Jenna Takedown: NADS Buster By Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com) Chapter 5, Jen repels her Nancy nemeses, then takes Sternum sternward. Copyright 1999 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. Chapter 5 I'm feeling guilty. I'm partying without Stef. I'm at Brit and Colossally Calved Caitlin's house, taking bong hits in the kitchen, waiting for Dunn and Gomez to show up. I'm gonna slobber all over burly- girl boulders while Stef's at the gym clobbering her shoulders. After we got back from Ton's hospital visit, I asked her what she wanted to do tonight and she's intent on just working out, it'll help clear her mind. OK. You do delts, I’ll do pelts. She doesn't mind at all if I pay Brit and Cait a visit. Or she pretends not to. So I take the Jimmy and she walks to the gym, which is right in town. One of those independently owned Holly Hunter franchises, Roids-run, no guys allowed, not even if they’re willing to pay big bucks to watch. Stef is treated like an Amazon queen there. Shit, she *is* an Amazon queen. I didn't mention to her that Dunn and Gomez were gonna join the party. How could I? They're NADS and they've already had a run-in with Tonya. It wouldn't sit well with her. I didn't mention Nora and Glo were gonna join us, either, which is not sitting well with me at the moment. I'm alone, stoned in the kitchen, the radio is on, KFBB is playing a Joan Jett set. Brit and Cait are upstairs getting dressed. They'd just finished working out before I came over, then they showered and I guess they're preparing themselves for the party. I told them all they had to do was dab some pee behind their ears. They thought I was kidding. Thank the Goddess Sara will be here in a couple days. She knows I'm not kidding. Anyway, the back door suddenly opens--it's not locked--and in walk Nora and Glo. Not *too* totally Tara. I'm too stunned to say anything. It's not that I'm surprised at how big they are--I saw the recent tape where they snuffed that fat old guy, so I know what they look like. But in the flesh, in the fairly small kitchen, their presence is overwhelming. And overwhelmingly, like, *malign.* They're wearing matching evil grins and black rubbery wet-suit zipper vests and tight black jeans with high-laced Doc Martens--like some kind of nighttime stomping gear--and they're both sweating like pigs. "Fuckin' Jenna Takedown," Nora sneers. Her eyes don't look right. I heard she became a big crankhead. They've got, like, this really wicked supermeth all around Cali this year, this shit called Crystal Phallus-- it's billed as a total mindfuck--and it sure looks like she's on it, not that I know what it would look like. Ditto for Glo. Her eyes are off too, darting around the room in an unfocused frenzy. "Nora and Glo," I go, at a loss for what to say, totally, like, freaked by this invasion of my personal space. "You friends with Brit and Caitlin?" "No," says Glo, glaring at me lecherously. "We're friends with nobody but ourselves. And a few select others." "Then how the fuck can you just walk into their house?" I ask, trying to make it seem friendly. Nora leans close to me, resting her weight on her fists on the table, and she squints into my eyes like she's trying to see her reflection in my pupils. There's snot running out of the nostril she has her nose ring in, and she snorts a few times like a bull. "We're fucking DS, that's how. Got a problem with it?" I take a deep breath that turns into a big world-weary sigh. She was Nora the Snorer, then Nora the Neck, then Nora the Noogie and now Nora the Nihilator. And it's not just a cute nickname. I bet she's killed a bunch of people since she joined the Daughters. That's *why* she joined them in the first place. Right now I wish Stef was here. She's the one who beat Nora up at Fight Night at Tonya. I KO'd Glo in 29 seconds, but she wasn't so big then. Neither was I. But I can't take the two of them by myself. Caitlin and Brit wouldn't equalize things either, they're not nearly big enough. Nora's my size, maybe bigger, and Glo's not much smaller. "Not at all," I go. "It's good to see you babes. You're looking real fine." I smile and try to look sexy, which isn't a chore. I'm wearing a cute tangerine tank top with spaghetti straps, nothing under it but big melons of muscle-mounded mam. Thanks to the dope and the presence of hot, sweaty, iron-ripe girl flesh, my nips are in pop-top mode, the tittie tips so thick and hard you could hang your hat on 'em. Which is what Nora would like to do, I'm sure, if she was wearing a hat. She's not the hat type, though, not with that rugged half-inch of bleached blonde buzzcut on her skull. I slowly place my hands on her vein-bloated forearms--they must be 14 fucking inches around, they're bigger than a normal girl's calves--and grip them firmly but tenderly. "Killer arms, girl. You are *huge*." She is, I'm not just stalling her. I know she's gonna hit a double bi now, really fire her guns in my face, and sure enough here it comes, and fuck it all she's bigger than I am, she must be over 22, she's gotta be pumped up, she better be. Then Glo is right behind her, pressed into her back, reaching around to rub her frighteningly flexed biceps as she coos, "Oh, fucking shit, Nora, you are *so* fucking big, just *touching* your arms is like sheer fucking ecstasy." That's funny coming from Glo, who's got peaks straight out of the Acme arm catalog. It's sheer fucking ecstasy just to *look* at them. She's got really short and fat muscle bellies and the best head separation I've ever seen, and the combo is sheer dynamite. And to think she used to be a sullen pipsqueak. She was once known as Go Blow Go, and now she's known as Go Grow Glo. Titanic did her like a bitch