Basement Fun
by Mr. Nobody*
Valerie Watches Chrissy rip him apart.


--This is adult fantasy intended for mature readers. Don't read it if you
think you'd be offended by either or both the sexual descriptions and the
depictions of erotic violence contained herein. 

The basement at Valerie's house was typical of homes that vintage. Small,
damp, and not with much headroom. No more than a cold storage area when the
house was constructed in 1910, the dirt floor was covered with concrete years
later. This had the effect of lowering the ceiling. Look up and within six
inches of your face were rough-hewn joists, heavy iron plumbing, a spaghetti
of electrical upgrades, and grime from nearly a century.

Her mother's laundry area was at one end. A window pane was removed to
accommodate the lint hose running up the wall from the clothes dryer. The room
was airy and bright at this end, illuminated by a fluorescent light Valerie's
father had installed. At the other end of the basement was his workbench, a
darker, more dreary area. This is where he'd tinker late into the evening. His
tools hung on a pegboard behind the bench.

The rest of the small room was organized clutter. Stuccoed walls once bright
with whitewash, but now stained and yellowed. Sagging shelving filled with
collectibles and junk you'd see at a rummage sale. The narrow stairway leading
up to the kitchen was steep, with exposed runs and risers. A simple, single
board, anchored at both ends, served as the handrail.

Valerie sat mid-way on the stairs with one elbow on the step behind her and
both legs stretched out three steps below. A single 100-watt bulb provided
intense lighting, but the rest of the room was dark. She leaned to her left so
she could see the center of the basement. Now she had a good view. She watched
Chrissy, her friend, beat the man.

He was on his knees and hunched over. For the longest time he had been on all
fours, like a dog, his body shaking, his shoulders heaving as pinkish spit and
vomit dripped from his mouth. The man was in bad shape. He could not get up
without assistance. There was no way he could make sense of what was
happening, nor defend himself.

He coughed a great deal. This obscured his speech. Valerie wasn't sure if he
was begging for help or expressing anger at his attacker. He'd begin a phrase
and then hack for a few minutes. Valerie made eye contact with Chrissy. The
two girls smiled, pleasured by the man's suffering.

Valerie had gone to the basement no more than ten minutes earlier and called
out to her dad, asking him to come downstairs and help her. This was
sufficient diversion for Chrissy to step from a dark corner and deliver a
two-fisted roundhouse to the rear of the skull that sent him directly to the
floor. Once he was down, she stepped over and pulled up fast on his collar
with both hands, preventing him from regrouping. Working with a calm
steadiness, she drew back her leg in a calculated manner and let go with a
smack of her knee to the center of his back, a deeply penetrating smack. The
body seemed to deform instantaneously.

Then, quite quickly, three, four, maybe five blows from the knee to the side
of his head -- thwonk, thwonk, thwonk -- pummeling it, the concussive effect
jarring the skull violently, more than sufficient to damage his brain. He
rolled on the floor, screaming, his body jittering about, his hands feverishly
grabbing his head for protection. Valerie instinctively stood back and gave
Chrissy running room. With a husky grunt, the girl launched a full-swing kick
that sent her heavy boot to the face, blowing away any defense provided by his
small hands. Fluids sprayed against the side of the clothes dryer.

Almost gleefully, Chrissy kicked him again, her boot sinking far into his
exposed mid-section. The man literally collapsed into a shrunken ball, his
face hideously contorted into a silent scream, his mouth open wide and his jaw
crooked. He had no wind in his lungs.

Chrissy placed the heel of her boot to his temple while reaching up above and
grabbing a rigid water pipe, pushing on it, wedging her body between the
ceiling and his skull. He shook uncontrollably, except for his head. She
pinned it to the floor with her boot, biting down on her lower lip and
sneering as she twisted her heel back and forth. His convulsions aroused her.
Valerie listened to Chrissy moan. The girl's nostrils grew wide with heavy
breathing. Any time and she could split his skull.

