Jenna in Tonya Part 5
Big developments and a death in the family
By Avida Dolor


Warning: This work of fiction contains frank language and explicit sex 
and violence. No one under 18 permitted to read without the express 
consent of parent or guardian. 


Copyright 1998 Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com) 

I'm sitting in Sara's room toking on a big glass water pipe with little 
hand-painted martini glasses all over it while the stereo blasts this 
dead guy named Dean Martin. I'd never heard of him before I started 
hanging out in Nancyland, but Bendy Wendy's on this really butt-
backwards retro bachelor pad kick, and Sara always lets her have her way 
with the music, since it's her Sony shelf system. Sara has no money, she 
doesn't own much besides her great clean-assed bod. The fact that she 
has no money is part of why she capped me way back when, but that's 
ancient history, like Tonya's unhappy childhood. 

 So Wendy's on the floor in the corner, stark fucking nude with her legs 
hitched over her shoulders and crossed behind her neck, her totally 
shaved cunt gaping like that mouth in the painting called The Scream, a 
poster of which is hanging above her on the wall, and I keep thinking 
the screamer's eyes are gonna angle down to get a better view of Wendy's 
stick-out clit. I myself could hardly get a better view. After weeks and 
weeks of hanging out with her, I still feel like a gyno around Wendy. 
Every time I turn around she's either bent forward or bent back with her 
head stuck through her legs, one private part or another yawning like a 
peeled-open meat pie. And she's always naked in the room, little stiff 
nips perky-pert in the air conditioning. For her, this feet-in-the-face 
place is a comfortable position. 

 Dean is yodeling "Everybody loves somebody sometime," and right now I 
love Sara and Wendy just about all the time. Which makes me a familiar 
face in Nancyland. Well, I'm not really in Nancyland. Certain rooms way 
down the hall have been annexed to the Hards, you might say, and this is 
one of them, along with Glo and Nora's. Sara and Wendy are honorary 
Hards now. So are Glo and Nora, and, come to think of it, there really 
isn't any meaningful Nancy opposition anymore, the Hards have achieved a 
state of peace and unity. There are still plenty of Nancies around, but 
they're more like nonHards, not real Nancies. Am I making any sense? I'm 
stoned, and I'm horny, for a change. 

So whoever thought it would come to this? What we're gearing up for now 
is the Flung/Betty rematch. Yeah, when Flung came out of solitary for 
the second time, she had another tussle with Betty and this time Marlow 
just ordered them to settle it in the ring. But Betty wanted three 
months to prepare, since Flung is on Largesse. What sense does that 
make, you may wonder, since three months down the road Flung will just 
be that much bigger? Well, Betty got ahold of a drug of her own, and, 
unfortunately,  it's  'roid-ready--beggars can be abusers, not choosers-
-'cause Betty's voice dropped precipitously to the point where she's now 
known as Baritone Betty. Behind her back, which these days is a very 
wide back indeed. To her face, she's still known as Bouncing Betty. And 
she's a Hard, so we try not to give her too much shit. Fuck, I'm getting 
way ahead of myself again. As you may have guessed, it's another three 
months down the road, and a lot of weird shit has gone down. 

I'm gonna have to fill in everyone's size, starting with my own. The 
news on my end is not thrilling. Another inch, that's all, so I'm 5-10. 
No particular stunning increase in massiveness; I'm up to 182. Nothing 
to sneeze at, but compared to Bon and Stef I might as well be one of the 
Seven Dwarves. Maybe that's part of why I'm hanging out with Sara, she's 
more my size. Lee Ann and Tiff are in the midget patrol too; Largesse is 
getting them almost nowhere. They've each put on a half inch and another 
10 pounds, and they're built really nice for sure, but they're about 
ready to give up on the stuff. It just doesn't work well for some 
people, it's a biochemical thing that no one can predict. 

Missy also petered out real sudden after initially making great gains. 
Her training has dropped off, too. Everything about Missy has dropped 
off, she's not the same girl since her beating by Glo. She came back 
from the hospital in a deep funk and has pretty much remained there, 
none of us can thaw her out. It's mondo Tara, my heart bleeds for the 
girl, but there's nothing more I can do. She feels she was so totally 
humiliated by Glo--pissing herself and all that--that she's just marking 
time till she gets out, which is next week, thank Tonya. We explained to 
her again and again that Glo is on some superdrug, some drug that beats 
Largesse--we've named it M Factor, M for mystery, which is what it 
remains. Glo and Nora won't say a thing about it, we can't even find it, 
we've had Pretty Penny surreptitiously search their room, she came up 
with nothing. But this is no consolation to Missy. I suppose she's also 
pining for the presumably dead Paula, whom she'd be getting together 
with when she's released if the poor girl hadn't been so brutally erased 
by Mary. So Missy's just all fucked up, though I still share a room with 
her and we still do a lot of wet and wild things in the kiddie pool when 
we're Oksana. 

Sara suddenly snaps to her feet--she was flat on her back on the bed, 
stoned out of her mind--and jolts me out of my reverie. "Gotta pee," 
she says, unsteadily heading for the bathroom across the hall, looking 
Tonyalicious in a butt-flossy thong and muscle tee. "Don't forget to 
wipe," teases Wendy, the little fitness showoff, who gracefully eases 
her legs from behind her head, supporting herself on nothing but her 
*fingertips*, pointing her feet straight ahead and holding the fucking 
pose for the count of 10. The girl is whip-skinny but strong as spot-
welded steel. She's growth-drug free, just like Sara, who remains in 
superb shape. I've taken to working out with her in the room on the 
Parabody, and she really squeezes the fucking reps out of me, I leave a 
session with her fried all over. 

