The Worm Turns: Chapter 3 The Break Down By Richard Gross Constructive comments welcomed: rgross@juno.com The squeeze begins and she drives him to a place of enormous coiled horror. Update: 24/01/1998 to gross Copyright 1991 by Richard Gross As she locked her ankles, straightened her legs again and began her slow squeeze, disbelief assaulted him in stages. How could he be here...like this? He tried, briefly, to think back to the steps that lead to his entrapment. But, the mounting pressure at the sides of his head made clear thinking impossible. Still, in his stupefaction, he kept trying to go back over it in his mind. Like a dumbstruck beast mired in quicksand looking back at its prints, he vainly sought a way out the way he came in. Then the pressure wrested his attention from the past, and disbelief that the present was bound up in HER legs intruded on his muddled consciousness. Her! Her! It can't be! Sweet Jesus, anyone but her, Christ no! He wouldn't have her; she would have him! God, don't let anyone find out... Another moment and that was the least of his worries. The thought hurtled away from him down the narrowing corridor of his rationality as her quads became granite and he wallowed in new depths of consternation. Under his fingers her thighs had swelled ominously from latent power to a full blossoming of their potential. Their erotic hardness had hinted at unimagined bliss, unsuspected torture. Now they became harder than he thought any living tissue could. He felt the four muscles of the quadriceps separate, become distinctly individual. His fingers fumbled into the deep striations that cut paths from above her knees in slanting courses up and outward toward the sides of her thighs. These were living muscle, moving slowly, inexorably...writhing and growing under the smooth skin until they engulfed his entire head. His eyes, distorted by the changing shape of his skull, went shut, as did his ears, now plugged with flesh that blocked them from outside sound. Alone in his silent darkness, he might have been content to remain there were it not for the unbelievable pressure that urged him back to protest. He had no sense whatever of the rest of his body. He could not remember anything below his head; it had become the center of his universe. So, resistance was beyond possibility, and escape an obscure idea that had no meaning at all. But, protest did come. It came on its own. The groan that welled up out of him would have sounded lost and resigned had he heard it from the outside, had it entered his ears in the usual way. But, now it came to him from within, blocked as it was from normal access. Trapped there in his skull it was loud, harsh, desperate. She had heard it too. The muffled cry from below her crotch confirmed her body's memory. It was a memory hungrily acquired earlier. A memory imprinted in muscles that now relaxed in certain knowledge of their prey's breaking point and the insignificant exertion it had cost them. She stopped a millisecond short of his capitulation, admiring her own perfect timing. Suddenly, he found himself lying on top of her again, her legs imprisoning his arms against his chest, his head cradled in her hands. She smiled up at him sweetly, and humiliation engulfed him as surely and completely as she had moments ago. "Hi," she said. "How you doin'?" He didn't begin to know how to answer. His slowly clearing head offered him stalling time from her questions...for the moment. She gave him time to collect himself. Waiting for comprehension to return to his eyes, she continued to smile benevolently. "Poor baby," she cooed, "you look terrible. Having a bad night? Well now, here's a marvy idea. You could submit to me right now and end all this unpleasantness. Of course, that would mean OBEYing me." That word again. She giggled, pausing to let it sink in. It had the predictable effect. "Never!" flubbed out of his mouth before he had a chance to grab it. For the moment, past pain counted for less than present humiliation. But, it stunned him. "Never!" had gotten past his mouth, and he heard the word propel away from him, out of reach of recanting. "Oh goodie!" She feigned her most childlike delight. "I was so afraid your ego might have been overwhelmed by good sense or some other unnatural disaster. Silly me." Then, suddenly caught up by a warm wriggling in her gut -- a something coming awake in there again -- tenderly caressing his head, sucking in her breath through tight jaws, "Oh thank you, my sweet, thank you! God, I am going to love this." He tried to get out a "wait...wait a minute," but she was smothering it away with a voluptuous kiss that left him breathless. He was still tasting it as she thrilled, "I get to use my inner thighs this time." Her enthusiasm was almost contagious. "Wha...what do you mean? What were you using before?" "Oh, those were just my quads. You know, the tops of my thighs. Don't worry, Dear, I'll still use