on wheels. Glo's arms have gotta be as big as mine, and they have way better shape. She rests her elbows on Nora's flexed arms and hits a hard-angled double bi of her own, almost overshadowing the bigger girl. Glo's head- splittingly stunning split heads, like two peaks for the price of one, are making me shiver with lust. They must be doing something for Nora too, 'cause she suddenly snorts real hard, jerks her head to the side like she's having a fit, her neck bulging with vein and muscle, and unzips her rubber tech vest. She's got a tiny black sports bra on under it, the cups of which are way too small to contain her big tits, but what catches my eye are her new chest tattoos. She's got a delicately black-inked, busty, bare-fleshed musclegirl under one collarbone, and the girl has this giant oversized fist in the air, like she's throwing an uppercut at the universe. Under the other collarbone is a similar stark naked musclegirl, this one with a knife in each hand, dripping red blood. Goes well with the hooded executioner with the ax on her arm. "Nora, cool new tats!" I gush. Nora wipes at her runny nose, sort of shakes Glo off her back, writhes out of her vest and starts whipping her arms around, loosening up, breathing like a mastodon. I'm involuntarily edging back in my chair, fearing she's about to attack me, but she grabs a chair of her own and sits down facing me across a corner of the table and puts her arm up, brutally thick fingers beckoning. "Put your business on the table, girl," she husks. "We gonna do some pushin'." This reminds me of the day in Tonya I got my ass kicked by these very girls. The day Ice busted Bendy Wendy's face up and Glo chopped Sara in the neck so bad she needed a tracheotomy. It started with me having to arm wrestle Glo, a match that went on for minutes and got nowhere. Now I've got an even *bigger* arm to deal with, the kind of arm that looks like it could pulverize my fingers into paste. "Nora, you're all pumped up and I'm not," I protest. Nora glares at me impatiently and growls, "Takedown, put your motherfucking arm on the table right now and don't give me any candyass bullshit." This is clearly a threat, not a request. I put my arm up, and just then Brit and Cait walk in. Great, now I'll have an *audience* when I lose. "What's going on?" Brit asks, her hefty arms folded across her heftier chest. She's jacked up on four-inch Kenneth Cole platforms and decked out in her party undies: a red satin teddy with matching garter belt, panties and fishnet stockings that make her thighs look even more whoppingly succulent than usual. "Who are these girls, Jen?" Caitlin adds, looking as colossally calved as ever in her basic bare feet, grandiosely garbed in only a tiny, black neoprene posing bikini. Maybe she's planning to hit some shots for Dunn and Gomez. I sure hope they're planning to hit some shots for *us*. I got a hankering for those burly babes that's gnawing at my nether nook like a starved weasel. "Old friends from Tonya Harding," I go. "We're just having a friendly little arm wrestle." "God, they're *big*," Caitlin goes, like I hadn't noticed, as she bounces on her toes, signaling with her swelling calves that she's ready to rut. I don't reply, and I don't have time for more elaborate introductions. We're locked up now, Glo is already gripping our fists for the get-go and Nora is already leaning way in with her massive shoulder, clamping my hand so tight I fear all the blood has been squeezed out of it and the bones are starting to hairline crack like safety glass. Then Glo yells "Do it!" and Nora explodes like a ball-busted bronco out of the chute, instantly turning my wrist and taking me down a couple inches. She's grunting like a wild boar, the snot running out of her nose, all her muscles glowing under a sheen of rankly sweet sweat, the inked chicks on her chest billowing out as her pecs swell, and I kick into overdrive, terrified of being humiliated in front of Brit and Cait, who think I'm the greatest thing since the invention of marijuana. Or maybe just the greatest thing since the invention of Stef, but whatever, I can't just get crushed by Nora in a matter of seconds, so I find something inside me and unturn my wrist somehow, then push Nora back to even and hold her there, the both of us straining so hard it looks like the veins in our arms are gonna burst in one big blood geyser. Nora looks hard at me and chuckles, then she pours on some more power, making this long, loud, achingly sexy groaning noise, her lips flecked with spit, and she starts to move me again--Jesus Christ, she's strong!- -and again I struggle back to even, even though she's cheating, she's hunched way too far over my side of the table and I say through clenched teeth, "Nora, pull your goddamn shoulder back," and that's when Glo, out of nowhere, executes this perfect crescent kick in the cramped kitchen, nailing Brit in the head, bouncing her off the fridge, causing the Sinfully Sinew calendar with the picture of Brooke going pec crazy to fall to the floor, Brit along with it. Glo kicks like a mule, she's got unbelievably powerful legs and she's wearing steel-toed stomping boots. Shit. This is just the way the beating at Tonya start ed--with Ice kicking Wendy. But there are no guards here to step in and restore order. There's Colossally Calved Caitlin instead. Little Big Cait steps in and tries to lock up Glo, but Glo just muscles her mercilessly, grabbing her by the hair and whipping her head down, firing her knee into Cait's cute face three times, Cait's hands up in a partial block, thank the Goddess, before I can get my arm around Glo's neck as I break off the match and lunge across the kitchen, still with Nora gripping my hand. Caitlin crumbles