DON'T RESCUE ME, PART 7: Glutton for Punishment

By Elrohir, Elrohir57@gmail.com


Resistance is futile... or is it?

Part 7

He finished up early for once and drove home, hoping to find that the new
reality of his life would be better, all things considered, than it had been.
As he turned into the cul-de-sac however, to his chagrin he saw the same
vehicle he'd seen the other day coming out of his driveway. He stopped to let
the car pass, but instead it stopped next to him, and the driver rolled down
the window. He looked over and saw that it was Lance, the personal trainer
from Debra's gym. Lance had a large puffy red area around his left eye that
almost certainly meant it would swell shut and turn into a shiner in the next
few hours. His other eye was red too, but that seemed to be from crying. There
also were spots of dried blood below his nose, a large, purplish-red hickey on
his neck, and he had a fat lip on the lower right side of his mouth. Stanley
rolled down his window and tried to politely say, "Can I help you?" Lance,
however, did not seem to notice.

"THAT BITCH IS FUCKING CRAZY!" he cried, as tears began to flow again. "YOU
CAN HAVE HER, MAN! I AM SO OUTA HERE! YOU TELL HER I'M NOT COMING BACK..." and
with that he gunned his car and drove off, tires screeching as the wheels
spun. Stanley watched in the mirror as Lance roared out of sight. His heart
sank into his stomach as he thought about how she had fucked Lance AGAIN. It
was clear that last night had meant more to him than her, and though it was
clear Lance was gone, it sickened him to think that Debra would probably find
another toy to play with, or fuck the shit out of, whenever she wanted.

Stanley parked in the driveway and found the front door to the house ajar. He
again saw Debra's gym bag in the entrance hall, so he set his briefcase down
beside it and walked into the living room to find her sitting at the bottom of
the stairs in her usual yellow high-cut gym shorts and a white sports bra
which barely contained her huge boobs. She had a small scratch across the
bridge of her nose and several thumb and finger-sized bruises on her neck,
both shoulders, forearms, and in the crook of each elbow. There was a large
bloodstain in the center of the sports bra just below her cleavage, but she
wasn't bleeding anywhere, so it must have been Lance's blood.

"I ran into Lance on his way out. He said to tell you he's not coming back,"
said Stanley evenly, trying to sound nonchalant, like he'd just said the
postman had left a letter for her.

"Hmph!" she scoffed. "I'm not surprised, the wimp. He wanted everything his
way, but you know I wasn't having that. He screamed and cried like a baby when
I held him down to fuck him, even tried to fight me off. That part was GREAT
at first, but then he got really scared and a little banged up, and wouldn't
play anymore. His little Willy just shrank right up. I did get some good nose
play, but I was a little distracted when I came, and he weaseled out from
under me and ran for the door. Dang, he was fast! I caught him, though, and
made him wish he hadn't run, but by then he was worse than useless to me,
anyway, so I let him go."

She stood up and walked over to Stanley saying, "Lucky for you I'm still
horny." She grinned, grabbed his necktie, and pulled him to her, kissing him
roughly and deeply. She began undressing him even before the kiss was done,
dropping his pants and underwear. She broke off the kiss and removed his tie,
unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his back. She pulled him forward so he
had to step out of the pile of clothes and stand before her clad only in
socks.

"Lance sure isn't at all like you." She smiled, putting her hand in the small
of his back and forcing him into her. She kissed him lightly on the lips, then
put her lips to his ear and whispered, "I could rip your arm off and you'd
still be hard for me, wouldn't you?" She gently nibbled on his ear. "Wanna
find out?" she taunted, reaching down and fondling the straining bulge she
knew would be there in his pants. "Want me to rip your arm off?"

In his now even more subservient role in their relationship, his new default
reaction was to say "Whatever you wish, Mistress Debra," but for some reason
he thought better of it this time. Despite the fire in her eye, her wounds
from the recent battle with Lance, the pulsing of blood in her neck, and her
subconscious flexing of the impressive muscles in her arms, something inspired
him to say, "You'll have to fight me first."

"Haw!" she guffawed into his ear. "Is that so? You really want to take me
on?".

"Yeah, sure," he said with false bravado. "I've learned a few things," he
lied.

She stepped back from him and said, "Oh? From whom?"

"From you!" he laughed, convincingly he hoped.