That's when the phone rings, and I automatically pick it up. It's 
Marlow, and it's for me. How does Marlow always know where I am? "Jen, 
great news. Your old friends Cindy and Courtney are here, and I've given 
you permission for connubies. Penny will escort them to your room. I 
checked with Missy, she'll be hanging elsewhere for a while." 

"What?" Not much of a reply, but I'm really zonked and Dean Martin is 
still crooning way too loud. And the news is a total kick in the head. 
I've been in occasional phone contact with Court and Cin, but they never 
said anything about visiting. They tease me on the phone about how 
Largesse is working for them, but they never give me any hard numbers, 
and they refused to send pics or a vidtape. And connubies? Since when 
does Marlow give connubies? Does this have something to do with the riot 
they had in Texas two weeks ago at the Karla Faye Tucker Home for 
Wayward Girls? Connubial visitation rights was the big issue in that 
bloodbath. Or maybe Marlow's cutting me some extra slack since I'm on 
the downside of my sentence now. I know she's gonna miss me. Then again, 
maybe Court and Cin did something very forward in her office and talked 
her into it. These two are so fucking foxy they could make even Marlow's 
old cunt drip like a leaky radiator. 

"Who was that?" Wendy wants to know, shouting over Dean's romantic 
gurglings. 

I turn the music way down. "Marlow. For me. I've got to go to my room, 
I've got visitors." 

"In your *room*? Who?" 

"Two girls I used to know in high school. It's a long story. I'll 
explain later. Thanks for the Dean concert, Wen, I feel so fucking retro 
now, I'll have to walk down the hall ass-first." 

Sara walks back in as I'm backing my butt out the door. "Gotta run, 
sweetcheeks," I go, giving her a quick tongue kiss. ``I've got a date 
with two chicks in my room, Marlow's got me connubies." 

"Fucking what? Connubies? Since when does anyone get connubies in 
here?" 

"Darling Sweetass, you forget: I'm Jenna Takedown." I say this with a 
self-mocking smile, but it's true. Without my wrestling rep, I'd be 
nowhere in here. So I leave Sara and Wendy flexed and perplexed only to 
find myself clambering unwittingly up a beanstalk of astonishment. Cindy 
and Courtney are standing in my room when I open the door, Pretty Penny 
standing with them, and Tonya's cutest guard is looking kind of 
vertically challenged, which is a bit disconcerting, 'cause Penny is 6-
1. Then I get a more focused eyeful of Court and Cin: "Holy blind 
fucking mother of Nancy with her flabby face pressed to the screen!" 
It's a strong oath, but totally called for under the circumstances. It's 
Cin who's drawing the brunt of my gaze, though I haven't failed to 
notice in the split second since I walked in that Court is at least as 
tall as Penny, and they're both wearing sneakers. Wasn't Court under 5-
10 the last time I saw her? No time to wonder, the mountain known as 
Cindy is moving, or at least her lush-lipped mouth is. 

"Hi, Jenna! How the hell are you?" 

"Pretty good, Cin. I guess I don't need to ask about you." Cin's wearing 
tiny ragged cutoffs and a baby tee, and she's just, like, all over the 
place, like the attack of the 50-foot woman. Why didn't she just reach 
through the roof of Tonya and pick me out with her fingers? She's about 
a head taller than Penny, and before I can think about what that 
actually means heightwise, she's saying, "Yeah, we, like, peaked on 
Largesse. That's what it's called, peaking. A sudden growth explosion." 

"Well not sudden, really," Court adds, "it's been over three months 
since you last saw us. But most of the growth came in a one-month period 
in, like, the middle." 

Huh? I have no idea what she's talking about, there's hot blood pounding 
in my head and my heart is starting to throb like a nervous fist with a 
squeezeball in it. Cindy has hit a double bi, and there are all these 
immense masses of succulent-hard deep-tanned flesh shifting all over her 
like some kind of topographical freakout map. The arms look nearly as 
big as Stef's, and just as well-shaped, and the tits are not from this 
planet, the nipples alone seem bigger than my whole bustworks. 

"I got fucking huge, I can't believe it myself really," says Cin, 
smiling big and bright, her teeth an inhumanly white dazzle. Does 
Largesse also work as some kind of a fucking fluoride treatment? Her 
head looks big enough to bite mine off. 

"Jenna, I'm gonna go," says Penny, who seems to be actually drooling, 
there's this wetness on her lower lip and chin, and her pelvis is making 
suggestive circles in her navy blue guard pants like she's slow-dancing 
with her panties. "I'm gonna have to somehow tear myself away. Marlow 
says you've got connubies, and I've got rounds to make. You've got 
rounds to make too, Jen. The biggest fucking rounds I've ever seen," she 
says in naked awe, looking at Cin's titanic and quite unsinkable chest, 
which is about on her eye level. 

"Thanks, Penny, you're a doll," is all I can muster. She *looks* like a 
doll standing between these two. 

As Penny leaves, I rummage in my booze cabinet and come up with a bottle 
of Hornitos tequila, afraid when I turn around that Court and Cin will 
be gone, it's all a dope dream. They're still there, thank Tonya. 
"Girls, this calls for a drink." 

I fill three paper cups with double shots and throw in some cubes from 
the mini fridge. We toast to the transformation of rank metals into gold 
and then I light a fresh doob and try to make sense of what I'm seeing. 
To make a long story short, or rather extremely tall: Cin is 6-6-1/2. 
She grew five inches in three months. Court is 6-1-1/2. Four inches in 
three months. Cin is 240. Up 35 pounds. Court is 177. Up 40 pounds. And 
she's not a whippet anymore, at least not where it counts. She's wearing 
a painfully obscene halter top and cutoffs, and while the silver-ringed 
navel is still puckered in a flat field of spun steel, there's a shelf 
of leering boob above it that's mega mango hard, capped with nipples 
bigger than the umbrellas in tropical fruit drinks. Court's thighs have 
filled out too, flaring out of her too-tight shorts like pneumatic meat 
machines. The thickly vein-skeined arms are in the 17-inch range, peaked 
in a ballpeen pyramid that makes my massed heads look retarded. 