those, but in combination with the inners, they're something else." "But..." "You've got to experience them to believe them; trust me." She laughed, "To know them is to love them." He was travelling down her torso again. So soon...not ready. "Wait..." She had him by the head again, back between her thighs. "Wait..." They were swelling around him again. "Bye," she smiled happily down to him. And he was swallowed up. The squeeze progressed much more rapidly this time. No more dicking around, he thought in the black silence, she's getting right down to it. The pressure quickly grew close to the point where he couldn't bear it...almost, almost. Shit, if only she'd hold it right here maybe I could take it. Desperately holding back the groan. She did. She held it right there. Engulfing, crushing, numbing, unbearable...almost. She held it right there. Any minute, he knew, she would ratchet it up that one extra notch that would send him begging past all control. Any moment. He waited. She held him there; he sought comfort in the altered state of his familiar darkness. He concentrated on shrinking his brain away from the hideous pressure at his skull. It worked. His head went numb as he withdrew within it. "Ha! I'm ok here, I'm ok. He waited... He waited.... He waited..... So did she. He knew that somewhere outside him time was passing. Somewhere outside his head, somewhere in the light. He knew that she was out there and she had him, was smiling down at him, enjoying herself and her freedom, and exerting so much...how much, he wondered...of the pressure she was capable of. He was still waiting moments, hours, eons later when the vision came to him, bore down on him where he couldn't escape it, a dark angel come even here to this hell to torment him. He saw it: A vast snake. A dark word, "Anaconda," crept up from some primeval childhood memory lost to him now. There was something in its coils, struggling weakly. He couldn't see what it was, but he could see the coils: dark green amoeba blotches bulging and contracting with the sensuous undulation of the greenish grey muscularity beneath. The nightmare snake sprawled in the backwash muck of some river lost to all grace. It lay there, a part of, an emanation of the rotting, sucking filth it dragged its prey into. The pathetic thing lost within its massive coils got off another ineffectual wriggle, and the vision closed in to reveal this victim. A young forest pig, its light coat of bristle barely covering the pink and brown spotted skin underneath, had it been visible. But, it was totally wrapped up, engulfed in a serpentine body twice the thickness a large man. Even without encirclement, the weight alone of such a body would have kept its prey pinned under the mud and choking on the stench of the swamp womb it was returning to. But not this time. It was as if the inscrutable reptile brain had determined that there was no reason to hurry. After all, the pig, almost full grown and weighing perhaps two hundred pounds, could not escape; the few coils needed to subdue it were so thick as to remove it bodily from all contact with the earth. Its legs, had they been free to, could have found no purchase for their struggle. But, they were not free. All that could be seen of them were useless hooves barely protruding between tight coils. The pig was suspended off the ground, helpless, belly up, only its snout moving now. Why hurry? Closer up, the vision reveals barely perceptible movement. A subtle shifting of the coils and the pig is maneuvered effortlessly into an upright position. Now, the master, the brains of this lethal entanglement, the ancient head itself, an elongated triangulation fully twice the size of a man's thigh, eases close to the snuffling snout. And there it waits, watching, willing only enough pressure to hold its meal immobile...no more. The pig breathes with great difficulty, its lungs barely able to push out against the wall of sinew surrounding it. A wall alive with ready muscles that send slow, lazy ripples over an immense body of shifting light. The pig's head, all that remains visible now outside the living prison -- and that too is wedged tightly within a single coil that braces the back of the head against the opposing pressure under the chin -- is groggily aware of the monstrous head before it. Its reddening little pig eyes study the features of death that stares back with cold restrained fire. Its snout twists, writhes, itself like a snake, to search out the scent of waiting doom. Between parted lips, the slightest hint of tiny white teeth bared as air is sucked through jaws pressured shut. The only sound the faint spatter of air filtering through the drool of lips soon to close forever. In the dismal light, time has filtered away. Nothing moves, nothing changes, there is no sound except the faint breathing of a trapped beast cradled in overwhelming destruction. A pearly light fades the color, the life from