Valerie wanted to give Chrissy full working room, so she moved back to the
stairs to watch. Her friend lifted her boot from the head and circled the
shaking body like a cat, walking sideways around and around him, sometimes
lunging, clenching her fists, clenching and releasing them again and again.
Valerie watched Chrissy's forearms and admired their vascularity. Brawny
hands. Thick deltoids. Valerie couldn't keep her eyes off the girl's muscles.

And the chest... Unlike Valerie, Chrissy had no breasts to speak of, but her
cleavage was pronounced, her pecs swelling into thick loaves. Better yet,
Chrissy wore one of Valerie's favorite outfits, a body-hugging sleeveless job
that showcased the arms and shoulders. It was stained with sweat now.
Chrissy's skin glistened in the harsh light.

The encirclement of Valerie's dad became a strut, a bristling strut, a
preening orgy of teen muscle ready to snap. Just thinking what Chrissy could
do with her muscular build gave Valerie a warm rush of anticipation.

They met two years ago at the gym. Same age, but from different high schools.
Valerie was part of a group of girls wanting the buff look. All but Valerie
dropped by the wayside within weeks when it became clear that the buff looks
takes time and effort. Chrissy was much more serious about his kind of thing.
Valerie's friends would talk at school about the girl named Chrissy, the girl
with the muscles.

It's said that diet, genetics, and perhaps a fanatical devotion to pumping
iron -- as well as a dose of the right drugs -- can turn a teenager into
something unheard of a few years ago. This had to be the case with Chrissy.
Her persona of ungainly teenage awkwardness and pulchritude changed into
something both beyond the norm and difficult for ordinary people to accept.
She was tall, at nearly six feet, and heavy. Short hair. Girl jock moves. A
cute, pug nose, and a healthy grin. And, those muscles. Freakish.

The gym where they worked out together became the context of an intense
relationship. Both girls were vacuous, with few intellectual interests and no
felt need to consider ideas, news, or scholastics seriously. Neither read
much. Both were narcissistic. Valerie indulged in tight outfits and frizzled,
jelled hair. Chrissy obsessed on her muscles. She loved flexing in front of a
mirror, straining until it seemed she'd blow a blood vessel. Valerie would sit
and watch, clapping loudly and urging a scary, shredded look from her friend.

Their views on life were relegated to shower time when they'd towel down,
chit-chat for a few minutes, and say good-bye until the next day. Valerie
might mention a boy at school she wanted, since she was much more the social
animal. Chrissy had dated somewhat, but the problems her body posed were too
much to shoulder. She retreated from the jokes, the insults, and the gossip,
to the safe-harbor of the gym. Her solitary world of lifts, curls, grunts, and
reps was comfortable once she saw the results.

Her mother learned very early in the ball game to stay out of her way. Chrissy
was no dummy when it came to using her physicality for intimidating effect.
Sensing some expression of concern or disapproval from her mother, she would
stand, cast a cold stare at her mommy, and strike a distinctly threatening
pose. Mommy would run to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and shake
in fear while crying herself to sleep. This happened with regularity and
Chrissy enjoyed it.

The situation in Valerie's home was different, but no better. Chrissy knew
that Valerie's dad was a controller and verbally abused her. Valerie despised
him. He'd shout and tell her to study. Her mother was useless, offering up
silly justifications for her father's tirades.

It was in the locker room during one of those meatier conversations about
hassles at home that the two girls stood in the corner, looking at each other.
It became quiet. Valerie ran her hands up and down Chrissy's arms. This was a
fixture of their private time together, for nearly six months now. Valerie
liked feeling Chrissy's muscles. It was no prelude to sex, but merely
Valerie's desire to experience a different dimension. For Chrissy, it was a
confirmation that her body was compelling.