Then there's Cindy. I've gotten used to big girls lately. I haven't even 
mentioned how Bon and Stef have grown in the last 12 weeks, I'll have to 
get to that later, right now I'm kinda, uh, preoccupied. But Cin isn't 
just a big girl, she's a big *covergirl.* Supermodel looks now combined 
with a superwoman bod for a package that could melt the nuts off Clark 
Kent. Her arms are huge, over 19 cold, a gain of more than an inch a 
month since I last saw her, but it's the chest that has me gasping. 
We've all made some gains bustwise on Largesse, it's that kind of drug. 
Stef and Bon are up a full cup size, I'm up half a cup--I could wear 
demi tassels for my strip act--but Cin has gone past DD, past E and EE 
to those weird sizes you read about in magazines like Dyno Dugs, where 
everybody has their bras custom-made by ancient Hungarian seamstresses 
in Boca Raton. She pulls the baby tee off over her head, whipping her 
silky-shiny tresses around like she was doing a Clairol commercial, and 
stands there can-you-top-this topless, and I almost topple. "I'll tell 
you how I got connubies from your warden," she grins. "I pulled my shirt 
up and showed her these. I think she crapped herself. I let her touch 
them." 

Cin's got her sculpted gut sucked in, it's glistening like polished 
bronze, and her steep, deep chest is thrust out, the rib box bulging 
like steel ramparts, anchoring the unutterably unbelievable udders, 
which stand at attention, pointing due breast, pulled taut and firm on 
ripply-thick plates of pec that are velvet hard to the lips, like 
kissing a love discus. In contrast to your typical Dyno Duggette, Cin 
does not require a custom bra, simply because she does not require a bra 
at all. She's wearing nature's boulder holder--pecworks that belong in 
Monument Valley--which lift and separate her nitro'd knockers in a way 
that full-figured Jane Russell could never have fully figured. 

Cin's nips are as big as espresso cups, they're making me saucer-eyed, 
and they're starting to stiffen up now, caffeine-jumpy in the AC chill, 
and they're getting all distended and chewy at the tips, which are quite 
fucking literally as big as my top thumb joints. The areolae are 
expanding too, thick brown swatches of rubbery succulence growing to the 
rounded size of Eggo waffles, but I'm not waffling and I'm not about to 
leggo as I step forward in some sort of trance and attach my face to one 
of these things and start blowing it--it's too big to call it sucking. 
Cin chuckles softly, kisses the top of my head and puts her arms around 
me, squeezing gently, and I can feel Court's hands behind me pulling 
down my bike shorts, and I have to marvel at how funny it is that once 
upon a time I wiped the floor with these girls, actually had Cin punch 
the crap out of Court on pain of a beating from me, and now if they 
wanted to they could rip me limb from limb. 

I fellate Cin's monster mams until my mouth is dry, grabbing great 
handfuls of muscle-mounded boob, trying to get as much of the nubbly 
brown jug halo into my mouth as possible, the giant nip tips thumbing 
the back of my throat, then I pull myself loose for a big shot of 
tequila and some more tokes. Court is naked now, working a long finger 
up herself; she's eye-popping gorgeous, lean, massive and voluptuous all 
at once, depending on how she's standing and what she's flexing, her 
rigid teat treats punching the air like mouth missiles as she walks 
toward me, and we embrace and start a slow, wet crotch grind. 

I'm still wearing my Tonya Forever tee and a sports bra, which Cin 
helpfully pulls off me with one hand, the roach and her drink in the 
other, and Courtney, the once skinny, stuckup dramarama bitch Courtney, 
has me laid out on my bed now and she's rubbing this outrageously big 
clit over my tits, it's bigger than any clit I've seen in Tonya and 
there are some beauties around here. "Nice tits, girl," she says, 
pushing them together and holding them bunched in her big hands so she 
can lick both nipples at once, then she's straddling my face and fucking 
my mouth with this fabulous clit, it's standing out from the thick pink 
folds of her labia like a love lance, her moist mons bearded in a 
cutesie dark trim that's shaved to a point on top, and I follow the 
arrow up, running my tongue across the hard muscle of Court's 
midsection, up into the tight sweaty cleavage of her raunched-out rack, 
and then something catches my peripheral vision and I turn my head just 
as Cin is peeling her cutoffs down. 

She's wearing panties still, and there's something *bulging* in them, 
and I'm thinking she's got some kind of little double-dicked strapon 
that she wears all the time 'cause it feels good or something, and then 
she hitches the panties down with her big thumbs and there's this junior 
*schlong* on her, it's at least three inches long and it's got a 
glistening purple head on it just like a circumcised cock, and I'm just 
sitting there on the bed jaw-wide and stun-eyed, rubbernecking this 
thing, and Court snaps me out of it with, "Cin's clit really took off, 
huh, babe?" 

"It's a sweet gherkin," is all I can manage in hushed wonderment as the 
gherkin begins jerkin'. 