to her knees and then sags onto the floor to join Brit, and now Nora's behind me gripping my neck in *both* hands and I can feel my windpipe shut off like someone twisted a valve closed. Shit, this isn't working out too well. I try to do a standard grappler's spin on Nora and take her down from the side, but I'm pulling Glo with me and Nora doesn't let go of me anyway, she's got too iron a grip on my neck, so I bull her into the stove with my shoulder and then slam an elbow into her ribs hard enough to make spit fly out her mouth, but as she breaks the stranglehold I lose my grip on Glo, and the deranged minx turns to face me, this wild smile on her lewd mouth, and she draws back her lethally- knuckled fist like she was pulling a hunting bow, and at that exact moment Nora grabs both my arms. I watch in a sort of stoned out-of-body slow motion as Glo's right bicep tightens into a shredded hyperhump of twin-engined turbo pump and then she rams her fist into my teeth--I can't block it and she's in too close to kick. It snaps my head back and Nora is behind me now grabbing handfuls of my hair and Glo is bitch slapping me across the face now, muttering something about what an "uppity cunt" I am. I've got the hot, salty-sweet taste of blood in my mouth as I struggle back against Nora to get enough distance to front kick Glo in the chest, and I send her sprawling backward where she falls over the unconscious Caitlin, then I turn neatly on Nora--I'm getting my mat savvy back real fast--and am about to muscle her into a half nelson when she expertly head butts me between the eyes. So this is what Charlie Montrose felt. There's this searing pain deep in my brain and my vision goes blood red and pulsates like a disco strobe, then my legs are buckling and I'm starting to collapse around my feet, but Nora isn't letting me fall, no, not her. She catches me around the waist, locks her arms around the small of my back in a front bearhug and puts it on hard enough to shatter a wine cask. She pulls, arching her body back, groaning with the effort and takes my feet right off the floor. All the air is squeezed out of my lungs, I can barely expand my chest enough to take another breath. I can smell her hot vodka breath in my face and feel my spine start to grind under the pressure like it was an oak barrel stave about to splinter. Jesus Christ, how strong is this girl!? What does she bench, a quarter ton? I am absolutely *paralyzed* by the power of her bearhug on top of the head butt, and the only thought in my muddled mind at the moment is: She can kill me right now. There's no one here to save me. I can picture my spine snapping, my ass crapping in a death reflex, like a Feng Schwing massage gone stone evil. Will I never get to see Sara again? I'd like to be able to say that this passionate perception gave me the strength to break free, but it didn't. It made me think of how I didn't tell Sara that Ice got shipped east--I knew it before she did, something I neglected to mention earlier--for fear it would make her go east to be near Ice. Part of her weird slave mentality. But it didn't, it freed her to come back to me. Sorry about this aside, but Nora is crushing me to death in her arms and it's making me light-headed. Then Brit saves me. She comes up off the floor all of a sudden, steps nimbly over the fallen Cait and catches Glo by the arm just as she's recovering from the kick I gave her. Brit hurls Glo into the table, knocking the ceramic bong onto the floor, where it breaks into pieces--bummer!--and Glo trips over a table leg and falls on her face. Then Brit quickly kicks Nora in the ankle hard, real hard, four times with that heavy platform shoe before Nora lets the hug go, and as she does I punch her in the nose as hard as I can. Maybe I can drive the nose ring into her brain. She bounces off the stove and I catch her nicely in the tit with a left hook, then I quickly take her down from behind the knees as Brit starts kicking her in the head. I turn around, sensing that Glo is back up, but she's more than back up. She's got one of those flat Navy Seal throwing knives that Steven Seagal likes to use to Caitlin's throat, holding the groggy Cait up like a rag doll with a big arm cinched under her squeezed-up tits. My poor colossally calved beauty has blood running from her smashed nose and lips, it's speckling her neck and chest, but as far as I can tell all her teeth are OK, thank the Goddess. "Both of you back away from Nora now or I cut this bitch's head off," says Glo. I pull Brit away from the fallen Nora, who's curled up fetally to get away from the platform pounding. "Put the knife away, pick up Nora and get the hell out of here, Glo," I command. I take a wicked carving knife out of the butcher block on the counter. "You put a scratch on that girl, I'm gonna gut Nora like a fish, then I'm gonna saw you into filets." Glo's eyes gleam at me ferally as she hesitates, her fingers wiggling nervously on the flat metal knife handle, the edibly shredded arm writhing with bulging vein and sinew. I have this terrible feeling she's gonna do to Caitlin what that drunk Mexican general did to that poor fuck at the end of The Wild Bunch, which I just saw on tape last week, it was pretty good for a guy movie, and it's making me tremble with horror. I need to drive home my point. "You don't wanna fuck with me right now, Glo. I *will* kill you. I can have a She Roids disposal team clean you up in a jiffy. Before sunrise, your corpse will be in some swamp somewhere getting eaten by the fucking Bud lizards. Is that what you want?" "Cool the knife, Glo," says Nora from the floor. Her nose is bleeding all over her face. I hope I broke it, just like Stef did to her at Fight Night. "We'll