everything in the stifling heat. The anaconda rests, secure in the surety of its next meal, savoring the prospect of eating. It dreams of eating, eating and the wondrous exultant squeeze that precedes it. There is no hurry. It is only now beginning to hunger. It will eat when it wants to... perhaps today, perhaps next week. It doesn't matter. The meal is here. It will keep until needed. They lie there, one with the swamp...still...quiet...dreaming... breathing... breathing... breathing... His mind lolled within its skull, turning over and over in bovine stupidity. Suddenly he bolted. His body jerked rigid escaping the horrendous mute dream. The vision had faded, and in that instant, blind again in his darkness, he knew that she was playing with him, cat and mousing him to death. She was hungry, but she could wait, bide her time there in the soft candlelit darkness, there amid the pillows and feathers, there in the suffocating softness. Drowning in primal stench, he had gasped toward the light and forced open his eyes. She was still there watching him with restrained fire in her eyes. Looking up the glistening torso, he saw her mouth move, form words. He strained to hear. Her voice came to him as from a great distance through hopelessly blocked ears. "You mustn't fight me. I'll have to hurt you. I'll have to hurt you." She was hurting him. Hadn't moved, hadn't increased the pressure even minutely in the hours, days he'd been gone. But, he was back and she was hurting him. He let his eyes close again. He detached and left the pain behind, shuddering at what awaited him below. They were there breathing still. How long had they been there? Days? A week? But there was hunger now; he could feel that much. In the sharpening clarity he could see a movement, the slightest flicker, but a movement he was sure. From the snake's unmoving mouth slowly, tentatively issued a moist, sinuous tongue. It easily found its way the foot or so to the pig snout, which, having long ago given up its explorations, was now content to simply suck air. The tongue explored the exposed, helpless head, now flicking at nostrils and eye lashes, now lightly stroking cheeks and teeth, now withdrawing as if carrying its findings back to its source, now flicking again, searching out the secrets hidden in ears and under lips. The pig, eyes wide in new terror, tries with desperate strength to move its head, hide in the coils. But, the muscular vice that has trapped it allows for no movement. Again, the tongue strokes out, flicks at the tender snout end. The snout wriggles away from the atrocious horror. The tongue follows relentlessly and finds its way to a nostril. The snout suddenly quiet, quivers. Sensing the right time, the tongue carefully, lightly finds its way up the nostril and into the exquisitely sensitive nasal passage. A mindless panic fills the red pig eyes and a sharp squeal cuts the silence of the swamp. Again a futile effort to withdraw. This time there is the slightest, faintest tightening of muscle around the pig, the slightest bulging of red eyes pressured from within. Another squeal, now breathy, merely a whimper. The tongue withdraws from the nostril and confidently slides up the other. Another squeal. A further casual adjustment of the coils and the eyes nearly explode from their sockets. Pink tip of pig tongue appears at end of snout, forced through front teeth by forces beyond its control. The squeal rises to a frantic pitch that seems to shatter the jungle, then trails off as the head gives itself over to the inevitable. Another coil from the endless treasury soundlessly slips over the pig's head, covering the bulging eyes as it encloses the snout and jaw, drawing them tightly together. A sound almost human in its pathos makes its way out from within the confusion of snake tangles as the protruding pig tongue is cut by the sharp teeth it is thrust through. All that remains visible of the pig, now sunk in its own darkness, is snout tip with a trace of blood where once a tongue had squeezed through. He tried to banish the obscene vision from his mind. But, he could not shake away the long drawn out sound of crying -- he'd have sworn the thing in the coils was human the way it wept in final desperation -- or what he was sure was the hint of a smile at the corners of the serpent mouth. What he was unsure of was whether to remain in his swamp below or face its like in the nightmare above. He sank once again away from the reality pressing in on him from above. He did not even try to avoid the images drawing him back within this time. And, piglike, he gave himself over to the inevitable. It was waiting for him. The piteous crying sound of the lost guided him to the place. There the snake had begun to slowly roll its prey over on its back again, the pig snout almost vanishing like the stern of some frail craft drawn beneath the waves of an unfathomable sea. Again the searching snake tongue