Ultimate Power Ultimately Corrupts - Chapter 3 - The Bridesmaid By Silentcrs, silentc123-mail@yahoo.com Give young women power and they may not use it ethically She had taken over. He could smell the remnants of bubblegum on her breath, the light, almost tender perfume that lingered over her teenaged neck. His jaw had been wrested open by her sinuous, wet tongue as it plunged deep into his vulnerable mouth, a single large yet feminine hand clutching the back of his head as she pulled his face hard towards hers. He was having trouble breathing and it was easy to see why – she had been “kissing” him like this for almost five minutes and she didn’t seem to care much for his lack of respiration. With her free hand she molested his genitals, her thumb and index finger gripping his glans, pinching it back and forth. As he looked up at her face he saw clear blue eyes peering down at him from under the bare, dusty light bulb that hung above. There almost seemed to be some anticipation in the corners of her eyes as he panicked from the lack of breath… some excitement. His hands weakly pushed back on the staunch chest that was threatening to flatten him, his palms meeting resistance against a firm bosom and round, stiff nipples under a pink t-shirt. On the shirt was a single word stretched tight: “Bridesmaid”. Several hours earlier he had approached the white picket fence of the capacious suburban home by the river with some anticipation of his own. While some men opposed the idea of being “meat” (as he had originally thought when he started this job), he had learned to tolerate and eventually enjoy becoming a male stripper. The fact of the matter was, with the economy being what it is, the job paid quite well. He could certainly think of worse ways to make hundreds of dollars an hour than standing naked in front of women. Besides, he fit the image well: lean yet fit, a chiseled jaw, and he was blessed to be well-endowed. Plus, put a few drinks in some women and it wasn’t unusual for the occasional sexual act to make its way into “the show”, certainly something any red-blooded male would never turn down. The bachelorette party this evening looked to be particularly interesting. The bride was young – still making her way through college – and his understanding was that most of her friends were her age or younger. It wasn’t uncommon for especially attractive young girls to be part of the same “clique”, and this woman certainly met the definition of attractiveness. He always received a photo of the bride-to-be so he could more easily identify her in the crowd. This one was blonde, petite, fit – the classic frame of a former gymnast. A somewhat timid smile in the photograph he was given but she seemed to be happy. If her friends were anything like her, he thought, it was going to be a very enjoyable night. The party proceeded as per normal. A friend of the bride (pretty in her own right) led him out of the late summer heat and through a back door into the house’s finished basement. In a bathroom he got into “costume”. He adjusted a snug black g-string and applied a light sheen of oil to his chest and pecs (the girls always seemed to like when he “lubed up”). When the time came, he ran upstairs into a crowded living room full of shrieking, ecstatic girls. The bride’s face turned bright crimson (another common occurrence at these parties) as he immediately went into his scripted performance. With a broad smile on his face, he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, bouncing his slick, tight pecs for the women. He walked right up to the young bride, letting her pull his pants down gingerly. He motioned his barely-covered crotch in a circular movement in front of her face, encouraging her to touch him (which she did so – embarrassingly). After strutting around the room he got together with the women to take pictures, drinking from their champagne glasses, flashing his stunning white smile and flexing his lean body for the cameras. The girls seemed delighted – every bridesmaid (in matching pink t- shirts made specifically for the party) was eager to take a picture with the young stud. As the flashes went off, he briefly thought he saw the shadow of an immense pink mass shift off behind the crowd. He shook his head as more flashes went off – it must have been the champagne. After about an hour he went back down the basement stairs to the drowned out sounds of female whistles and hoots, complimenting himself on another job well done. It wasn’t necessarily easy, he though, getting nearly naked in front of a throng of over-aroused women. As he made his way towards the bathroom, counting the cash payment he had been given, the basement lights unexpectedly winked out. He tripped over his own legs in the darkness, his hands reaching out hesitantly across the carpeted floor. He tried to adjust his bearings, making his way back towards the basement stairs. Without warning, he felt his foot grasped by a sizable fist. He was pulled back violent, dragged roughly across the carpet before a sizable arm closed around his neck. A bulky bicep dug under his windpipe in a headlock as he was pulled upwards, his bare back laid against what felt like hard musculature covered in tight cotton. He stepped warily backwards along with his attacker, the elbow wrenching harder under his chin as he felt himself being pulled into a small, dank room. He was pitched violently against a stone wall and felt his