Cin smiles at me, and she rubs the underside of her clit with her index 
finger--yeah, she rubs the *shaft*--and it seems to get even bigger and 
stiffer, then she rhythmically flexes her hips and pelvis and it waggles 
up and down like an electric pickle. "Lie back and get fucked real good, 
Jen," she husks, handing her drink and the joint to Courtney, and I do 
just like she says, and she pulls my legs in the air, draping them over 
her huge shoulders, and she *enters* me, I'm soaking wet, and starts 
fucking me and I can feel her inside, this is ridiculous, ridiculously 
good, and she just keeps hunching away at me, our mounds mashing 
together, her big clit driving up into me on every thrust, her tits 
hanging in my face, the nipples bouncing on my nose and lips like a 
trampoline, and after what seems like ten continuous minutes of this 
hypnotic humping, we come *together*, like in a porn flick, and just 
like in a pornie she supplies the money shot, pulling out in the early 
spasms of her 'gasm to gush this hot liquid all over my cunt and belly, 
it comes out in a sequence of wet spurts, till it dribbles down to 
nothing, her inflamed pussy lips still pulsing. 

"What the fuck was that?" I moan, delirious from one of the best spends 
of my life, it made my abdominals flutter like hummingbird wings and I 
think I may have shat the bed. "You *came* like a motherfucker!" 

Cin smiles as she looms above me on her knees on the bed, the huge boobs 
bobbing with her heavy breathing, my legs still slung over her back. 
"It's part of the new enlarged clit," she says dreamily. "Some kind of 
vaginal discharge, like a concentrate of pussy juice. It's not pee. It's 
just forced out like an ejaculation by the power of my cunt muscles. It 
started about two months ago. I can't tell you how great it feels." 

"I hope I get it," says Court. "I wanna come too like that." 

"Court, you've got nothing to complain about," I go. "You're hung like a 
stallion right now. Besides Cin, you've got the biggest clit I've ever 
seen, and I've seen a lot of clits." 

"Yeah, but I want one like Cin's. She can jerk off with her thumb, just 
like a guy. Hey, what's that in the room for?" 

It's the kiddie pool. I explain that me and Missy have a wet, warm and 
wonderful pee thing going. Court and Cin, who have never tried water 
sports, though Cin herself has become a water sport, are intrigued. "I 
have to pee right now," says Court. 

"So do I," says Cin. 

"Me too," I go. "Wanna get in the pool and make a we-three wee-wee?" 

We all get in the pool, or at least whatever fits is in the pool--long, 
massively built legs are hanging onto the floor everywhere--and we get a 
group grope going and pee each other slow and sensual while we have 
fingers and whole hands in each other's pussies, and the hot pungent 
bright yellow belly bath I get from these girls makes me come again so 
hard it's like I have pleasure cramps. Then Cin, who's still got plenty 
of pee left in her, gets on all fours above me and hoses me down from my 
chin to my knees, and I'm just shuddering in ecstasy. Then Court squats 
over my hips from behind, pulls my cheeks wide apart and pees right up 
my ass. I'm dying. I'm coming again, rubbing my pisswet pussy on the 
slick diamond of Cin's calf as she rhythmically flexes the muscle into 
my mound with a perfectly timed turn of her foot on every thrust. 

When we're all finally drained, I'm lying there in the pool in about two 
inches of pee--these girls must have bladders the size of Mylar party 
balloons--this delicious liquid *stench* assaulting my nostrils. It's 
like I've gone to pissy heaven, where Paula now resides. "Shit, you 
girls have some perfumey pee. I've never smelled pee this heady. And so 
much of it! It's like I showered in golden elixir. I'm not showering it 
off, either, it smells too good. This is better than bathing in 
Chardonnay." 

"Hey, that was real fun," says Court. "Wasn't that great, Cin?" 

"Totally awesome. Once again Jenna sets us on the path to 
righteousness." 

Right. These girls worship me mainly because I beat them into becoming 
muscle queens. Gee, how come Brooke doesn't feel that way? She didn't 
start hitting serious iron till I knocked her out, how come she never 
comes by for a dip in the pool? I quickly put Brooke out of mind, she 
makes me think of Paula getting killed, and I miss Paula. We drip off in 
the pool, then get out and stay damp, not even toweling down, for our 
next round of ficky-ficky. Suffice it to say I got fucked again by Cin, 
in the *ass*, and you can bet I tossed these girls' salads real good and 
you can bet too it was a true toss of Tonya-sincere tribute. When it was 
all over two hours later, Stef, Bon, Lee Ann, Tiff and Flung all came by 
to gawk at my guests. 

"So this is what Largesse can do," says Bon approvingly, after the 
oversized actresses have made their dramatic exit in broad-backed, long-
legged splendor. "Those girls are 19, probably well out of their natural 
growth curve, and here they are sprouting like fucking oaks." 

"Bon, you're a pretty good example yourself of what Largesse can do," I 
point out. "You're fucking 6-4, 255. You're probably as strong as both 
those girls put together. They don't powerlift like you do." 

"Did you find out what Cindy benches?" 

"No, I didn't ask. We didn't talk much. We were really fucked up on that 
Nepalese shit Tiff got," I say, turning to Tiff, who's pouting 
miserably. Largesse isn't doing much for her, and standing next to Cin 
made her feel like a bug. "She did say she trains really long sessions, 
like as long as three hours, the drug gives her tremendous stamina, but 
I don't think she uses outrageous poundages. Working out is not their 
major activity, you know, they're both taking a full load of classes at 
the Kathy Long School of Drama. They're thespians." 

"They've sure got big thesps," says Stef, shaking her head in wonder. 

I didn't even mention the clitoral growth. When the Hards did their 
gawk, Court and Cin already had their shorts back on, though they were 
still topless. I'm thinking about how to explain that Cin fucked my 
lights out, or whether it's best left unsaid since it'll only make these 
girls more jealous, when the phone rings. It's Marlow. "I've got very 
bad news, Jenna." 

"Yeah, I know, Warden, Court and Cin have left the building." 