"Ha! I've taught you more than one lesson in the last few weeks, I suppose....
Very well, then." Since the living room had the thickest carpet, she pushed
the couch, recliner chair, coffee and end tables out to the edges of the room
and returned to the middle, bending into a sort of wrestler's crouch. He did
the same, and they circled each other for a few seconds, each grabbing at the
other but having his or her hand slapped away. His grabs, however, were mere
feints because he was afraid what she might do if she actually got hold of one
of his hands.

At one point, just by coincidence, they both advanced toward each other and
locked arms. She straightened up and moved against him to try to throw him off
balance. She seemed to tower over him, which gave him an idea. She still had
to bend forward a little to meet him, so he suddenly fell backwards, pulling
her off balance. As they went down he planted a foot in her midsection and
launched her head-over-heels over and behind him. She rotated in the air and
she cursed herself for not realizing that, in spite of his ineptitude, the
stupid manchild might actually get lucky. She expertly slapped the floor with
both hands as she landed on her back to lessen the impact, steeling herself
against having the wind knocked out of her. With lightning speed she rolled to
her front and sprang to her feet quicker than he did, with murder in her eyes.

He was still getting up when she caught him from behind, pushed him down on
his face, and pounced on him, placing him in a classic Boston Crab. He cried
out in agony as he felt his back about to break. Stanley continued to scream,
but did not submit until she was almost to the point of doing serious injury
to his spine. He would be of no use to her crippled, she thought, so she was
forced to let up a tiny bit and just hold him in that position in agony until
he passed out.

After he came to, the next hour was all one-sided, with Debra tossing Stanley
around at will. She placed him in numerous painful holds and strained his
joints to the tearing point, making him tap repeatedly before she would
finally let him submit. Still, he did not give up, fighting to his feet after
each submission and coming back at her, only to be painfully subdued in yet
another way. Being in constant pain became rather numbing to him, and
eventually he became able to endure quite a bit of agony without submitting,
although the volumes of his screams did not decrease.

Each new time she defeated him, she was forced to increase the pressure more
than the time before, again to a point where she either had to ease up or risk
damaging him. She could hold him bent up like a pretzel forever if she wanted.
But though she could make him cry and scream, she could not make him submit
without breaking or tearing something, so eventually she would simply get
bored with a particular hold and have to let him go. As soon as she did,
though, he would do his best to recover and again clumsily attack her, making
her destroy him yet again. He struggled as hard as he could against every one
of the holds, forcing her to put extra energy into keeping him immobilized.

After an hour she was actually becoming tired, and saw an opportunity for a
respite when she was able to take him down on his back and lie face down on
top of him, putting him in a grapevine hold, and holding his hands down to the
floor by his head. She spread his legs into a painful split making him scream
a high pitched, unmanly scream, but this time he didn't even try to struggle
or even squirm from the pain because he was too weak and exhausted. Satisfied
he wasn't going anywhere, she let up a bit and just held him there for a
minute while she rested, her eyes staring hotly into his. She was actually a
little winded, but by comparison he was beyond exhausted; he was completely
destroyed.

Every one of Stanley's joints and muscles screamed from being forcibly
manipulated, stretched and strained beyond their limits by her
expertly-applied holds. Throws had jarred him, impacts had beaten and bruised
him. By this time Stanley could barely move much less resist, but he met her
gaze and tried to stare back at her impassively. He was only partly
successful: fear that she would get tired of toying and decide to finish him
made him blink and flinch whenever she made even the slightest movement.

She got off him and stood up, staring down at him. He laid there motionless,
and when she finally broke eye contact he collapsed internally with relief.
His eyes became glassy and unfocused, fading to a dead stare. His ragged
breathing was the only proof to her that he was still alive. She again looked
down into his bleary eyes. It had been a clearly lopsided battle, his lack of
skill allowing her to toss him around and hurt him as much as she wanted, but
his stamina and ability to take punishment had amazed her. After each of many
falls and submissions, he had gotten back up and challenged her yet again, and
she had destroyed him easily again and again. But by submitting and then
returning only to be punished by her over and over, he had managed to make her
work hard for a complete and utter victory. So hard, in fact, that she could
not remember being this mentally exhausted and physically tired in a while.