body crumple to the floor. The soft sound of a door closed off in the distance. As his eyes adjusted the darkness, he saw an almost indistinguishable figure reach up towards the ceiling of the room. It was almost like a statue at night, a larger-than-life sculpture of marble reaching up towards the heavens. With a metallic click the room was awash with yellow dim light. A single bare bulb, dusty from misuse, hung from the ceiling. His eyes shifted about. He was in a basement closet of some sort: a bucket hung on one wall, a sink adorned another. One wall (the one he was up against) was bare rock, part of the foundation he imagined. Across the way, towards the wooden door, he heard metal creaking loudly as if it had been bent. As his eyes focused, he saw a metal mop handle twisted like a pretzel around the door knob and frame. Out of the dimness stepped his captor. The first thing he saw was her hands. Womanly, her fingernails painted a light cherry. They were a stark contrast to what they were attached to. Corded, muscular forearms. Thick biceps. She was packed into a t-shirt that was way too small for her frame, thin pink cotton stretched across a mammoth, billowy chest and rising up above etched abs. Riding low and curved on her waist, denim shorts had an almost impossible time covering the undersides of her round buttocks as the fabric simply ended high on her gigantic, tanned thighs. Striated calves flexed as she positioned her legs in a measured stance, her vast arms crossing her chest as she looked down at the man. With a bare foot, her toes dug between his surprised legs and spread them apart, revealing his g-stringed package. It was less a “package”, she though, and more like a “present”. It was ready to be opened. The stunned man barely had time to react before she reached down and cupped the sides of his head with her hands, pulling his face swiftly upwards to hers. She turned his body and slammed his back against the sink, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Being in the closet like this, she mischievously noted, was almost like the childhood game “seven minutes in heaven”. She gripped the back of his neck and bore in further, toying with the thought of choking him to death with her fingers or even her tongue. Her other hand drifted down to his sizable package and played with his black g-string briefly before snapping it off and flinging it to the cold floor with her fingers. She stroked him as she pressed more of her body into his, bending his back painfully against the edge of the sink. She could feel his spine starting to bend underneath her abs, a result of nothing but her massive weight curving his lithe frame. She stared down into his frightened eyes, feeling him pitifully press his hands against her considerable chest as she kissed the life out of him. She licked her lips (and his in the process). It was delicious. When she felt he was sufficiently weakened (but still breathing) she let his body collapse face up on the cold floor. As his breath came in shallow gasps, he opened his eyes again to see her standing directly above his head in the light, her thumbs peeling down the sides of her overstretched denim shorts. Underneath the denim was a red string thong that was quite literally embedded between her massive, muscular buttcheeks. She tossed the shorts to the side and pulled the thong up higher, the string causing a pleasant rubbing sensation against her engorged clitoris. As she did this, she gyrated over the man’s face, a stripping move she had seen recently. With her hands on her hips, she flexed each one of her buttcheeks in turn, watched his eyes in amusement as they darted back and forth to each powerful cheek. She hummed a familiar song to herself, her fingers slipped between her vaginal lips and nestling themselves over her clitoris, rubbing it. Finally she heard her whisper in a singsong voice, “Here comes the bridemaid…” Her lower body crashed down onto his face with alarming force. His world was instantly filled with her smells as she began to service her crotch, using his face as a toy and his legs as tools. She slipped her flowery lips over his mouth and unto his nose, pressing his nostrils deep inside her as she felt his jaw creak under her weight. She began to feel his mouth chewing on her for air. She rose up a few more inches and slammed down once again, feeling his skull hit her pelvic bone and crack back against the hard cement. Enjoying the sounds she did it again, his neck bending backward this time as she felt his chin dig deep into her. She put her hands backwards on the cold floor, triceps flexed into, and began bucking his face. She looked down between her legs and was amused to see cracks had formed underneath his head in the basement floor where she had wrecked down with her weight, a small dribble of blood forming behind his head. She slid her wet lips across his terrified eyes and sputtering mouth. A hand involuntarily reached up to pinch her nipples as she clenched her buttocks, feeling his skull creak below as she drilled down harder. She threw her brunette hair back, closing her eyes and pounding her crotch against his unwitting visage with abandon. After several minutes, she flipped herself around with surprising agility, her butt directly above his eyes as her upper body pressed down on his crotch. Her massive thighs easily scooped up his handsome face, compressing it against her hefty rump as her