finds its way into one nostril then the other as if searching out the last source of air to the poor lungs inside. The shallow hiss of air sucked through each free nostril in turn betrays that last source, leaves it open and ready. Withdrawing its tongue, it shifts the animal within its coils again until, now upside down, the snout hangs just above the ooze. The short weak breaths issuing through it blow little depressions into the fetid muck below. There was cruelty here such as he had never imagined except in himself. He had slunk through his life with a disregard for the physical and psychic pain of others. It had never touched him since he had first blocked out his own. "Serves them right!" he had rationalized. But this, this worm paced calculated torture from a beast never known for anything but quick and efficient death was too much. He thought about going elsewhere, but remained transfixed, breathlessly hypnotized like the proverbial bird waiting to see what the serpent will do next. It did nothing for awhile, nothing but watch, hypnotized itself, perhaps, by the little depressions faintly forming in the slime. Hugging a hug of love and lust around the impetus for its own life, knowing its own power, revelling in the knowledge of what it could do at will. But now hunger begins gnawing in those secret places which order the gigantic muscles, urge them to action, contract them into an orgasmic spasm of life giving death. The hunger becomes insistent, yet the great body waits on another imperative...stronger. The cold fire in the eyes turns hot, and the obedient body dips the snout beneath the sucking ooze. For all the hundreds of pounds of flesh embracing the pig it is able to wrench out one final protest. The coils tighten slightly; bubbles instead of squeals push up from the filth. Another shift and the strangling body relaxes, lifts its load free of the mud. Then, dips it again and once again. Above the surface, the snout coughs up river water from lungs nearly spent. It is enough. Hunger now asserts itself over lust, and the snout is submerged for the last time. On the great body, what had rippled lazily, effortlessly before now takes on definition, stands out in awesome relief as the massive coils tighten about a poor pig thing inside, upside down and straining into its lungs the last breath of worldly filth allowed it. "Filth! Filth! You outrageous pile of filth! You, you...crawling FILTH! Let him go! Damn you to hell, let him go!" Insane need sweeps him up in a great wave and bears him toward the serpent, dropping him there beside that immovable embrace. In his brain, there is a quick flash of St. George hacking to pieces the serpentine dragon before him, fire burning through triumphant eyes. But, he has no sword, no weapon save his wild rage. He throws his arms over the nearest coil, barely able to grab half its swelling girth. He pulls, tugs against the tightening horror, screaming, clawing, pounding against the living marble. Moves nothing. Loosens nothing. Changes nothing. As impotent against this entangling strangulation as Laocoon's frantic struggle to save his sons, his arms stretch wide to encompass, understand the encircling doom. It is hopeless. "I told you I'd have to hurt you, didn't I." The voice threaded its way from some upper region of the thick atmosphere through the jungle of clutching death and into his consciousness. "Didn't I?" There was a sudden, demanding pulse of pressure to his head that popped his eyes open. Her eyes gleamed down at him in the growing darkness. "I did warn you, and you did ignore me, sweetie." His arms and hands still clutched at the swollen flesh that engulfed his head. The pulse did not abate, became instead a new, harder pressure growing out of the iron that already gripped the sides of his head. "You just had to pull and tear at my legs, didn't you? And such screaming, such language. But, that's ok, I knew you would. Couldn't help yourself, poor dear." Two bands of muscle splayed themselves across the sides of his head, crushing inward from the unyielding thighs. A new, sharper, more concentrated pressure than before. "My inner thighs. Like I said, you got to feel them to believe them." He yelled in pain and wordless rage, straining his body in vain contortions to escape. Everything moved...but his head. His head belonged to her inner thighs, was a part of them now. She waited, her legs scissored forward and inward, her blood pumping muscles with new life and wondrous energy, and a tiny something squirmed in her vagina, pushed to get out. Then the yelling became sobs. She knew it was time to stop, yet she held the pressure another moment...and another. It was so hard to let it go. Another moment of euphoric squeeze and she eased up, brought him up before her again, and waited until he calmed down for their next talk. One look at his crazed eyes and she knew there wouldn't be much of that. Blood rushing back to