In some bizarre, passive way he had managed once again to give her a battle;
to challenge her enough to make complete land final victory difficult, thus
his resistance made it more satisfying. When they had begun fighting she
planned to complete his destruction by raping him in any of several ways, but
she sensed that at this point any sex, no matter how disgusting, degrading, or
painful, would reward him because he was so addicted to her. It gave him a
kind of power, somehow, and that confounded her.

"GET UP!" she commanded, but he simply lay there unmoving, as if he hadn't
heard. "I SAID, GET UP!" she shouted, kicking him in the ribs. His entire body
flinched and he cried out in pain, but he immediately fell back into a stupor.
"GET UP NOW, OR I'M GONNA REALLY HURT YOU!" she said, kicking him again. Again
he cried out. His head lifted slightly and he tried to look up at her, but
then collapsed back and he closed his eyes, nearly unconscious. He was beyond
dead. No amount of pain would make him move, because he simply COULDN'T move.

She could see it, but in anger she attacked several pain compliance pressure
points just because she didn't know what else to do. He screamed out in agony
each time, but he was too weak to move even to try to avoid the terrible pain.
Realizing she had destroyed him as much as she could without permanently
injuring him, she kicked him in the side one final time by way of saying good
night. She left him lying there and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom,
slamming the door and locking it behind her. "FUCK!" she bellowed in
frustration.

He laid there for several hours, drifting in and out of sleep, or
unconsciousness, or both. He finally awoke in the wee hours of the morning,
shivering from cold and shock. Slowly and painfully he rolled himself onto his
front and forced himself up on all fours. He slowly crawled over to the stairs
and dragged himself up step by step to the top. He stopped to rest several
times, dozing until again awakened by his own shivering. After resting again
at the top of the stairs, he grabbed the newel post and pulled himself to his
feet. He limped into the guest bathroom and filled the cup he used for tooth
brushing to the rim with water and slowly sipped it. He gasped when he saw
himself in the mirror: his hair was matted, one eye was black and almost
swollen shut, and there was dried blood below his nose and in the corners of
his mouth. His lower lip was swollen and his body sported numerous deep
bruises that his tanned skin could not conceal. He began to swoon from
standing too long and sat down on the toilet, peeing from the sitting
position. He sat there until his feet began to go to sleep, then fought his
way back to a standing position and made his way to the guest bedroom. He
crawled into the inadequate little double bed, falling asleep almost before
his head hit the pillow.

* * * * * * Debra awoke refreshed as the sun came up, her muscles singing with
power after the great workout and subsequent rest they'd received the night
before. She ate a light breakfast, then dressed in her most revealing gym
outfit, an even tighter version of her usual white sports bra and yellow high
cut running shorts. On the way out she looked into the guest bedroom and made
sure that Stanley was breathing. She smiled to herself as she admired her
handiwork: he looked like hell. She had messed him up pretty good, but she
relished the thought that she could've made it so much worse. If he made it
out of bed today, she told herself, it would be only because of her generous
nature and pragmatic restraint. Still, there was a nagging realization in the
back of her mind that with his willingness to subject himself to her torture
and ability to take it, he had actually made her work harder than she thought
she would have to in order to completely defeat him. She felt an inkling of
new respect.

At the gym Debra saw Lance, the big personal trainer with whom she'd had an
affair days earlier. He was showing a new pretty young thing how to use the
pec deck/flye machine, doing his best to impress her despite his black eye.
"You shoulda seen the other guy," he probably said. Debra caught his eye and
winked at him: his face flushed a bright red and he turned away, his
expression clearly one of embarrassment and more than a little bit of fear.
She chuckled at his discomfiture and then ignored him the rest of her time
there.

She did just a light workout routine owing to last night's heavy activity, but
even so her muscles expanded so much that a number of men and women watched
her surreptitiously, impressed with the amount of weight such a
feminine-looking woman could push around. When she reached the flye machine,
however, people openly stared as her huge breasts burst forth with every hard
rep, and she was surprised to see Lance among them. Her eyes met his and bored
into him, but this time he did not turn away. He was too mesmerized to be
afraid, riveted by her power and her dynamite figure, and she could see that
his appreciation was beginning to show itself in the front of his gym trunks.

When she finished and walked away, Lance followed her down the hallway toward
the locker rooms. "Debra!" he called, his voice trembling with lust. "Debra,
please!" he said again, catching up with her. With lightning speed she turned
and grabbed his Adam's apple, pushing him back against the wall.