Valerie gently traced a big vein across the chest as Chrissy straightened her
arms and clasped her hands to swell her pecs. She liked having her body
worshiped. She knew her muscles had a way of controlling peoples' reactions.
At some point, her muscularity changed her into a cartoon character, but even
then she knew that her hypnotic effect would work on these same people once
they stopped shaking their heads and started watching her flex. Ultimately,
they'd find themselves moved to either fascination or fear. Chrissy lowered
her voice to Valerie and said it's the fear that turns her on...the fear she
sees in her mother almost every night.

She said it turns her on thinking about confronting her mother and breaking
her. She'd grab her arm and twist it, twisting until her mother buckles at the
knees and cries. Just for fun. Just to see how easy it'd be to do this.

Chrissy wouldn't stop. She'd tower over her mother while playing with the
brittle arm, bending it just so she could watch her own arm bead up with big
muscles and big veins. She'd tell her mother she might snap the arm. Chrissy's
eyes grow half-lidded and she torques the limb repeatedly, harder, until she
feels it snap and listens to her mother's piercing screams.

Valerie breathed heavily now. She felt warm. She coaxed Chrissy to go on, to
describe more.

Chrissy steps over her mom and places her legs against her sides, just below
the armpits. The woman is small, frail. She clasps her feet and tenses up,
feeling the body struggle between her legs. Chrissy watches her mommy's eyes
bulge and her head flop.

Chrissy reads her mommy's lips as they cry out for one of her ex-husbands, but
there's not much sound beyond the air gushing from her chest and not
reentering. Chrissy turns her hips and bends her mommy hard enough to create a
series of deep gurgles, like an impending eruption. The teenager's obscenely
muscled legs en coil the grown-up in a way that's hopeless. Chrissy looks up,
swells her chest, and straightens her legs to squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until
the sensation of collapse. The structural failure freezes her mommy's face
into a surreal mask of horror. Mouth agape, there's an occasional crack of an
air pocket popping and a small vibration of the head. Chrissy stares down,
maintaining the grip, giggling.

Valerie found herself getting hotter than ever listening to Chrissy's
confessional. She took deep breaths. She asked Chrissy if it was possible this
might happen.

Chrissy smiled and then looked at Valerie with a new seriousness. If the time
came, she'd break someone. For real. She'd approach them and, as in the story
of her mother, she'd unleash a fury that would stun the person and reduce them
to a pleading, begging weakling. Then she'd break them, feeling them splinter,
feeling them vibrate in her grip, pressing her thumbs into their soft Adam's
Apple.

Chrissy looked straight through Valerie. It could be any man or woman. Maybe
the next fool who'd enter the shower. Just for fun. She'd do it. She'd make a
mess of them. She'd get off at the sight of their death dance.

*****

Valerie grew impatient. She knew her dad wouldn't recover. It'd take more than
a visit to the emergency room to restore his abilities. She didn't need to say
anything to Chrissy. It was clear to both that it was time to break him, and
for good. Chrissy's unfeeling mien suggested as much.

Chrissy's neck tensed up a tad. She stood over him, horseback style, and
lowered until her weight pressed him to the floor. Her legs extended along the
floor, one to each side of him. She bent forward and snaked her arms under his
chest until she could clasp her hands behind his neck. Then she sat up,
pulling him with her, her forearms pulling against his chest, folding him back
against her front.

With his torso held rigidly to her chest and his arms sticking out like a
scarecrow's, she began a Full Nelson, clasping her hands at the center of the
back of his head while pressing down at the same time. It was as if she was
straightening her arms. Valerie sat up. The distortion of her father's neck
was extraordinary.

Valerie watched the power in the arms and hands and wrists as they moved the
head down until a pronounced ridge of knotty bumps from his spine rose
underneath the skin on the back of his neck. Chrissy pulsed the head, pumping
it with her wrists, forcing the bumps to move. She clenched her teeth in
determination, an earnestness in her look that suggested she wanted to make
things happen in the neck. Each time she worked him, a jolt of exertion went
through her body and shook her face, as if slugging a punching bag, the
thrusting effort ramifying through herself. The effect made a statement. Her
jaw thickened in a confident, conquering way. She ground her teeth to transmit
force to his neck. Her trap muscles heaped higher and higher, becoming an
erotic profile of muscled mass, of sheer strength, of youthful brawn.

