The Baroness by ToneToneMalone A homewrecker gets her comeuppance... Tracy walked into her husband's office, a pencil behind her ear, a cup of coffee in her hand. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she was half-Irish and half-Venezuelan, slender and lovely if not quite beautiful. She sat down at the desk, ready to do some work at the computer, when she noticed that he had one unread message in his email account. Sender: The Baroness. She set her coffee cup on the desk and stared at the computer screen. She wasn't a sneak or a spy, but how could she pretend not to see this when it was staring her in the face? The problem was, she knew this woman. The Baroness worked out at the gym where Tracy and her husband, Joe, belonged. She insisted that everyone call her "the Baroness" because she claimed to be descended from German royalty. Oddly enough, that wasn't even close to the most annoying thing about her. The Baroness was a fitness model who spent three hours a day at the gym, perfecting what was already the most perfect body Tracy had ever seen. 5'9" and perpetually tanned, Tracy had been unable to take her eyes off the woman when she first saw her showering in the locker room. If anything she was too perfect, her diamond belly button ring glittering in the center of her eight-pack abs, the carved contours of her calves and thighs rising into a powerful, round ass neatly bisected by the pristine white crescent of her tan line. A small Iron Cross was tattooed directly above the cleft of her buttocks. That day in the locker room Tracy had realized with sudden embarrassment that the Baroness knew she was being watched. She smirked at Tracy, her hands on her hips, the shampoo suds running down the steep cleavage between her heavy fake breasts. At least Tracy assumed they were fake-- she'd never seen real breasts that were that large and that pert, and the skin seemed stretched preternaturally tight. The Baroness curled her lips in distaste at Tracy; the smaller woman felt that old high school dread at being snubbed by the richer, more popular girls. The true injustice was that the Baroness didn't just have an insane body-- her face was perfect too, her eyes a brilliant, wolfish blue, her nose small and straight, her lips full and cruel. Her hair was ash blonde; in the gym she usually wore it pulled back in a tight ponytail. So when Tracy saw the email, she felt a great sinking feeling. She clicked on it to open it. "Dear Joe: I know you said you'll always be faithful to that little wife of yours, but it seems like such a waste of a beautiful man. In case you ever get bored of the midget, let me know. We could get a room at the Four Seasons and spend the afternoon together. After a few hours with me you'll forget all about wifey. XXX The Baroness" Below the message was a large, high-resolution photograph of the Baroness, stark naked, bending forward over a white leather sofa. She was looking over her shoulder, giving the viewer a sultry look. It was a photograph that would make any straight man question his vows, even one as loyal as Joe. Tracy stared at the Baroness' arrogant, perfect features. She stared at the woman's long, well-muscled arms. She stared at the waxed pussy that seemed to be smirking at her. At 5'1", Tracy wasn't a midget, but she sometimes felt like one in the Baroness' presence. The other woman wore infuriatingly sexy outfits to the gym: skintight black spandex bodysuits; short shorts that seemed to stop midway down her ass; sleeveless tops to better show off her developed biceps and triceps. Whatever she wore, her nipples always seemed ready to burst out of her clothing, as if she were walking around in a perpetual state of arousal. Which, in fact, all the men in the gym probably were as they stared at her. The Baroness knew her power over men and flaunted it constantly, flirting with everyone, bending over to give all the husbands and boyfriends a good view of her butt, brushing her tits against them as she gave them wicked smiles. Tracy tended to wear baggy sweats and old t-shirts when she worked out. Not that she didn't have a lovely little body, but she already had a man and she didn't see the point in trying to impress a bunch of strangers. She only weighed 105 pounds but she had nice little curves. More than this, and unknown to most, Tracy was far stronger than she looked. She had grown up on a farm in Iowa, with three older brothers, and she had learned quickly that whiners were not tolerated and that she would have to defend herself in this world. Still, she wasn't nearly as strong as the Baroness. She remembered one time when she was working out on the lat pull machine. She had finished her set and sat there panting when she heard a derisive snort. She turned and found herself staring into the Baroness' white spandex crotch. The woman's shorts were so tight the outline of her waxed pussy lips was clearly defined beneath the fabric. "I'm using this machine now, little girl. Why don't you run along before you hurt yourself." Tracy, intimidated, had stammered some kind of lame apology and scooted away, watching from a distance as the Baroness did rep after rep with twice the weight Tracy could manage. But later she grew angry, remembering how timid she had been. She wasn't going to be a coward anymore. She typed a quick reply to the email. "I will reserve room 1009 at the Four Seasons. Meet me there tomorrow at 3 PM. Wear something sexy." Tracy only had to wait three minutes for a reply. She had seen the Baroness sauntering around with her Blackberry, and now she knew why the woman always had it with her. "Mmm, I figured I could turn you around. See you at 3 PM. Tell the little girl not to wait up." Tracy gritted her teeth and erased both of the Baroness' emails. At 3:20 the next day, the Baroness pulled into the Four Seasons in her midnight-blue Porsche. She stepped out of the car and dropped the keys on the pavement, smirking as the young valet stooped to pick them up. "How long will you be, ma'am?" "All night long," she replied. She turned and sauntered into the hotel, and all the valets watched her. She wore motorcycle boots and black tights that clung so clinging tight it was eminently clear she had on no underwear. Her imperious ass swished from side to side as she strutted into the hotel lobby. A platinum waist belly chain wrapped twice around her taut abdomen. On top she wore a black tank-top and no bra. A platinum chain hung around her neck, a small diamond "B" medallion dangling in the shadowed cleavage between her majestic tits. She was deeply tanned, thanks