flexed calves crossed and packed down against the back of his head. His eyes grew watery as his vision slowly decreased, columns of muscle closing around his head as the light above him grew dimmer. In the near darkness he felt her nonchalantly snatch his erect penis in a firm grip before shoving it underneath her t-shirt and into her cleavage. She had apparently worn no bra. Her hands gripped the sides of her enormous globes, the dense flesh engulfing his once proud manhood as she mashed it between. He could feel his erection twisting and buckling under her breasts’ weight. She playfully enclosed the entirety of her chest around his genitals as her arms wrapped underneath his gorgeous butt, flexing him firm and hearing bones creak. As she tensed her pecs stiff she heard him squeal into the depths of her nether region, a lovely sensation that she enhanced further by grinding her legs tighter and mashing his face flat against her rigid glutes, her bottom vibrating as he bawled out in agony. She felt his adorable little hands reach unsteadily up and try to pry open the thigh-vice his head was stuck in, but the tips of his fingers barely fit into the muscle striations alone. She taunted him by flexing her thighs harder, feeling the sides of his skull compress as his hands shakily fell to the floor. She looked down at her shirt, seeing some precum wet the letters between “e” and “s” of “Bridesmaid”. Her long tongue flicked downwards against the fabric as she swirled it around the increasingly wet purple head. After thoroughly drenching his penis in saliva, she unwrapped herself from him, unpeeling his swollen visage from the insides of her thighs, enchanting red dimples where his face had been. She stood up, looking longingly down at his warped body, still slick with oil and barely moving on the cement floor, his bloated erection still standing. With crossed arms, she lifted the partially wet t-shirt from her hulking frame like a porn star before reaching between her glutes and snapping the thong off gently with her fingertips. She daintily placed the shirt and thong on the sink edge. Her body lowered gracefully down on his again, this time her head facing his, as her hand deftly guided his penis into her vagina. She sighed as he filled her with meat, a delectable fit as her vagina’s inner walls slipped over him. She laid the entirety of her body down onto him, her expansive back and rotund thighs easily obscuring his. Her hands pushed his lamenting face in between her cleavage, still damp from her tongue and his juices. Controlling forearms wrapped around the back of his head, wedging his nose harder against her sternum. Her calves snaked around his lean ones, twisting around his ankles as she stretched out a few times, threatening him with what was to come. With an exhale, her thighs slowly spread outwards as she flexed her kegel-practiced muscles, gripping his penis from the base up to the tip in her vagina. She could feel his trembling lips start to vocally oppose against her pecs, an action she quickly silenced by crushing her bosom around the sides of his head. Her thighs spread out farther, bending his tendons outward as her carved thighs flexed under the bare bulb. She loved the oily feel of his lanky body wrapped under hers, the sinewy muscles giving only the slightest opposition to her bulging ones. She threw her head back as she separated her legs farther, feeling his bony pelvis itself start to resist her stretching, his testicles spread flat under her crotch. She swallowed her upper body around his head harder, compacting down until she heard a rewarding snap. She saw a dribble of blood in her cleavage – she smiled as she realized she had broken his nose. Stretching further, her legs were much longer than his and she was almost able to extend them out to the walls. She felt ligaments start to strain, resistance giving way under her flexing. She rolled her tough chest over his facial features, his once pretty jaw doing something entirely unpretty as it dislocated with a crack. She started humping him, her vaginal squeezes increasing. With an aberrant moan she widened her legs out at almost 90 degree angles – like a gymnast – the sounds of tendons ripping softly as she felt herself begin to shudder. She pistoned harder, his body going silent. She felt the orgasm slide through her lower body and, with a final loud crunch, she felt his pelvis break in half against the cold floor. She milked the crucified man on the basement floor, her arms instinctively crushing his head harder, as she crunched his facial bones against her stone chest. The basement floor vibrated along with her After lying in afterglow for some time, she once again extricated herself from her toy. While his penis was still engorged and somewhat intact against the side of his, the rest of his body was not. He was shattered. Standing up and sliding her tight shorts over her firm glutes, she glanced down at his compacted torso, smirking at a pool of seminal fluid where his crotch had been. She returned the taut pink shirt to her upper frame, placing her thong and the remnants of his g-string in her shorts’ pocket. She snapped the twisted metal mop handle off the door knob with a light flick of fingers and placed his naked body over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry, slipping out under the cover of night. Several days later, the police would find his body on a riverbank some miles away.