settle this another time." Glo pauses, breathing hard, her nostrils flaring, then raises a leg and slips the blade into an ankle sheath and lets Caitlin sink to the floor. At that moment it occurs to me: Why not turn around and cut Nora's throat, then hack Glo to pieces? A Roids disposal team really *will* take care of them, that was no bluff. Then they'll be out of my hair once and for all. They're DS, they're my sworn enemies. But I'm not a psycho killer. I'm not a CHICKA chick. At least, not yet. So I step away from Nora and gesture at her with the carving knife. "Take this sick puppy and beat it, Glo. And let's forget this ever happened." Yeah, right. Glo nods, looks down at Caitlin like she's thinking about kicking her, then shrugs, helps Nora to her feet and puts her vest back on her. Nora's glaring at Brit. "I owe you for kicking me, bitch," she hisses. Again, the impulse to strike out with the knife and erase these insane motherfuckers grips me like death fingers, but I can't bring myself to do it. "You owe *me* for not killing you tonight," I say to Nora. "Think about that the next time you want to fuck with me or my friends. And I guarantee you, the next time you *do* fuck with me or my friends will be the last time you do *anything*. I'll rip you a new asshole and stuff your rotten, stinking *brain* up it." "Big talk," Nora sneers, wiping blood and snot from her nose with the back of her meaty mitt. "Like you're so tough. Like you guarded Tonya like a pro, that's why she's in the hospital now. You're a fuckup, Takedown, you can't wrestle anymore, you can't do jackshit. You're a *pussy*." She's backing out of the kitchen, Glo's pulling her through the door. "A fucking clitless *pussy*. And I can take you on the table, no cheating, no pump on, no nothing, *anytime.*" "I can take you too," Glo adds from the doorway. "Your arms ain't dick." Jesus, that hurts. I feel so inadequate about my arms, from being around Stef all the time. But I hold my tongue, which isn't difficult to do since it's bleeding, and follow them outside with the knife to make sure they drive away. They do. I notice they've got a Jeep Grand Cherokee with a NADS bumper sticker that says, "Honk if you love Sappho." I wonder if it's paid for by the Sisterhood. I mean, we only got a Jimmy. Whatever. Then I tend to Cait and Brit. They both need ice and Zmeskaline. So do I. I have some in the Jimmy, thank the Goddess. My frontal lobes are still throbbing from the head butt, which has shot my eyes with blood, and my lips are starting to look like I got collagen injections from Donald Duck. Thank the Goddess again that I didn’t crack a tooth. Where the fuck are Dunn and Gomez? Then the phone rings and I get it with an angry "What!" It's Dunn. "Sorry, girl, can't make the party. We got a last-minute assignment, can't get out of it." I'm immediately suspicious. Like, Dunn and Gomez and Nora and Glo are all DS, or at least all NADS. How do I know Dunn didn't tip Nora to come over here? "That sucks. What kind of assignment, Dunn?" "Uh, we gotta put the clamps on Pantopon Rose." "Huh?" "Jenna, baby, you're Roids. How the hell can I tell you about my assignment? Just gimme a rain check on tonight. We'll get down with you real soon, promise. Gotta run, bye." She hangs up before I can say anything. This night is really starting to bite. Caitlin's face is swelling up like a smiley balloon and Brit has this grapefruit blowing up over her eye where Glo kicked her. At least Brit's mouth didn't get damaged. I need my rug chewed real bad right now . . . . "Holy Jesus, is this a cunt or what?! Believe you me, girls, it eats like a meal!" Stef and I are in the office of Gloria Sternum on the top floor of the Mega Ms. Building in downtown Santa Emasculata. It's the tallest building in town, what Sternum likes to call a "guyscraper." Lucky thing there aren't any other tall buildings nearby, 'cause Sternum is strutting around her office stark fucking nude with the curtains wide open on all the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was in a bathrobe when we came in, and she whipped it off the moment her secretary closed the door. Stef and I are in tiny cutoffs and tube tops and we feel overdressed. Right now we're all drinking coffee and Sternum is modeling her pussy for us. I remember Brooke told me she had a fantastic snatch, and for once Brooke was being completely honest. "Whaddaya think, babes? Is this twat hot to trot or what?" Sternum is standing there with her hands on her ass, thrusting her hips at us, all her pelvic muscles flexing so hard her clit is jerking up and down like its got a mind of its own. It probably does. If it doesn't, it can have mine. It's the biggest clit I've ever seen in the flesh, way bigger than mine or Stef's, and it's attached to the tummy-tight, smooth-shaved, lip-taut, baby-pink pussy of a 10-year-old. Except Sternum's 65. She tells you that right up front, it's a point of pride. She's almost smug about it, and I can’t blame her. If I had to guess her age, I’d say maybe 45 tops, and if I had to guess her weight I’d insist she sat on my face first. "Back in the old days, I used to say, `A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle,' " she goes. ``The men used to say, `A woman without a man has a cunt that smells like fish.' Fuck them. Now I say, `A woman without muscles is like a fish *on* a bicycle.' And if a man has the spleen to rub me the wrong way, I'll *hand* him his spleen on a silver platter. That's about all the serving I do. Like I did to Norman Mailer last week at that fucking stupid PETA anti-fur fundraiser. I said, `Yeah, I'm anti-fur, that's why I shaved my cunt.' Then I took it out and showed it around. This ticked Norman off, since my