to a twenty-minute daily trip to the tanning salon, where she lathered herself in cocoa butter, stripped down to her thong and bikini top, and let herself bronze. The muscles in her shoulders and arms were sharply defined-- she could beat most men she knew in arm-wrestling matches. She didn't even waste her time competing with women. Her ash-blonde hair was tied into a tight chignon, the better to reveal her high cheekbones and tanned, flawless complexion. She rode the elevator to the tenth floor, walked to room 1009, and knocked on the door. She raised one delicately plucked eyebrow as she saw that the door had been left slightly open. A note sat on the floor and she picked it up. "Take off your clothes and meet me in the shower." The Baroness laughed and entered the room. The bathroom door was closed and the sounds of the running shower filled the room. "You move fast, don't you? I like that. I was feeling a little dirty." She pulled off her tank top and tossed it on the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots, then stood to unpeel the black tights. She admired herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, turning in place, nude save for the diamond stud in her belly button. The Baroness' only true love was herself, and nothing got her hornier than watching herself naked. She always insisted on positioning a mirror during lovemaking, so that could she could delight in her own tanned, machined body, her grinding hips, her sweat-streaked thighs, her heaving tits with their creamy bikini tan line. She opened the bathroom door and stepped into the steamy room. "You ready for me, big boy?" A camera sat on the counter and the Baroness grinned. She loved to be photographed naked. More than that, she loved sending compromising photographs of herself to the weak little whimpering wives who'd been left alone. How jealous they must feel, to see their husbands so aroused in her presence! How sexless they must seem in comparison to her goddess physique! The glass door to the massive shower was closed and completely fogged over with steam. She smiled as she walked toward the shower, feeling her nipples hardening, her pussy getting slick. The Baroness only slept with married men. She loved the power she felt, stealing them away from their obedient little wives. The thought of the women's agony, when they eventually found out their husbands had betrayed them for her-- the Baroness could think of nothing sexier. Hurting smaller women had always been a great turn-on for her. She smiled as she stepped past the piled clothing on the floor. If she'd looked a little closer, she might have realize the jeans were too small, the tennis shoes only size 6s. But the Baroness was horny, her pussy already slick with the thought of her imminent conquest. "You know that little wife of yours can't compete with me," she gloated, opening the shower door. "I bet you don't even remember her name." The Baroness squinted into the steam. The shower was empty. "Oh, I know her name." The Baroness' eyes widened. That wasn't Joe's voice. In fact, it sounded like a woman... She turned, staring with shock at the little brunette who stood before her with clenched fists, wearing nothing but a powder blue pair of boy's shorts. "It's Tracy." Tracy's older brothers had taught her how to box when she was younger and she never forgot their lessons. Snarling with a lioness' fury, she pivoted on her rear foot, swiveling her narrow hips, getting all of her 105 pounds into the punch. She had placed her diamond engagement ring on her right hand for the occasion, and her little fist flashed through the air, smashing into the Baroness' chin with a very satisying crack. The power of the blow lifted the Baroness onto her tip-toes, her back arching backwards, her tanned buttocks clamping together. Her mouth opened and a pained groan sounded past her full lips, those same lips that had smirked at Tracy with disdain so many times before. "Uhhhnfff..." All this must have happened in half a second but for Tracy everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She had been waiting so long for this moment, had been hoping for it so badly, that now she seemed able to will reality to move frame by frame. Any casual observer looking at a snapshot of the scene would have been startled by the implausibility. The Baroness stood eight inches taller than Tracy. She was far more muscular, her ass seemingly carved from marble, testament to the endless hours of squats the Baroness did while watching herself in the mirror. Her arms looked twice as strong as Tracy's slender reeds. Her broad back seemed as faceted as a diamond, and her stomach was so chiseled it looked ready for use as an anvil. But her glorious body, her powerful muscles, couldn't help her now. The Baroness' wintry blue eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her fake breasts bounced as she began to fall. The Baroness flopped backwards, her arms outflung, slamming against the tiled wall of the shower. She skidded slowly to the floor, squeaking against the wet tiles, ending up spread-eagled on her back in the shower spray, her mouth slightly open, her D-cup breasts rising and falling softly, her immaculately hairless crotch a thin strip of white on her bronzed body. Warm water showered down on her unconscious body, puddling in the gap between her breasts, running in rivulets down the channels of her abdominals, pattering off the slick pink skin of her pussy. "Stay away from my husband," Tracy said. Tracy turned off the water and stared down at her defeated enemy. She shook her head in disbelief. Tracy had hoped that, as with most bullies, the Baroness liked dishing it out more than she liked taking it. She hadn't even dreamed that she would end the fight with a single right uppercut. Giggling with the impossibility of it all, she bent down and jiggled one of the bodybuilder's tits with her fingers. The Baroness did not move. She was out cold. And, Tracy was pleased to confirm, those tits were 100% fake. Finally, Tracy smiled. 5'1" and 105 pounds, and she'd just knocked out a body-builder who had bullied her for years. She set up the digital camera, making sure she framed the picture perfectly. She started the timer and then peeled off her underwear. She stepped into the shower, placing one foot on the Baroness's wet face. Raising her arms in the victory pose, she turned to look over her shoulder at the camera. As the timer ticked down, Tracy gave a wicked grin and thrust her little butt out. "Say cheese, bitch." She couldn't wait to plaster the gym with the photograph.