his head free of restraint brought with it close memories. As he looked down at his tormentress, he heard from deep within him the fading cries of the lost and the sinuous slitherings of something monstrous, still hungry. "Filth! You filth! God how I hate you, you filthy bitch!" She beamed a smile up at him to match his savagery. "Yes, yes, that's right! You hate me. You loathe every bone in my body. Say it, say it! Get it out, finally. You think I'm a filthy bitchin' cunt, don't you, don't you, don't you!" "YES! YES! YEESSSSS!!!" He raged and twisted helplessly in her grip, wearing himself out. He had little energy left, and it went quickly. Finally spent and ominously quiet, he spoke his truth with simplicity and the first bravery he had ever known. "I hate you. I've always wanted you. I'll never have you. All I have left is to say no. You want me to give up. You'll make me do that soon, I know. But for now, all that matters is that I hate you. And I say no. Do what you want to me. That's all." "Not bad, not bad. I'm proud of you. Not bad at all. Maybe you've got some guts after all. As for what you may never have, don't be too sure of anything; the night isn't over yet. But for now, we'll just have to play this thing out. You say no. I say this time, I throw my glutes -- my butt muscles -- into the action. I say when I'm through with you, you'll say yes. No question. Trust me. Then, it's play time." "Pretty damn sure of yourself," he smiled grimly. "Like you said, the night's not over yet. We'll see." "We'll see." She held his head in her hands and looked at him earnestly. "Hang in there, cowboy. Gonna be a rough ride." She caressed his head tenderly and smiled up a smile at him that was not altogether malevolent. "I haven't begun to use my full strength yet." He was stunned. But he would not give in to this woman. Not yet. She'd have to do her worst. His silence was eloquence enough for both of them. "Ciao," she said and slid him back down to that place of sweat and agony there below her crotch, there where she just barely held a something at bay, just barely. Again she brought her legs up around his head, held him a moment, watched him watch her as he braced for what he thought was coming. Then, she moved her legs down around the sides of his neck. Again he was stunned. Why had he not figured on this? It was obvious enough. She could crush his neck from the sides, incapacitate him...hell, nearly decapitate him...without choking him. She settled her head back against her pillow and began the luscious job of squeezing him nearly to death. Once more the quadriceps came alive, straining to escape the skin that contained them, clamping just above his jaw, immobilizing his head, and forcing his mouth open. Then the inner thighs cut into his vulnerable neck, compressing its sides inward until his breath labored though constricted passages and bubbled out through drool collecting in his mouth. She held him there astounded at the will power with which he kept his eyes open. She could not have known the horror that awaited him in his own personal darkness. She waited for him to weaken; no sense exerting herself more than necessary until it was time to really do him in. But, she was definitely working now, and her sweat began to soak her T-shirt. As long as he's got his eyes open, might as well give him something to gawk at, she thought as she pulled the shirt over her head. Below, his face did not show, could not show, any reaction to this treasure of female riches exposed before him. But, she knew the effect it would be having on him; she knew her assets. Not large, her breasts, but firm and beautifully formed, supported erect both by the strengthened pectoral muscles her body building had given her and the sensation of cool air twirling about them as her sweat evaporated. The nipples, too, stood out, seemingly aware, intensely excited by this erotic thing that was finally happening. They quivered as if alive and ravenous for the feast of lust and revenge that was at hand. She was ready. She rubbed her hands together as she anticipated, carefully planned her final moves. Her pectorals, striating deeply across her chest, drove her breasts still upward and kept them moving with the alternating tensions of sensuously shifting muscle. Below, he watched this show with eyes that strained to stay open. It was the last thing he would see up there for awhile. She reached for his hands and pulled them up around her butt. She patted them flat against her cheeks, indicating he should keep them there. He did not need a second prompting. Then, the female anatomy that he had always experienced as soft and pliable to his groping fingers assumed a defined hardness rivalling that which tonight had rendered those fingers impotent. As he held on, she arched her back, and her body from the shoulders to the ankles became one flexed length of spring steel. Her ass rose well up into the