The girl looked unreal. The arms...Valerie's mouth hung open and her head
shook in admiring disbelief. Chrissy was simply ripped, animalistic. Biceps
tanned, big, thick. Her daddy's neck looked so pale and weak and vulnerable.
Her sexy musclefriend bent the grown man like a green twig, with ease, having
fun, watching him give. She was cocky, disrespectful, and completely without
remorse or feeling, ready at any time, without pretext, to break the neck.

Valerie didn't want to miss this. She stood at the base of the stairs,
clutching the post that anchored the lower end of the handrail, watching.
Chrissy, so blessed with dominance. Chrissy, with a wanton hunger written all
over her face. The way those big, sweaty muscles so laughably outclassed
Valerie's daddy. The way she looked unstoppable and downright nasty, drawing
craven pleasure from the sensations she felt in her hands, those little
signals that communicated to her how badly her grip was tearing him apart.

Valerie was entranced by Chrissy's turning of her head and staring blankly at
the wall, bending her daddy and changing his shape with her hands, showing
more and more arousal as she worked the head in ways that made his spine
produce clicking sounds. Bones dangerously bent.

A whisper of support from Valerie as she pressed her cheek hard to the post,
silently urging the girl on. Hurt him, please! Chrissy looked back at her
hands, shifting her weight to make adjustments. Her fingers cinched up more
tightly. She pulled him in as far as possible, a hunkering hug that wanted to
swallow him. With his body nestled tightly and his lower back snug between her
thighs, Chrissy began something new, something totally abusive.

She brought her boots together. A body scissors, a rear body scissors aimed
pretty much at her dad's middle back, her thighs cutting in on the soft sides.
It changed the entire focus of the session. Valerie leaned forward in awe,
watching the effect on her father's body. It was incomprehensible the strength
in the legs and the ease with which they collapsed in his sides. Chrissy,
herself, tilted to the right for a moment to watch her huge quadriceps buckle
him. A quick look up to to see if the daughter approved and Valerie mouthed
silent encouragement in return.

The compressions made puffing motions on the man's cheeks. Chrissy pumped him
this way several times to make him appear clownish. She played with him. But,
now it was time. She wanted to break him. Valerie issued an approving smile.

The ominous seriousness on Chrissy's face, the cocked-and- ready way her
wrists took position, and the tightness of the hands gripping the head...it
all presaged finality. Her lips pursed with intent. Her nostrils flared as if
bracing for a heavy lift, as her nose let out a long exhale, a chesty exhale.
Her muscular arms straightened completely...his neck...the graphic
angularity...the sharp, pointed components in his neck. His head moved.

It was all over.

Valerie, thinking she might have actually heard him snap, yelped out and
jumped in place, hands to her mouth in bated anticipation. She stood there,
somewhat to Chrissy's rear, holding her breath, watching the girl examine the
neck. Loosening the Full Nelson, Chrissy pressed the flats of her hands to the
sides of his head and rolled it around and around, feeling the free play. The
neck moved effortlessly.

Valerie let out a gush, a squeak of excitement. Chrissy kept feeling the neck,
enjoying it, priding up having broken it so convincingly. Valerie squealed,
clapping her hands like a little girl. Chrissy entertained her by continuing
to move her dad's head, more wildly now, around and and around like a pumpkin
on a fake neck made of an inner tube stuffed with dried twigs. The more
Chrissy increased the skull's travel for their mutual amusement, the more
Valerie sighed in appreciation and cast an affectionate gaze upon her friend.

It was nearly over now. Valerie knew that Chrissy wanted final liberties with
the body. This meant stepping back into the dark of the basement and watching
the muscle girl feast on her daddy in a way that wasn't to be interrupted.
Chrissy had not specified this in advance, but Valerie knew it was Chrissy's
call to make.