clit is bigger than his dick. And harder too. So he made some crack about how I'm a little old to have a prepubescent pubis. Like, is it kiddie porn or biddy porn. So I served him a nice hors d'oeuvre. I rammed a Triscuit with faux salmon mousse on it right up his *ass*. Took his pants down like he was a little boy, in front of everybody, he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Talk about The Naked and the Dead. He was naked and he wished he was dead." Then she cackles like a hyena. Stef and I nod appreciatively, though we have no idea who Norman Mailer is. But we have no reason to doubt her ability to manhandle a man, 'cause Sternum is six feet and 188 pounds of whip-sinew, vasc'd out like a hologram of the human circulatory system. But she's also got lush, bouncy, thick-nippled D cups, flaring honey- dipped hips and a muscle-butt so pertly flirty I wanna wear it like an ass mask. "I started out with this experimental Hong Kong osteo-gland therapy, where they increase bone mass with hormone injections," she cheerfully explains. "Gotta have the heavy-duty skeletal infrastructure in place before you start piling tons of muscle on it." "It must've worked," I go, wondering how stiff my nipples look through my boob tube. She smiles, her perfect white teeth and jutting jaw looking strong enough to bite through six inches of steel prick. "Oh, it worked all right. I fucking put on *height*, which happens in only ten percent of cases with someone of my *advanced* age. It’s like I slipped on a pair of permanent heels. And everything got proportionally bigger. It actually widened my hips." She slaps her hard haunches complacently. "It's hard to tell, though, since my shoulders got so goddamn broad." She hits a front lat spread, fanning out her back bigtime, as her tits rise and spread on a bed of pec, then she pivots slowly to show us the iron shield of her back, whipping her long gray hair, peppered with punky streaks of red and purple, out of the way so we can see the rampage of razor-carved rippage running up her spine and fanning out through her traps and delts, the tight, tanned skin crackling with high voltage. This woman is old enough to be my grandma and she's giving me an internal heat rash. I can feel the hot saliva thickening in my mouth as my tongue starts to throb. Her shatterproof glutes ride high and perky, sizzling with striations, begging to be spread for a torrid tossing, and just as this thought grips my brain she starts spanking her ass like she's urging on a racehorse. I look at Stef, my face a mask of pure lust, but Stef frowns at me like I'm a pervert. "Anyway, then I went on a three-year cycle of six-month Largesse, SWEET and PHEW splits and got a personal trainer," Sternum continues, spinning back around to face us, her big tits jerking with casual pec flexion. "I've been through a lot of 'em, I have a tendency to wear ’em out. My current one is the total bomb. He works me so hard I almost die, every session. Aaaaah, petite morte." She flutters her eyelids dramatically, and pulls on her stiff nipples, stretching them out like she was about to make balloon animals. "He?" Stef asks. "Mort?" Sternum looks at us funny and blinks a few times. "Mort? His name’s Mark. Yeah. Kid I found on an East Coast speaking tour, got thrown out of military school for beating the living shit out of a bunch of his classmates. Actually crippled a few of them. Classic roid rage. Been doing that new guy drug they call Andromeda Strain? The kid is piss- drippingly *huge*, and he's younger than you two. He gets me angry the way a chick couldn't. Like, it pisses me off so much that he's stronger than me. He also likes to punish other guys, anally dominate them and really make them grovel, which I like to watch. He’s had a weird past, got violated by a bunch of strong-girls, including, get this, his sister. It was revenge for when he raped *her* in a public park! No shit! Confessed this to me in a drunken crybaby session. It's supposed to have been videotaped, and I'm still trying to get my hands on this footage. Could be worth a mint." We nod idiotically. Sternum continues pacing around the office, refilling her ceramic mug--it's shaped like a naked man and the handle is his big, curved penis--from the Mr. Coffee machine in the corner that’s next to a rack with a Sony TV and a bunch of video decks. "And it gets even better!" she whoops. "His formerly raped *sister*, Wendy, had her arm broken a while back while she was visiting someone at Amy Fisher. They have a great lab there, and she got state-of-the-arm Zmeskaline bone marrow treatments, and to make a long story short, today her arm is so strong she is an absolute *killer* on the table. Righty only, of course, but what the hell. Broke *two* humeri at the Yukon Jill Elbow Extravaganza a couple weeks ago. I'm planning to make an arm wrestling tape about her called In Advance of the Broken Arm. You know? What Duchamp called a snow shovel?" Du-who? We look at her blankly and nod, and I go, "Right," like I have some fucking clue what she's talking about. "Gonna have her wrist 'n' twist with a few dozen girls, offer 'em a hundred bucks just to keep their fist in the air for 20 seconds. Like they have a prayer. We're sure to get some great injuries. Then I'll throw in a few bouts where she hurts *guys*. It'll be the ball-busting bomb." I'm tempted to suggest she set up a match with Nora, but I don't wanna get into a NADS discussion. When I filled Stef in on my kitchen scene last night, she made me feel like a complete jerk for letting them go. She insists she would’ve killed them both, and I have no reason to doubt her. "Anyway, he's a great trainer," Sternum says. "Mark. Were we talking about Mark? So the bottom line