"No, Jen, this is for real. I think it's the kind of thing you girls 
would call totally Tara. Missy is dead." 

Oh, for the love of Tonya. My heart dropped into my gut on those words, 
and then it got worse. Missy killed herself. She stood on some crates 
and hanged herself from some sturdy pipes in a corner of the basement. 
Hanged herself with the jump rope she used to train for her Glo fights. 
There's no note, but Penny found her, so we don't suspect foul play, we 
trust Penny. 

"But why?" Lee Ann groans. "Why would she do a thing like this?" 

"She's been down ever since the loss to Glo, but she gets out next 
week," Tiff says between sobs. "She had a whole new life ahead of her." 

Then we get what we think is the answer, when Penny finds a tape in the 
lounge VCR, a tape marked Property of Def Stef, Do Not Touch. Penny, 
being the loyal piece of Hard help she is, doesn't watch it, or at least 
she says she doesn't. It's the tape where Pissy Paula gets croaked by 
Hairy Mary. Missy must've found it when she was hanging, you'll pardon 
the word, in Hard HQ, and the sight of her lost love getting the shit 
literally strangled out of her must have been the straw that broke the 
camel's back. 

We all want to go see the body, but Marlow has already had it whisked 
away to the morgue. And then Penny delivers the coup de disgrace: Missy 
peed herself before she died. "She was in jeans, they were soaking wet. 
But she had on a Tonya Forever tank top," she adds optimistically. 

"Well, maybe she wanted it that way," I go, trying to put a good face on 
this mess. "Why not go out with a nice warm pee? It was one of her fave 
things in life." 

"It's my fault," says Stef. "I didn't hide the tape well enough. It was 
just in the closet under some shit with the others, and like a fucking 
idiot I marked it 'Paula.' She could have taken it any time, she's in 
here a lot. I don't even know *when* she took it, I haven't checked on 
it in weeks." 

"Well, she must have taken it just recently," says Tiff. "She obviously 
just saw it for the first time. Unless she's been planning this for a 
while, watching it over and over when no one's around, letting her 
despair, like, build up." 

"We were all so careful all this time to never say anything about Paula 
in front of her, and then she goes and watches the goddamn tape!" Stef 
laments. "That tape practically traumatized *us*, and we weren't much 
more than Paula's acquaintances." 

"Did you ever think that maybe Largesse has something to do with this?" 
asks Bon. "Maybe it makes some people, like, real depressed? Didn't 
Missy seem a little down even before she lost to Glo?" 

"Yeah, she did," I go. "She was only really happy when she was Oksana. I 
always thought it was missing Paula that made her so sad, though. Then I 
figured it was the loss to Glo combined with the loss of Paula. Shit, 
she didn't leave me a note. I was her girlfriend, her roomie. How could 
she not leave me a note?" 

"We'll never figure it out," says Stef with finality. "It's like the 
whole Brooke deal. Who the fuck knows what's going on? And the real 
irony is that Paula's murder could still be a fake and Paula could be 
alive. It's not impossible." 

"Here's another irony," says Lee Ann. "Largesse made Missy depressed and 
it's made Glo, who used to hate the world, elated. Now she's got a smile 
for everyone. She's a fucking happy face." 

And a happy bod too. Glo and Nora on M Factor is only slightly less 
amazing than Court and Cin on Largesse. Well, actually, they're more 
amazing, they just started out smaller so they're not giant size. At 
least not yet. I go down the hall to see them, to break the news about 
Missy. I knock on the door and Nora pulls it open with nothing on but a 
towel around her neck, as usual, but I'm not looking down at her 
anymore. She's 5-10, my height, up four inches in the last three months, 
and she weighs 190, eight pounds more than me, and the difference is all 
muscle. Nora can match my hot-pumped 18-inch arms, she can match my 
chest pecwise and she's got bigger breasts than me now, she's filled out 
to a tight D-cup, and legwise there's no comparison, her thighs have 
gotten huge and her calves are giving Glo a run for her money, they can 
swell to 19 inches when she really bloods them up. 

She's still got this oddly sexy bleached buzz cut, she's taken to 
wearing a nose ring, and, by special arrangement with the Warden, she 
had a professional come in and tattoo her arms. The left has a big black 
anchor with a red rattlesnake coiled around it, and the right has a 
busty, heavily muscled female executioner in a black hood wielding a 
double-bladed ax that's dripping red blood. The last time I asked Nora 
what the tattoos meant, she was Oksana and ornery, and she gave me a 
rambling load of babble that I couldn't understand, so I let it go. I 
don't get the nautical deal at all, except as a reference to how she's 
built. As for the other arm, I figure Nora's the executioner, and I also 
figure Stef is her intended victim. Nora likes me a lot, she likes 
plenty of Hards, but she's still got a grudge against Stef for that 
throttling that left her neck purple and swollen. All I can say is it's 
a lucky thing Stef has the growth edge on Nora; Stef is 6-1, 235 now, 
with the biggest arms on anyone who's in Tonya or has ever been in 
Tonya. They pump to 21-1/2, they're even bigger than Bon's, and on a 
pound for pound basis they're stronger than Bon's too. No one can touch 
her in 150-pound barbell curls, she does cheatless reps like a machine, 
and she does complete dumbbell workouts with 75s, it's insane. 

So Nora ushers me in with an admiring steely grip on my arm and there's 
Glo sitting on the bench doing behind-the-neck presses with 85 pounds on 
the bar. I watch silently while she finishes the set and racks the 
weight, then she turns to me and smiles. ``What's up, Takedown?" 