"Leave me alone!" she hissed. "You had your chance and you blew it."

"Debra, pleeease..." he managed to croak past her chokehold. She leaned in and
lasciviously licked the side of his face, reaching down to his shorts with her
other hand to grasp the straining bulge there. He was choking under the
pressure on his throat, gasping for breath, and yet his eyes closed in ecstasy
at her rough caress of his man parts.

She gave his joystick a hard squeeze. He gasped. She squeezed again, working
the bulge up and down furiously. "COME!" she barked. She squeezed him again
and suddenly released his throat. "NOW!"

"UGH! UGH! UHHHHHHHHH!" whooshed out of his chest as he came hard in his
shorts. He deflated like a balloon as all of the air and cum left him
simultaneously. His legs buckled and he slid down the wall into a sitting
position. He stared up at her in awe as she stood above him, devastated by her
easy manhandling of him and the almost instantaneous climax she had forced on
him. Although he was bigger than she was, he looked so small there on the
floor as she towered over him. His eyes were filled with longing and he
unconsciously licked his lips with lust as he beheld the goddess above. He
seemed about to try to speak but she cut him off. "Stay there," she said
dismissively. "You could never have kept up with me, anyway." She turned and
walked off to the women's locker room to retrieve her gym bag, swiveling her
hips as she did, conscious that Lance's eyes were riveted to her backside. She
resolved to find another gym to join, one with at least one "real" man,
whatever that was.

When she returned to the house she checked on Stanley and found that he was
still sleeping. She quietly closed the door and went on about her day, dipping
in the pool and then practicing her karate katas on the patio in her skimpiest
bikini while the midday sun warmed and tanned her. As she finished and walked
toward the house to get a drink, she caught her reflection in the patio door:
She was going to be as HOT as ever at GenCon, she thought. Tanned and toned,
her voluptuous body glowed in the sun as her muscles rippled with her every
athletic movement. As revealing as her Princess Leia costume was, it covered
more than the bikini, so her tan was going to look PERFECT! They might even
win the costume contest this time... except she was not sure about Stanley's
appearance. She'd tried not to disfigure him at all, but he was bruised in so
many places, and toward the end she'd been forced to give him a fat lip when
one of his oafish attack moves almost succeeded. Her strike had hurt and
distracted him enough for her to take him down and easily put him in a figure
4 hold. She'd held him that way and worn him out by repeatedly choking him
almost unconscious and then easing up. When she'd finished with him he'd
barely had enough strength to tap out, and yet he'd dragged himself back to a
standing position to precipitate his own destruction. Damn! she thought,
something in him amazed and confounded her.

As dinnertime approached, Debra checked on Stanley again and found him still
in bed, although he seemed to be waking up because she could hear him groan
every now and then. She went to her master bathroom and got a glass of water
and one of the prescription Naproxen pills she sometimes took for menstrual
cramps, and took them to him. She was amazed to see that he looked a lot
better after almost 18 hours' sleep, but still groaned every time he moved at
all.

"Here" she said. He opened his eyes and looked at her briefly but then closed
them again. Annoyed, she grabbed his nose and pinched it shut, and when he
opened his mouth to gasp for air she shoved the pill into it. He gagged on it,
but swiftly she grabbed the hair on the top of his head and lifted, then
brought the glass to his lips for him to drink, which he did, thirstily, and
washed the pill down. "Good! Now, let's get you cleaned up."

Without waiting for any objections she grabbed Stanley's wrist and pulled him
into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Then, bending over, she easily
picked him up and threw him over her shoulder, holding him in place with a
hand on his buttocks. She couldn't help noticing what a tight, round, little
ass he had. It made her hot in spite of herself: It was so perfect she wanted
to just bite a hunk out of it! 'Ha!' she thought, 'Wouldn't THAT ruin his
appearance at GenCon!'

She became more aroused as she carried him down the hall to her master
bedroom's en- suite bath and deposited his naked body on the floor of their
big glass-enclosed shower. He just laid there as if dead, but when she turned
on the spray he cried, "AAAGH!" and shivered violently until the water warmed,
after which he actually seemed to wake up a little. There were two
showerheads, one on either side of the stall, so she aimed one at him and
stepped into the shower under the other one. She shampooed her hair and then
poured body wash onto a washcloth and scrubbed herself from face to feet. As
she washed her breasts the cloth stimulated her nipples, making them proud and
erect.