air, carrying his head with it. Her body was absolutely rigid, acting as a monolithic agent of destruction, concentrating every ounce of power in the portion of her thighs that grasped him. She was a single flexed muscle, and he knew then beyond all doubt, beyond all hope, that she could -- might -- kill him. She squeezed him with all the frustration pent up inside her. She squeezed him with lust born in a place beyond desire. She squeezed him, nearly mastered by the thing insanely battering within her to get out at him, close, close by his throat. She squeezed him and his eyes closed. He fled from her back to the swamp of his own being where he knew he was dying too. They were still there. The two of them. The pig had totally disappeared from view, lost within giant coils that hold it under water. In the final stage of death squeeze now, eyes ablaze with something more than hunger, the snake grinds its hold in one last constricting spasm. No more squeals of terror issue from the beast inside, only the sounds of flesh and bone giving way to pitiless pressure. Dull cracks, liquid gushing, muffled bursting. The body is squeezed beyond all recognition into a compact parcel ripe for swallowing. Finally, the great body relaxes. The head peers in through receding coils at the pulped thing which is gradually exposed. It appears, borne toward the waiting mouth on a traveling coil, propped upright, hair matted and dripping muddy water, skin drained of all color, gaping eyes bubbling out of sockets, feet folded back against body, the imprint of large scales pressed into soft flesh like the image of tire tracks on flattened road kill. The movable feast arrives within tasting distance, and again the slithering tongue explores the meal to confirm that all is as it should be. There it balances, fat body now elongated, perched upright, rear nestled in one small coil, snout pointing up as if searching out some celestial tidbit to root out of the heavens. The serpent mouth opens revealing the long, recurving teeth which make sure that whatever goes in does not come out. The tongue, stretching to unsuspected length, curls around the waiting neck and drags it and the trailing body into the mouth. Jaws which could detach from each other to admit far larger prey engulf the head and easily work their way along the body. Soon, there is nothing left outside the mouth but a laggard hoof and a wisp of corkscrew tail vibrating slightly with the passing over it of even breaths. Nausea such as he had never known rose up in his throat and filled his mouth and nose with acid stench. He choked on it, choked on the vision receding from him, choked on the darkness that swallowed him up as surely as the serpent below. In that darkness he felt as if it were he who was devoured, and his own stomach had betrayed him, had turned on him, was pouring its juices out over him. Suppressing the retching that burst through his throat, he lunged back toward the light, toward the reality that waited for him...strangling, gasping, clawing his way upward. By the time he got there, opened his eyes, maniacal fear owned him completely. He saw himself melting, flowing... elongating. "NOOO, no more, I give, I give, I give up," he tried to get through wedged open mouth, past dry lips that couldn't move. He could not enunciate, but the message of total panic urped out of him like insistent vomit, "Please, please, PLEASE!!!" She watched him, herself unmoved, unmoving, back still arched, butt balled iron, knowing that it had finally come. Vengeance was hers. She had broken him, broken him totally. She would enjoy the moment. "You surrender to me? To ME?" "Yef," muffed out from between her merciless legs. "Truly?" "Yef," again. "I doubt it." She had not lessened the crushing pressure. "Yef, YEF!" "No, I haven't heard the magic word yet." "FLEASE, FLEASE!" "Wrong word. You know the one I want." Sweat poured from her legs and overran the corners of his eyes and mouth. "O B E Y, obey...ME." "OVEY! OVEY!" "What? I don't understand you." Her body still unmoving steel. "I vill ovey you. I vill ovey you. Now. Vatever you fay. FLEASE! Ah can't ftand it no moah! No moah. No moah," squealed up at her from the paralyzed mouth at her crotch. She lowered her butt to the bed, but kept it tight. "I gave uf, I gave uf. I'f vready." "I know you're ready, my love, but I'm not. It's not time to talk yet. I warned you about that." "But..." She was soaked with sweat. "You wanted all my clothes off, dear? You got it." She peeled her panties away from her wet skin and felt the cool air kiss away the heat from her crotch, beguile the thing within. With sudden inspiration, she drew her panties down over his head. He smothered in her sweat, in her scent, and began to go hard. "Ah," she noticed, "you're learning to like me already. Good. But, I'm still not ready for you yet." She was reluctant to give up her death embrace, that knowledge that she held his life