Valerie lifted her head in admiration of her friend. A longing, star-struck
sense overtook her. She wanted to run up and feel Chrissy's arms, to worship
and give thanks to her muscles, to take her hands in her own and give them
soft love pecks. But, she held back. This was Chrissy's moment, Chrissy's
chance to go all the way with her daddy. Valerie's eyes watered with
anticipation.

Chrissy released the Full Nelson and Valerie's daddy slumped forward. She
slouched back, her tummy sagging in, her hands to her rear and flat on his
legs. Then she reclined completely, clasping her hands behind her head to make
a pillow.

>From this angle, Valerie had a deeper appreciation of the power encased in
the girl's blouse. The view down the chest made Valerie shiver realizing how
her father never had a chance against Chrissy. Her build was frightening from
this view...just the way Chrissy liked it. Frightening.

Chrissy re-clasped her boots and jolted the body with a new series of scissor
snaps, these applied as she lay on her back. The constrictions bounced
Valerie's daddy, his head, his shoulders, his chest, all of him bobbing up and
down with each squeeze. Each hit lasted a little longer as Chrissy chose to
hold and crush the sides of the corpse more and more between each snap until,
on the last one, Valerie could see her roll her head around and around,
moaning in obvious pleasure, her face wincing as her muscles burned, wringing
and wringing the body with such force that her legs quivered uncontrollably.
Valerie watched Chrissy have an orgasm.

She began lifting her legs while still clasped, lifting Valerie's daddy up and
up until her legs were nearly vertical and his body was bent back inhumanely.
Rotating her feet in concert, she began kneading him, working his guts and his
crushed ribcage, the mauling undulations of her thick thigh and calf muscles
deforming the body in a rhythmic way that aroused Valerie.

Chrissy took her hands from behind her head and reached down to his belt,
pulling down on both sides of his hips to keep his mid-section pressed to the
floor. Simultaneously, her boots still clasped, she bent her legs at her
knees, her knees pushing against the chest.

Then, suddenly, shooting out at a forty-five degree angle, a dramatic thrust
of her legs, now straightened, her boots together. Ominously, they began
lowering, and lowering, pulling on his body, trying to pull him apart.

Her back arched wildly. Her chest crowned up.

Her head drove back and down against his prone legs, spreading them, her teeth
baring, her face upside down from Valerie's angle.

Her lips rolled with an animalistic fury.

Her cheeks puffed into big balls, shooshing loudly as her chest ventilated
wildly through clenched teeth. The sides of her face grew purple near the
hinge of the jaw, her neck birthing cabled ridges of musculature.

Chrissy swelled frighteningly, now bucking frantically like a machine
overheating and about to blow, her arms pulling down on the belt with all her
might.

A loud, husky, muscular grunt as she powered the legs all the way down, her
body completely straightening.

She knew she had done it. She felt it...breaking his back with sheer body
strength.

Valerie knew it, too, looking at Chrissy through tears. Her daddy jolted
abnormally when it happened. She winced, knowing then that her girl was
tearing and separating something deep inside him.

The two were ready to leave in a few minutes. Chrissy wiped her body with some
wet towels near the basement sink. She took her sweet time, admiring her arms
and legs.

They climbed the stairs, side by side, Chrissy feeling the touch of Valerie's
hand against her own. They walked out the back of the house into the yard, a
sunny, warmer place than the dank basement. Chrissy took a deep breath,
reaching way over her head with both hands while lifting up on her toes,
stretching, feeling generous and letting Valerie stare. Later, ambling slowly
to Chrissy's car, the two stood. Chrissy broke the silence by plopping herself
against the door and frowning, sighing exaggeratedly. She had to go back to
her school before five o'clock and pay a deposit on her graduation gown.
Valerie jumped in front of her with a teasing jig. She was going to the mall
to shop, to have fun. Chrissy shook her head in mock disgust. Whatever...
They'd see each other tomorrow at the gym.

*with emendations from an anonymous master.