She looked down at Stanley and was surprised to see that his eyes were open
and watching her. When she was fully lathered up, she took the shampoo bottle
and squirted some gel onto his head; some of it splattered onto his forehead,
making him close his eyes. She raised her foot and used her toes to spread the
shampoo into his hair, massaging it all the way to the back of his head. Then
she dribbled body wash onto his face, chest, crotch, and both legs. Again she
used her foot, rubbing the gel around his face, neck, and chest, moving
downward. She lightly pinched his nipples between two toes, which made him
gasp and open his eyes only to wince and close them when stung by the shampoo.

He forgot all about that minor pain, though, when she moved her foot down his
body and massaged the bodywash gel into his pubic hair. His cock began to rise
in anticipation, and when she did touch the member itself with her toes it
became rock hard. She pinched it with two toes just a couple of inches below
the head, which made him moan uncontrollably. He looked so cute and helpless
lying there exhausted but nevertheless aroused. She felt exhilarated that she
could easily overcome his resistance, his humiliation, and even exhaustion to
make him aroused whenever she wanted, whether he wanted to be or not. She felt
like a Goddess who could do anything she wanted with this mere mortal. He was
now more than ever her slave, even if still an unwilling one. Upon reflection
she decided that might the best kind: It really was so much fun when he
struggled, and made her dominance that much sweeter.

"Hmph," she scoffed as she looked down at him, but smiling as she did so. "If
your cock can be up, so can you!" She reached down and grabbed the hair on top
of his head and pulled him up into a sitting position, then dragged him
forward onto his knees and walked him like that over to her side of the
shower. She widened her stance and pulled his face up into her pussy, grinding
on his nose while she felt the warm water cascade down her body. Stanley was
nearly drowning in the moments her sex wasn't smothering him. Still he managed
to put his thick tongue to work in hopes that she would come soon and release
him before he passed out. He probed and stroked the areas around her little
cockhead, causing it to swell. He was amazed at how much her clit seemed to
have grown since she began working out every day. He sucked it into his mouth
and stroked it lightly with his tongue. Debra gasped and trembled so hard her
legs shook, making her grasp his hair even tighter in order to steady herself.
"Oooooh, YES!" she breathed. He kept it up for a little while but then
released the little prisoner from his lips and began attacking it directly
with his tongue.

"OOOOOH! OOOOooooh..." she moaned, losing awareness of everything but the
pleasure pulsing through her loins. She continued furiously working his head
with her hands, grinding his face into her sex to help her maintain some sense
of control, but his expert tongue-strokes continued to be the epicenter of
concentric waves of electric stimulation spreading throughout her body.

She was unbelievably aroused by having her gorgeous once-proud husband again
kneeling before her, obediently lapping at her like the beaten cur he had
become. The she-wolf inside her screamed 'OH MY GOD THIS FEELS SO DAMN GOOD!
DON'T LET IT END! KEEP HIM DOWN THERE AT LEAST UNTIL HE PASSES OUT...' and she
continued to do just that. Until suddenly he began gagging, sputtering, and
gasping as he was alternately drowned and asphyxiated. He twisted his head
back and forth, his thrashing panic spasm stimulating her clit like never
before, driving her over the edge into a firestorm of orgasmic contractions.
"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!" she bellowed, a loud guttural roar that sounded every bit
like a man's beastly growl when he comes. Her thighs clenched powerfully
around Stanley's face, her body instinctively wringing every last bit of
stimulation from the hapless source of her pleasure.

When she came back to herself, she noticed that Stanley was no longer
struggling but his face was still buried in her crotch. She pulled his head
away from her and discovered he was out cold. She gently laid him down on the
floor of the shower stall, washed him from head to toe, and then rinsed him
off under the warm spray. She toweled him dry and then, in an impressive show
of strength, cradled him up like a baby, carried him over to her bed, and put
him under the covers. A few hours later she came to bed herself and slipped in
beside him. She couldn't resist giving that gorgeous tight ass a hard pinch,
which made him cry out, but in his exhaustion he only awakened briefly and
then immediately went back to sleep.