Apache Dance by GJ Dear readers: This is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance of characters ,places or situations is merely coincidental. I would appreciate feedback. You can do so in the writers bulletin board section of the website. Thanks GJ Apache Dance "Apache" is indeed a Parisian term. Pronounced "ah-PAHSH" (French) rather than "A-PATCH-ee" (American), it refers to the "Bohemian" of the early 20th century, particularly the 'teens (1910-1920). Indeed, the beatnick of his time, the apache was usually lower class, often a pimp. The dance is a pantomime of the pimp accosting "his" prostitute and demanding her earnings. She refuses, and he beats her - slaps her - throws her around - drags her by her hair -- whirls her in a circle and dumps her in a heap in the corner. She crawls back to him, begging his forgiveness, professing her "love." Here I was visiting Montreal, Canada. I had gone to a nightclub featuring the Apache dance format. I was promised by the taxi cab driver who, took me there, that I would be in for the most unusual experience of my life. Ok, dear reader, you must know that I am turned on by tall, muscular women, who can beat the living shit out of any man. I wonder what was in store for me tonight. As I entered downstairs, in the smoky, dim lit club, located in Old Montreal, near the harbor, I was ushered to a front table by a tall, very muscular woman. She stood about 6' tall, had 19" biceps, weighed about 185 lbs and had huge muscular pecs and glutes. She caught me looking at her, drooling as it were. Did she know, dear reader, that I was drooling someplace else? Of course you did, for you would be as well. I tipped her $5 and she seated me . She made a muscle, and said in French, "Embrassez mes muscles." Fortunately I spoke French, and complied with her wishes. Feeling her biceps, I felt my cum explode in my jockey shorts. They were like steel, very vascular, and as I bent to lick them, they tasted of sweat... the saltiness turning me on even more. Switching to English, she gave me her phone number with a wink, saying, " Come up and see me if you are able, mon cheri." With a chuckle she was gone. I watched her glutes tighten as she moved back to the door of the establishment. I imagined my face buried in between, sniffing, tasting, eating. I ordered a Pernot, a typical French drink. As I sipped it, the lights came on ,floodlights really, spotlighting a small stage. The stage contained a dim streetlight, and a faux building or two. Soon two dancers emerged from behind the curtain. One was a tall man, wearing a beret. He was tall, rather oily looking, and in need of a shave. His five o'clock shadow, looked way past 10 o'clock to me. His partner was shorter, very muscular woman in fishnet stockings, a leather skirt and a leather bustier. She was compact, very muscular ( of course), sporting at least 20" arms, 30" quads straining the leather material, calves straining to rip those sexy black nylons to bits with 19" power. Her face reminded me of a famous female French Canadian bodybuilder with a French sounding name. So this guy, named Pierre( now you knew that was coming right?), came over to Monique ( ditto), the girl with all the muscles and slapped her hard across the face. Then he began to berate her, calling her a chien, a worthless piece of shit, for holding out on his take. She was a no good whore, who was about to get the beating of her life. Then he punched her in the stomach. I t was a big mistake. She tensed her abs and his hand got busted. It hung down from his side uselessly, as he wailed and cursed. Monique lifted him up, all the way up with one hand and drove her mallet fist into his gut. The reaction was instantaneous. He began to gag and throw up the light dinner he had consumed, before the show. The she gutted him again ten times in succession. Finally she let him drop and she moved away as a red stream exploded out of his mouth(No it wasn't the cheap wine he had been drinking either). Monique grabbed him by his black t shirt and lifted him a bit, after the river of red has subsided. Looking into his unconscious face she dropped him and stood over him. Then she lowered herself on his face. The smell of her womanhood and ripe ass brought him around. When he was awake she pulled him out, saying, "Now who is the bitch, you merde." She raised her powerful leg, and flexed it for the audience. It was so big that the fishnet was rendered useless and it ripped easily. That did it for me and a few others. I could see the glazed look in their eyes. I shot my load with a powerful burst and squirmed in my seat to watch what else would unfold. This French Amazon, now hell-bent, kicked him perfectly in the jaw. We all saw it connect, we heard the bone snap, and we saw Pierre's mandible split down the middle. He was spitting out teeth like they were tennis balls spewed from one of those machines. He passed out again, this time making a real mess, adding to the contents of his stomach, on the cold tile floor. Monique not satisfied yet, held her victim up for all to see, explaining that she needed to use her fists on him a bit. I sat up and waited. Holding him like a rag doll, she lifted him and hung him up to the streetlight, by the scarf that hung around his neck. Then she began to hammer away with powerful lefts and rights, alternating like she was hitting a speed bag. Soon she was covered in his gore, as was the audience. I was splashed with something that came out of his destroyed nose. It was full of mucus and bone. After about five minutes she stopped and flexed for the audience. It was then that I came again. The crowd went wild, stomping their feet, cheering, in complete muscle lust for this powerful femme fatal. After she made her bis, quads, pecs and calves jump, she stopped and turned to the broken bag of bones hanging by the light, much like a broken rag doll. Lifting him up again, like he was a feather, Monique placed his ruined face on her huge right bicep. Then she smile at the audience and began to flex. Up and down...down and up.....compacting, compressing, ruining, destroying, reconstructing. With one last mighty flex we all heard a pop and poor Pierre's face exploded, like it had been hit with a high caliber bullet. Now we all were covered in gore, as Monique pressed her plaything overhead and then smashed his back on her waiting, peaked, quad. Pierre literally broke in half, as Monique threw the pieces to the audience. I was stunned with what I had just seen. This place was.....incroyable. Just then, Monique came over to me and lifted me from my seat. She checked out my package and began to play with it using her huge hand. Soon I was hard again as Monique jerked me off, for all to see. Then she took me in her arms and walked off the stage. As she did, she whispered something to me. I was in a swoon and asked for her to repeat what she had just said. Monique spoke again, this time a bit louder." I am going to fuck you silly and debase you until you beg for me to knock you out. I can do it with fist, leg, bicep, calf, glutes, even with a look. Come Pierre, the night is gone it is a new day. We have much to do." Okay, there are worse ways to spend time. Wait, now wait. Dear reader, did I hear right. Did she just call me Pierre? Oh my God. I was to be her next "pimp" in tonight's show...... And I was, and I was broken in so many pieces even all the King's men could not put me back together.