is I remade myself. I was once a spindle- limbed chick who couldn't unscrew a peanut butter jar. Now I'm a Mega Ms., and I can unscrew a peanut butter jar with my *cunt lips*." Sternum sits on the edge of her teak desk, which is big enough to be a platform bed, and spreads her legs wide so her clam-smooth pussy gapes, the clit straining, her ultra-etched abs flexed so they bulge from her invisible pubic line right up into her pec cleavage. "Who wants first licks?" she squeals. I look at Stef, who gives me a meaningful raise of her eyebrow. "Uh, I can't go down on you very effectively right now, Ms. Sternum," I go, sounding crestfallen. "I've got, like, a very sore mouth from a fight I was in yesterday." She nods. "Yeah, those are some wicked finger imprints on your neck, babe. Someone tried to choke the fucking life out of you? A guy?" "No, a girl. A very big girl." "What's the bruise between your eyes? Some kind of club?" "No, a head butt. This girl is really tough." "But did you win?" "Well, yeah, in a manner of speaking. It wasn't one on one. Another girl punched me in the mouth. It was, like, a brawl. Anyway, I can't do anything oral right now. Another time, for sure." "And I came here for business, not pleasure," says Stef kind of coldly. Sternum pouts. "Stef, around here business *is* pleasure." "Maybe so, but I'm not in horny mode right now, I'm in, like, money mode," says Stef. "I hate to sound, like, mercenary, but I'm making big career decisions this week and I'm, like, real serious about everything. I'd really like to talk about what you have in mind for me and what it pays." "OK," says Sternum tartly. She puts her robe back on and sits behind her big desk, slapping her hands on the surface and spreading her long, steely fingers. "I've got a big idea for you that I've been working on for weeks: A video feature, 90 minutes. Plot, dialogue, everything. It'll make anything Sinew or Venomous does look like a junior high school camcorder project. Working title: Sock Her Mom Mania. I happen to have a half-dozen very good-looking Moms on my payroll right now, and I just purchased, shall we say, a boatload of Guatemalan girl gangbangers who look just adorable in cheerleader getups. They don't speak much English, but we can work around that." "So what do *I* do?" Stef asks sullenly. "You beat the crap out of the Moms, after they beat the crap out of the girls, and you save what’s left of the pom-pom pussy, who all go down on you in adoration. I've got a head Mom villain who'll square off with you near the end. She's big enough to give you a good fight, but you'll wipe the floor with her, ultimately. You know Millie `Minivan' Montoya? You see the CNN Sock Her Mom special, `Hausfraus From Hell'? She did a lot of talking in that. A very articulate spokeswoman for the generation they're calling the Babe Boomers." "I saw part of it," I go. "Great show," says Sternum. "Best thing Christiane Amanpour ever did. Shit, that chick must have a *hairy* cunt! Those Mediterranean types, Jesus. I'd love to have a Lady Bic party with her." "Why do they call her Minivan Montoya?" Stef asks. "Because the Moms always ride in minivans?" "No, because she can *lift* the front end of a minivan, and lift it as high as her fucking *chin*. You should see this show, girl. I have a tape of it here somewhere." Sternum rummages through her shelves of videotapes, most of which are in big boxes that must be some kind of professional format, and pulls out a VHS and tosses it to Stef. "Take it home and check it out. Montoya is not only strong as a mother, she looks great too, and she can *act*. Not to mention fight. All the action will be totally real in my movie. No retakes, if we can help it. I’ve got a great director signed to me now. You girls get to see Stompin’ at the Savoy, starring the Soleus Sisters?" "Yeah, we did," I enthuse. "Awesome. Probably the best leg fetish tape ever made.” “The ultra shit,” Sternum nods. “I’m in negotiations now to make the Sisters’ next title. Anyway, I’ve got their cinematographer, a chick named Melanie `Felony' Elliott? Can’t go wrong with her. She's the queen of handheld.” “Wait a minute,” says Stef. “I thought I was going to make a show-off tape, not a bloodfest. I don’t want to beat up a whole bunch of girls for real.” Sternum gives Stef a disappointed once-over. “You’ll get to make an arm- worship tape, too, but that’s easy. *I* can handle the camera on that one. I’m talking about a real movie here. Look, I’ve got a first draft of the script.” Sternum takes a folder out of her desk, leans across the table, her tits spilling out of the robe, and tosses it to Stef. “I wrote it myself. Take it home and read it and then we’ll go to lunch and talk some more. OK?” “Sure. But what about money?” “I’d sign you to an exclusive contract, pay you a retainer--a thousand dollars a week--and give you ten percent of all sales. Think about it: Any title with your picture on the box is gonna move like shit at a fly convention. I can sell fifty thousand copies worldwide of your work at a hundred bucks a pop. That’s five mil. That’s half a mil for you. Five hundred grand, you digging this? All tax free. This is all strictly under the table, and right now I wish *you* were strictly under the table with your head between my legs. My clit is so stiff I could use it for a drill punch.” Sternum grins at us hungrily, her perfect teeth gleaming. “Well, it sounds, uh, interesting,” says Stef, pensively rubbing her huge arms. “Lemme take the script home and I’ll call you in the next couple days. OK?” Sternum smiles. She’s rocking in her big leather desk chair, doing something weird with her ass on the seat. “Sure. And don’t lose the script. It’s top secret. And next time we meet