It's true, Glo is so fucking happy these days it's almost annoying. But 
going from a drab little smoothie of a Beanie Baby to a densely ripped 
sexpot of a strapping Bicep Baby in the space of six months can have a 
kind of euphoric effect, you know? Glo is now 5-8, 157--still way low 
bodyfat, very vascular and freaky-defined to the point where there are 
veins popping on her *abs* and her neck is so lean her Adam's apple 
bulges, the jugulars standing out like fiber-optic cable. Or is the 
bulgy throat a 'roid effect? Can't say. Glo doesn't betray any other 
"masculinizing" traits. Her voice is the same, her face is the same, her 
clit is the same, she hasn't got any hair problem that I know of. I do 
know a lot of girls are Bonaly in love with her. Yeah, head over heels. 

"I'm sorry to interrupt your workout, girl, but I've got incredible 
fucking shitty news." 

Glo swings her leg around the bench and stands up suddenly, rolling her 
head around that gorgeous neck, rolling her big shoulders so the delts 
swell and separate, the heads snarling like Cerberus. She's wearing a 
standard gray Tonya-issue tank top and matching institutional boxers, 
which are only used for private workouts--no one at Tonya would ever be 
caught dead in prison duds, as Missy has just demonstrated--and the top 
is soaked with sweat almost all over, so it's several shades darker than 
normal, and so is Glo, who tans like a motherfucker now, she must use a 
tube of Ultra-Sol a day. I catch the rank-sweet odor of a sweat-rich 
lotion mixture on her from across the room, and it smells lickity good. 
"No bother, wrestle mania, I was just about finished. What is it? It 
sounds important." 

"Missy has committed suicide." 

"Missy is *dead*?" This is Nora, who's standing next to me with her 
hands under her towel, tweaking her nipples while she gets an eyeful of 
my ass in bike shorts. She can smell me so hard it's making her lips 
curl, and she most inappropriately blurts out, "What's that scent you're 
wearing, Jen, it's driving me insane." 

"Uh, it's toilet water." 

"Toilet water?" 

"Like, l'eau de toilette. Really low, as a matter of fact." Under 
different circumstances, I would be flexing my butt for her right now, 
trying to get her all hot and bothered, which wouldn't be tough at all, 
but A) I've been drained of at least 24 hours of orgasmic energy by 
Court and Cin, and B) my roomie has gone to that great kiddie pool in 
the sky. So I intend to remain grimly serious, at least until I get 
Bobek Oksana after dinner. 

As Nora looks at me blankly, Glo butts in with, "Fucking forget about 
her fragrance right now, girlfriend, she just told us Missy's dead. I 
knew she was depressed, but not *that* depressed. Isn't this her last 
week?" 

"Yeah. Can you beat that?" 

"I guess she didn't want to go back to the world. Don't tell me she left 
a note that blamed *me.* That would be tough to handle." 

"She didn't leave a note at all, which is tough to handle for *me.* It's 
like she owes me some sort of explanation." 

"Well, it must have been a real impulsive thing," says Nora, rubbing 
idly between her legs with a spit-wet finger. "How'd she do it?" 

"She hanged herself in the basement with a jump rope. Penny found her." 

"Unbelievable," says Glo. "Like, our condolences, Jenna. You two were 
close. She was a sweet girl, and she had a lot of heart." 

I'm tempted right here to say something about Brooke--how it's really 
all Brooke's fault about Missy, 'cause Brooke is really the one who 
killed Paula, but I've never mentioned Brooke to Glo and I never will, 
even though for all I know they're still in touch. I just want Brooke to 
recede into the past, and I guess Missy will just have to drift away 
with her. 

"Jen, if there's anything we can do for you, just ask," says Nora, 
putting a strong hand on my shoulder and kneading the muscles with a 
very insistent grip. 

"Thanks, you babes are the bomb. But I'm OK, or as OK as I can be right 
now. I just wanted to let you know before Marlow makes a general 
announcement, which I guess she'll do at dinner." 

Glo smiles sympathetically and rubs her nose, making her right arm flex 
big, the heads balled up like Siamese apples, then she pronates the 
wrist hard so the bloated bulbs lurch apart, beating faintly like a two-
hearted monster, thick brachials and cephalics in pulsing coils that 
trail off to popping capillaries in a stunning circulatory swirl. It 
makes my cunt clench up like a fist, Court, Cin and Missy be damned. 
Glo's got 17-inchers now, it's all peak, not mass, really, her triceps 
still lack that thickness that comes with years of training, but what 
the fuck, it's droolingly fine. 

I've been around the world with these girls a few times over the past 
months, and they're a trip and a half. But not now. There are standards 
of Tonyaesque dignity to maintain. I tear myself out of there, my chin 
wet like Penny's, and when I get back to my room, none other than 
Bouncing Betty is waiting for me. "Jen, I'm so sorry. I just found out." 

I nod grimly and she follows me in. She's got the scent of me too, her 
nostrils are prickling and so's my libido. Betty, for some reason I 
can't fathom yet, is wearing nothing but black bike shorts and a black 
leather vest, cinched tight with little silver buckles, like she's on 
her way to an appointment to whip Marv Albert. Her cleavage in this gut-
sucked-tight tiny thing is so deep, I'm getting vertigo looking into it. 
"You ready for the Flung fight, Betty?" I ask, for no other reason than 
I don't want to think about Missy. 

"Do I *look* ready?" Betty asks in her deep rumble of a 'roid voice. 
She's been on Testo-Glandex, a 'roid/growth hormone derivative she mixes 
in her protein shakes, and it's worked wonders for her whole body, not 
just her larynx. The stuff is totally illegal, but Marlow is turning a 
blind eye, as usual. Marlow likes to see girls get big, and Betty, who's 
17 now, is up an inch to 5-7, and up 25 pounds to 165. Not bad for three 
months. The stuff seems to have no other negative effects on her besides 
the baritone. It didn't enlarge her clit, which would be a positive 
effect anyway. It didn't shrink her bustline, but it did build her pecs, 
so her bustline has actually *expanded*, which is truly mind boggling. 
She's got tits bigger than Cin's, and that, rest assured, is way big. 
And now she's got big arms too, they run about 16 inches. Well, she's 
gonna need everything she can get to take on the enLargessed Flung. 

