave them a good show - Collins and the girl, he made her watch it all... I worked the kid over good, he would have been out of commission for a few months, but nothing that couldn't be fixed..." Her voice trailed off. She went on with the mammoth task of drying, now working on her legs, her thighs an orgy of pythons, as great corded muscles danced with each smooth strokes of the towel. She stopped, looked up. "He didn't buy it. Bastard made me pull the house down on him - broke his face, fucked the shit out of him, fingers... The works. He'll never be right again. He's done."
She threw the towel on the bench, leaned back on the tiled wall, now looking directly into his eyes. "I really liked this kid. I gave him a handski, before he went up..." He looked up at her, surprised. "You're kidding!" She nodded. "He was just so miserable... It was a good one, nipples and all, he came all over the floor..." He shook his head, smiling. "You have such a good heart...!" and thought: that is part of why I love you so much!
She grimaced. "Let's keep this straight: I broke his ribs, I caused permanent damage to his back, I fucked him in the ass with a metal dildo for 15 minutes and did who-knows what damage inside... Brad, I'm a psychopath." He started to protest, she cut him off. "Look, I don't really care. I know there are just too many people I really love to be a true psychopath, but I AM different, and I'm NOT a nice person.  I always loved hurting people, dominating them, breaking them... I ENJOY it, brad. You know this. "A small shudder ran up his back, memories of pleasure and pain bubbling up... Oh yes he did.  "And I didn't really care about poor Donnie TOO much; it was a job, it's what I like doing, and it's what helping pay for this luxury bathroom, right?" She moved up to him, her great bulk dwarfing his muscular body, her hands holding his wrists in a vice-like grip. "I had a limit, I only wanted to go so far, I told him I'm quitting - and the son of a bitch still made me do it. Do you understand?" He could only nod, the nearness of her body intoxicating him, his mind raging with desire...  She was looking in his eyes intently, searching. "I don't care about Donnie, I don't care about all those poor schmucks I..." She stopped, looking down, incredulous. "Really? Really? Your wife is telling you how she was robbed of her agency, about her whole world crumbling - and THIS is what you're thinking about?!" Her hand grabbed his still-growing shaft, straining to climb up her abs. "Goddamn it, sweetie, you're supposed to support me!" He protested, weakly: "Com'n, honey, you can't really expect me to be the model husband when you're standing 3 inches from me, with all... all THIS in my face!" She looked at him, a smile starting to play out on the corner of her mouth. "Mmm... Little Brad DOES look mighty hungry... And it HAS been almost 23 hours, right?" Letting go of his manhood, she slid her hand under his testicles, grabbing him carefully and hoisted him up, flinging him over her hulking shoulder, 170 lbs. and all, easy as you would a child. "OK, Mr. Lockwood - you asked for it. Are you ready for some MAJOR screwing?"

...

Later, as they were laying in bed, his aching body nested in the vastness of her body, his mouth lightly nibbling at her nipple, her heavy arm across his body, possessive and protective, she told him about the evening's events, and about Mr. Collins elaborate method of blackmail. He listened intently, not interrupting her. When she finished, he thought for a few minutes, finally saying: "The money is manageable. We can take out a mortgage on the house, if Jonathan fires me I can go back to freelance work, blacklisting wouldn't be a problem with private clients - unless Collins decides to actively discourage people... " "Which he very well might", she interjected. "Man is a vindictive cocksucker". "Yeah, there's that. There's always that underground fight club in New Orleans..." She considered it before. She hated long drives, hated the idea of leaving her kids for a weekend of fighting in a dark, smelly, subterranean dungeon for the pleasure of others. She has taken trips with Mr. Collins, but a 4 days jaunt to Paris was a far cry from this... Out loud, she said: "the main problem is safety. He WAS right about this - once I leave the organization, it's open season on us. This is what I have to figure out, before I can consider anything else."
They were quite for a few minutes. She was gently stroking his penis, which was back to full size, having recovered from the heavy labor of their lovemaking. "Mine", she said, invoking their watchword. He smiled, his head resting on her breast, his hand going down to her vulva, caressing it softly. "Mine", he answered. Looking in her eyes, he said: "We'll work it out. Just remember: there's no one more capable of protecting this family than you. And NO one can make you do something you don't want to. You're Melanie fucking Lockwood, and I pity the fool who tries!" She laughed out loud. "And nobody puts Baby in the corner, right? You should have been coaching little league, babe..." "Fuck you", he said, good-naturedly. His hand was now playing with her sex, his finger trailing hair labia, teasing her clitoris, feeling the stirring of her juices... "No", she said. "I need to think. You can go in, but keep still, I need to think." "Scouts' honor!" he promised, cuddling into her, his engorged shaft probing the outer rim of her nether regions, slowly pushing in, inch by heavenly inch, taking in the divine warmth and comfort, the feeling of coming home...
She was thinking. Howard Collins had to die, that much was obvious - and it would be by her hand, a slow, agonizing, torturous decent into a hell of pain and humiliation, begging for the sweet release of death. She smiled at her own unhinged anger, but then thought: "No, he deserves this. That is how it should be," She had no doubt she could take him - there were at least 8 members of the security crew on the premises at any given time, but she had no doubt she could take them. The problem was how to keep the Collins empire intact, thus keeping the security umbrella over her family... She put her arm out, grabbing her husband's butt, stopping the gentle pumping motion. "Soon, babe," she promised, her lips brushing lightly against his, enjoying the feeling of him inside her...
It would have to be done using other skills. She was very good at violence, but she knew there was another power she wielded. Many people did not like muscular women - or so they said; she knew all too well the effect she had on people - men AND women. She was always a very good-looking woman, even before her transformation, it was just a fact of life. At this particular job she mostly terrified people - but this would have to change. There were people she needed to start work on, edge them to her will, set up the big change... She started thinking about key people: there was Marcus, the head of Collins Inc. security - the guy who knew where all the bodies were buried (literally). Henry, Collins' books guy, the timid accountant who held all of the IOU's, Henry with the brittle, beady-eyed, perpetually-angry wife... And Nadine - the prim, prudish spinster who held the keys to the throne room, where the subject of her unrequited love held court. Yes, Nadine would be a challenge - but the signs were there, she KNEW she could turn her, use her in her schemes.

And then, of course, there were Max and Maurice, Collins' special-SPECIAL tools, a couple who might - or might not - present a problem all on their own...

Yes, there were a lot of things to consider, a lot of plans to be made - but right now there was her husband, clinging to her body longingly, his hard, warm manhood throbbing inside of her, pushing at her ever so imperceptibly... 

She smiled at his upturned, loving face. "Come here, baby" she said.

[jumpy999]

Thrilled to see that you have a more expansive story in store for us. Looking forward to Melanie's revenge, please don't spare us any details