I’ll take you girls to lunch. The Hooter Hacienda. I love that fucking place.” “Can I use the bathroom?” I pipe up as we all stand. “That coffee went right through me.” “Sure, babe,” says Sternum. “I’ve got a *private head* right through here.” She opens a door built into the wood paneling. “I’ve gotta go too. We’ll be back in a jiff, Stef.” Stef nods glumly and goes over to look out the window. Sternum pushes me into the bathroom, closes the door behind us and locks it. It's got two toilet stalls and two sinks but it's kind of close and intimate in here, all cool marble and muted track lighting. Or maybe that's just the feeling I'm getting because Sternum, her robe wide open, has put her arms around me from behind and is pressing her clit into my ass, her hot java breath steaming on my face as she flicks her long pointy tongue into my ear. "Pull your shorts down and bend over," she husks. "You're a Tonya girl, which means you keep an immaculate ass. I wanna fuck it." I look into her smoldering eyes in the mirror as we stand locked together in front of the sinks, then she pulls my tube top up so my titties spill out, the stiff nips straining in space, seeking suction. I spin around and feed a tit into her moist maw as she shimmies out of the robe, grabs me under the ass and lifts all 250 pounds of me into the air so I lock my legs around her waist and hang on her shoulders like I was a little girl. This feels so good I wanna cry. She holds me aloft easily, all the muscles in her chest and shoulders flexed with my weight as she keeps me high enough to suck my tit without craning her neck. I just throw my head back and let the suckle sensation spin in concentric circles through my torso, but in less than a minute I remember Stef is outside the door stewing in her own juices. Shit. We don't have time for foreplay. I pull her face off my tit and tongue kiss her hard, forgetting about my busted mouth, sucking the breath right out of her lungs as she continues to hold me up. My cut tongue starts bleeding again, bleeding right into her mouth. She lets me down, smacking her lips experimentally like she's at a wine tasting. "Shit, sorry, my mouth is bleeding from the fight," I go. "Girl, we just exchanged bodily fluids," she laughs. "You don't use needle drugs, right?" "Never. And the only time I let a guy fuck me, he used a condom," I add proudly. "A *guy* fucked you?" she asks in astonishment. "It was a deal to get me out of jail early." "Harry Dexter? No! You let that disgusting prick in your pants?!" "Just to get sprung from Tonya." I don't mention that Harry's "deal" was totally bogus. It'll only make me look like a bigger idiot. “The asshole also made and distributed my high school wrestling tape. I assume you’ve seen it?” “Fucking yeah, I’ve seen it, I’ve got a copy in my office. You were so cute pinning the shit out of all those poor squirming girls. So how was he?" Sternum adds, grinning slyly. “In the sack.” "Well, I don't have anyone to judge him against, but he definitely got me off. I mean, he's enormous. And he can go, like, five or six times in one night. His balls are so big it’s unreal. It must be what it's like to get fucked by a horse." "Well, if I ever get drunk enough to bed the cocksucker, I’ll let you know," Sternum giggles. "I’ve *been* fucked by a horse. Well never mind that, we have work to do here." As she bounces on the balls of her feet, I stick two fingers up her--she's slut-sopping wet--and thumb her huge clit a few times, then I frantically peel my shorts and panties off, kick off my sandals, turn the massive vee of my back to her, put one leg up on the sink and bend forward so my cunt gapes. She sticks two fingers up me, then a third, then her whole fist, working her hand so far up me it makes me gasp and my eyes start to tear. Then she pulls her fist out and rubs the lap sap all over her big tanned tits, making tortured oooohing and aaaaahing noises, her eyes locked to mine in the mirror. Her clit is so erect now, all purple-pink and thro bbing, I’m starting to drool, my mouth is swimming with spit. I pull my cheeks apart and flex my asshole open and she carefully sticks it in and works it in and out in a slow but sure rhythm, grinding her dripping mons into my anus on every stroke as she expertly reaches around to frig me, and less than a minute later I'm coming and letting that held-in pee loose, all over her hand and the sinktops. "Wow!" she goes, still pressed against me, panting. "You always pee when you come?" "No, but I had to go really bad." "And it felt really good coming out, didn't it?" "Yeah. You into water sports, Ms. Sternum?" "Please, call me Gloria. I'm into every kinda sport you can think of and a few that probably never crossed your mind. But they will. We've gotta get together again, girl. Call me." "I will." We kiss again, hard, more of my blood leaking into her mouth, while we rub each other's asses like we were baboons in heat. I look at the puddle on the countertop with embarrassment. "Don't worry about all the piss," she says, warmly rubbing my shoulder. Then she gets on the countertop and sits in it, working her ass around in the liquid. "I'll just suck it up with pussy power." We giggle conspiratorially. I dry myself with paper towels, get dressed, and when we go back into the office, Stef is looking at me like she wants to catch me in a revolving door. Sternum, wrapped tight in her robe, has this wry mocking smile on her face that I'm sure is making Stef feel like she's been cuckolded by a chick with one hell of a cuck. We say our goodbyes, mine warm, Stef's cold, and Stef won't walk near me out of the building and she won't talk to me for the next ten minutes in the Jimmy. She just drives in silence, eyes on