So she's standing there hitting a double bi for me, and it's a nice one, 
a solid rounded mass, arms any mid-level Hard would be happy to own--not 
vascular, Betty's far from lean, but it would hardly matter to me at 
this point. I've already seen Cin, Court and Glo today, so I'm not about 
to get ga-ga over much of anything. "You made great gains the past 12 
weeks, Bet, you're looking way buff. Sorry we couldn't get you on 
Largesse, but we couldn't get an unlimited supply of the stuff, it's, 
like, rare earth." 

"That's OK. The Glandex is doing me fine. I feel really strong. Watch 
this." Betty pulls one of Missy's wooden dresser drawers out of the 
institutional armoire kind of thing we have, empties the clothes on the 
bed and punches the drawer with her big bare fist at least a half dozen 
times, leaving it in splinters. The drawer, not her fist. Her fist looks 
fine, maybe a little red and swollen, but her dangerously knuckled hands 
always look like that. So she punches her fist through the bottom a few 
times, splits the front and rear pieces in half, it's kindling. It was a 
pretty heavy pine drawer, not some flimsy plywood. 

"That was pretty cool, Bet, but, like, you just destroyed one of my 
drawers." 

"Jen, come on, your roomie died today. Do you think Marlow won't 
understand if you bust a lousy drawer?" 

"But I didn't bust a lousy drawer. You did." 

"Oh, shit, Jen, are you getting mad at me? I came her to make nice-nice 
to you. The thing is, I was gonna ask if you wanted to go roomies with 
me. I've had it with Brenda." 

Tara, Betty is not exactly the tactful type. No wonder the socially 
correct Flung dropped her for Ice. Brenda Booms Booms has probably had 
it with her too, now that she's turned into this pushy musclehead. But 
her tits are so, like, titty. Betty's got these enormously erect nipples 
molded under the black leather of her vest that look like the big 
rubbery mouthstuffers you see on baby bottles. She sees me 'balling her 
chest and she pulls the vest open with a quick flash of her hand--how'd 
she get all the buckles so fast?--and she says, "You wanna suck on me, 
go right ahead, babe. I'm here for you." 

It's just one temptation after another today. "God, Betty, those are 
*firm.*" She's as big as Cin on a frame that's a foot shorter, so the 
effect is, like, impressively compressed, with that same pneumatic 
hardness, like overinflated basketballs, that Cin has. She sucks her gut 
in way tight, blowing air out her healthy girl lungs in a steady pursed-
lip stream, and she makes an achingly beautiful stomach vacuum, all her 
hard gut muscle pulled up under her bulging ribs, the rim of her deep 
navel trembling with tension. I punch her playfully a few times in the 
iron of her sucked-down belly, my fist bouncing off like it's hitting a 
brick wall, and she punches me playfully back with a left hook to the 
side that hurts and almost makes me stumble. 

"Sorry, Jen, I hit hard. I can't help it. I'm all wound up for the 
fight." 

The blow brings me back to my senses. "Betty, you know I like you a lot, 
but this is not the time for us to get it on or even talk about rooming. 
I'm in mourning here. Gimme a few days, I'll get back to you. 
Concentrate on your fight right now, but don't overtrain, you need to 
find a relaxed groove." 

"I understand, babe. You need anything, just let me know." She embraces 
me, gives me a kiss on the lips with a quick double-dip of fat juicy 
tongue, her immense breasts crushing up against me like inflatable life 
rafts hitting a cement dock. Then she leaves, thank Tonya. 

But Betty is to be disappointed yet again today. At dinner, after Marlow 
makes the appalling announcement about Missy, which is greeted with a 
flatulent whoosh of shock from the untold masses, she breaks the news 
that the State Corrections Commission has made a definitive ruling on 
institutional fights. Gloves are now mandatory--10 ounces--kick booties 
are now mandatory, and knee and elbow strikes are prohibited. This is 
greeted with a flatulent whoosh of shock by everyone, especially Betty, 
who's sitting there like an idiot in front of her meat loaf--that's 
what's for dinner, I don't mean her chest, though she's sitting in front 
of that too, or maybe behind it, depending on your angle--trying to 
absorb the notion that the fists that can make sawdust out of a dresser 
drawer will now have to be encased in heavy padding when she fights the 
formidable Flung. On the other hand, or foot, Flung, who's a great 
kicker, will have to wear booties. Then again, Betty, who fires a 
terrific knee, which is now attached to a particularly quad-enriched 
thigh, can't use it anymore. At the Head Hard table--where Betty does 
not sit, and Flung does--we all agree that the new rules favor Flung 
more than ever, though Flung doesn't seem so sure. 

"I've never had regulation boxing gloves on in my life," she says 
sourly. "Betty used to wear them all the time, she was a Police Athletic 
League champion for years." I don't mention Betty's drawer escapade to 
Flung, who seems too jumpy already. She's got pre-fight jitters--the 
fight's the day after tomorrow--which seem to have been thrown into 
overdrive by the glove rule. 

"Well, you can blame Sweetass for this, I guess," I go, looking over at 
Sara's table. She seems stunned by the Missy news. I catch her eye and 
she comes over and says, "Jenna, I'm so sorry. I had no idea." There are 
tears running down her cheeks, she looks so big, strong and vulnerable I 
want to yank her shorts down and eat her on the spot. Shit, I'm still 
horny. 