between her legs -- "between my LEGS, for god sakes!" -- and could control him at will with the most minute adjustments to the living tissue which coiled and rippled beneath her tanned skin. Besides, the thing within, itself crazed with desire for what lay bare inches away -- trapped, helpless, vulnerable, almost ready -- the worm banged at its prison walls with an insistence that would not be denied much longer. She decided to give it a taste of the prize, to hold on to him a little longer and make the anticipation even more exquisite. "Time for something different," she informed him. To his surprise, she suddenly released her hold, then quickly rolled him over between her legs so he was facing away from her. Before she reapplied the leg scissors, she pulled his left arm up over her left leg. Now, there was less chance of choking him as her legs encircled his neck on one side and his arm pit on the other, painfully disabling the arm. She squeezed again, stopping well short of his breaking point. His arm was forced up in its socket, his neck bent in toward it. It was a thoroughly debilitating position. She could have easily broken his body right there, wreaking havoc on neck, shoulders, spine, and ribs. It was so tempting. But her will was made of the same iron as her body. She ignored immediate gratification for the longer term. Besides, it was sexy enough just cuddling him there at the verge of destruction. She could wait. But she would enjoy it. She patted the top of his panty shrouded head and spoke to him like a nurse to her young charge. "Upsy daisy." With that, she twisted over onto her stomach, dragging her legs and their contents with her. The force under his left arm pushed him over onto his head. The leg at his neck braced him there. He balanced precariously, upside down, his feet trying frantically to brace himself and keep the weight off his neck, waiting for her to ease him over the rest of the way. She didn't. She lay comfortably on her belly, head propped up on her hands, wondering what reading material might be within reaching distance. He continued to balance there. He waited...and waited....and waited..... Presently, he began losing all sense of balance. His feet trying to keep him from going too far in either direction, where his weight would collapse him and, he feared, break his neck. "I can't hold on!" he whined. "I know," she said. "The blood is going to your head, and you're losing coordination." "Yeah, and I'm getting weak. I think I'm going to pass out." He was whimpering. "Of course you are," she said matter of factly. "But, I'll fall and, and maybe break my neck?" "Pity", she said. "Try not to," knowing she would not let him. He knew it was useless, had learned well. He sank into sullen silence. After awhile, she looked back at her victim, satisfactorily braced, feet having found sufficient purchase to support body and sanity. She almost laughed aloud. There he was, her tormentor of past years, butt in the air, legs dangling, scrambling for equilibrium, head cloaked in her sweat soaked panties and wedged between her legs. "How sweet it is!" she mused, then laughed outright. She had remembered one of her more militant woman friend's saying: "Vengeance is mine, saith the Broad." She laughed again, and it was wonderful. She waved her feet up and down with delight, appreciating the shimmers of light the candles threw on her marvelously flexing hamstrings. "What do you think, guy, not bad, huh, not bad," as she raised her feet again and patted the bulging mass that appeared at the back of her legs. But, he was almost beyond hearing, struggling to remain conscious, keep his balance. "Hey, down there, you awake?" "Huh..." He was half awake, watching the little depressions his breath made in the panties plastered over his mouth. "You still awake?" came at him through the haze. "Huh..." Something wriggled at him, something pink with two nostrils. "Oh shit," she said, "he's no more fun." And, something that had been rioting inside her forced its way through her vagina, only her tight labia holding it back. "What the hell do I do with you now, huh?" "uhhhhh..." came the weak reply. Suddenly, she felt robbed, cheated. Inside her, something raged. It battered against her labia to get through to him. "Not yet!" she tried to master herself. She squeezed her legs tight to keep it in. Its blunt snout was breaking through...she could hear tiny teeth clicking ravenously, reaching, stretching for that final centimeter. "NOO!" She squeezed with everything she had... In the growing blackness that swept over him, he could see only the pink thing weakening, giving up, resigned as its breath made little depressions in her panties. And his nose was filled with a stench so overpowering that he felt himself drown in it. The blackness closed in, leaving only the curious sound of tiny teeth clicking somewhere close behind him. Then he went where no dream could follow.