the road, looking grim. I keep my mouth shut, waiting for my tongue to stop bleeding. "So I get the impression you're not gonna sign with Sternum," I finally go. "What the fuck *did* you do in that bathroom with that woman?" she says accusingly. I pause and sigh. Shit, Stef sure is a pill lately. I'll ignore her, she'll snap out of it. "She banged my ass with her chumba-wumba chubby while doing my clit like a finger-friggin' magician and I came like a nympho bitch in heat--while spraying steamy pee like I was marking my territory. Shit, I *was* marking my territory. I’m gonna see her again for sure, Stef. Fuck me with a house, what an orgasm! I wish I had some Af-Gro Sheen up there. Wasn't even stoned. Like, I was doing *coffee*." "That's great," Stef says through clenched teeth. "I'm trying to negotiate a deal and my best friend is playing kiddie pool in a toilet stall." "Actually, I peed all over the sinks," I go, intent on retaining my good mood. "And if you don't like Sternum, that's *your* business. I think she's the hottest senior citizen I've ever laid eyes on. And I intent to lay a lot more on her than my eyes." "Even if I don't sign with her?" "What does your signing with her have to do with me making her?" "Nothing," Stef shrugs. "I guess I'll just have to get used to the fact that we're over." "We're not over, Stef. Even when Sara comes back, we're not over unless you want us to be. I'm not throwing you out of bed, Stef, I'm here for you no matter--" At that moment the Dodge Caravan ahead of us pulls sharply into a driveway and four Sock Her Moms pour out and attack a group of teen girls carrying Tower Records bags, like they just came from the mall. Stef pulls over and gets out of the Jimmy without saying a word. The Sock Her Moms forcibly go through the girls' bags, and when they find a Christina Aguilera disc, all hell breaks loose. "I *knew* they'd buy that 18-year-old no-talent *cunt*," shrieks a 6-1, 230-pound or so, 45- ish, deep-tanned, Hispanic kind of Mom in a Zebra stripe Danskin top and pink vinyl thigh-high stiletto-heeled boots with matching bikini bottoms. Pretty ballsy streetwear, but it looks great on her.The pack of teens is already starting to run in terror, leaving their bags behind, but the Moms move fast and sure despite their fetish footwear. They tear into the girls like Furies, and Stef wades right in to save them, leaving me no choice but to join her. I kind of like the Moms. I mean, I don't like the fact that they're beating the living shit out of all these young girls, but I like their look and their style. I like the fact that they got their shit together in middle age and 'trophed up something wicked. So it's with some regret that I grab a chunky, big-busted bulldog of a Mom, must go about 5-8, 180, and break her jaw with a right cross that could shatter a cinder block. I didn't really mean to hit her that hard, but there's another Mom coming up behind me, a bigger one, and I got, like, an adrenaline rush from this peripheral vision. I lock horns with the bigger one, overpower her without too much difficulty and try out this move on her that they use in the RWF a lot. It's called a Neckbreaker, and it involves falling on my back while gripping her in a sort of back-to - back headlock. We're on a patch of grass, someone’s little front lawn, so it's cool to hit the ground hard, though maybe not for her, since she lands on her head and is totally dazed, probably has a severe concussion. At least I didn't break her neck, which is more than I can say for Stef. To my dismay, as I spring to my feet after the Neckbreaker, she's standing there holding the limp body of the big momma in the pink boots. The poor woman appears to be dead, her big tits not heaving at all under the tight Zebra top, her fat tongue sticking out, her open eyes glazed and her head hanging funny just like Dennis' was, I guess, after Stef twisted his chin around to between his shoulder blades. "You broke her neck?!" I go. "I snapped it clean," Stef says quietly as all the mall girls run away as fast as their skinny legs can carry them and the one still-conscious Mom scrambles back into the Caravan and locks the doors behind her. "These fucking Sock Her Moms have got to be stopped. They're out of control." "So are you, Stef. What the hell'd you kill her for? We better get outta here right now before the cops show up." Stef nods, drops the body, we get back into the Jimmy and speed away. Various passers-by saw the whole thing and can probably identify us. We sort of stand out in a lineup. I call Evelyn Roper on the cell phone and tell her what happened to see if she can get the Roids to keep the cops away from us. She tells me it's not a problem and asks if I'd like to swing by for a massage, but I regretfully decline. I wanna stay with Stef now, she's having a rough time, and she doesn't wanna see Ev. So we go home, go to the gym and work out all our aggressions in a killer arms/chest session that attracts a crowd of spectators. No one else can lift when we hit the room, they either have to watch or leave, it's, like, too intense. Speaking of too intense: Later on, we're sprawled on the couch drinking Stoli and passing a joint, and Stef pops in the CNN tape Sternum gave us. "Let's see what's really up with these crazy fucking menopausal bitches," she laughs, feeling better now that she's all pumped up, her arms bloated with inch-thick blue veins that I can’t stop running my fingers over. Two minutes into the story, there's the big cute Mom Stef wasted, expounding on the necessity of "destroying the new generation of weak, whimpering Barbie clones." It's fucking Millie "Minivan" Montoya. I really don't need to see Ev today. I'm ready to shit my pants right now.