"Thanks, Sara. We're all freaked out. Sorry you had to find out like 
this, I haven't seen you all day." 

"How did you find out? Were you the one who found her?" 

"Nah, Penny found her. Marlow broke it to me over the phone. I'll give 
you all the details later. We're having a Missy remembrance party in the 
lounge at 9, you and Wendy are invited." 

"Great. What's that scent on you, Jen, some sort of pheromone? It's 
intense." 

"Yeah, exactly, I'll have to wear it more often, everyone's knocked out 
by it. I'll tell you more later, better get back to your seat, Marlow's 
not done." 

Shit, maybe I'll wait a few days to shower. Pee is good for the skin 
anyway. Some water freaks even wash their hair with it. After a moment 
of silence for Missy, Marlow announces a new suicide-prevention 
counselor, who'll be available on Mondays and Thursdays--some woman from 
the State Task Force on Teen Dysfunction (that's pronounced Stiffed) 
who's actually named Mrs. Roper. 

"So why is Sweetass Sara responsible for this?" Flung asks. "You never 
explained." 

"The Joan the Bone fight, of course. Joan lost her gall bladder, her 
spleen, and I heard she's having trouble with her pancreas. That matchup 
was a bad idea, in retrospect. I guarantee you that beating is directly 
linked to this ruling." 

"Another one of my Tara fuckups," says Stef resignedly. 

"I was the one who was pushing for that fight," I say. 

"Yeah, but I'm the Head Hard. I gave the go-ahead. I was wrong." 

"Oh, stop it, Stef, stop trashing yourself," Lee Ann demands. "You're 
just down 'cause of Missy. We all are. No reason to start flagellating 
ourselves. Unless it's for pleasure." 

Joan, by the way, isn't with us anymore. I mean in Tonya. After her 
hospital recuperation, she got an unconditional pardon from a new judge, 
not the one who sentenced her, who figured she suffered enough for 
stealing a box of dildoes. I still have Ezra in my closet, I took it 
from her room as, like, a souvenir. 

Then Ice Baby comes over to our table. She doesn't get to sit with us 
even though she's Flung's girl. Missy got to sit with us since she was 
*my* girl, and I'm Jenna Takedown, but the table is really just for the 
High Command.  Ice was frozen out partly because there wasn't enough 
room, but the real reason is simply that she's not a top-level Hard, and 
neither is Flung. When Betty was rooming with Flung, she didn't get to 
sit with us either. Flung's high-echelon status is only due to my having 
weaseled her into the Largesse program--a move my four colleagues are 
beginning to resent, now that the Largesse pipeline may be shutting 
down. 

Plus, Ice is so young. Well, she's 15 now, she's not a fourteeny, and 
now there's room for her to move up, since Missy's gone. Which is 
exactly what's on Ice's mind. "Look, girls," she begins, slipping into 
Missy's empty seat. "I know this is really tacky, really vulgar and 
disgusting, and I apologize to all of you in advance, and especially 
you, Jenna, but I've gotta put this on the table right now before anyone 
else does: Missy's share of Largesse is now available. I respectfully 
request it. I'm in here for another two and a half years, I'll be here 
long after you girls are out. I need to be big, I need to be strong. I'm 
the future of the Ton Tons." 

Stef nods sagely. "As you know, Ice, Largesse is hard to come by. In 
fact, our outside source may be drying up. I have to talk to the High 
Command about that, as a matter of fact, at our next command council. 
Missy has a six-month supply left that she was going to take out with 
her. It could be given to you; it could be divided up among us. The 
right thing to do may depend on whether we can get more. Six months on 
Largesse is not long enough, really, though it could help you out quite 
a bit depending on how you take to it. But you should go a year to 
really get whatever peak it's going to give you." 

"I understand," says Ice. "I just don't want to have to go on some kinda 
Testo Presto Change-o shit like Betty Cow Bombs." Ice has an 
understandable loathing of Betty, who will shortly try to destroy her 
beautiful lotus blossom of a girlfriend. 

"We'll see what we can do," says Bon. "In the meantime, why don't you 
stay at our table so we have a full house. Is that OK with you, Jen? Ice 
is right, we've gotta groom her for the future, and she's way Tonya, she 
actually stomped a girl on the ice." 

"Sure. Ice is OK in my book. Carry the torch, girl." Ice is actually one 
of the few girls in the Hard upper echelon I've never made. She doesn't 
hang at our parties, mainly 'cause Flung doesn't, she's not a party 
animal. They like to be alone together, sitting naked on the bed thigh 
to thigh, listening to the radio and eating microwaved shrimp rolls with 
chopsticks. Ice is a looker--a no-tan brunette with bangs, big liquid 
brown eyes (just as big, limpid and melty as Tonya's gray pools of 
glory), great skin and teeth, cute dimples, but she's a shrimp roll 
herself by Hard standards. She's only 5-3, 122, and her tits are much 
bigger than her muscles. It's that big rack hanging off her narrow 
shoulders that makes her look like a post-juvie. She never trained 
before she got here, she was a real figure skater, a Tara type, at least 
as far as the arms and legs go, and in the months she's been in she's 
hit the weights hard, but her limited growth is not drug assisted--hence 
it's limited growth. If she's the future of the Ton Tons, she'd better 
get some hypertrophics in her veins fast. 

I finally go back to my now lonely room, take a one-hour nap, during 
which, thank Tonya, I don't dream about Missy--I dream about Court and 
Cin--then I ready to get Bobek Oksana in the TV lounge, where the Hard 
Command is having a private invitation-only wake for my poor dead pool 
pal. Let's just say we put the fun back in funeral. 

--30--