THE DEADLY ASSASSIN'S TOUR
By Kandor
This is one of an ongoing series of stories about an all-female assassination company


(This is one of an ongoing series of stories about an all-female company 
of assassins. Bear in mind these stories were done for someone who loves 
feet, foot torture and incredibly violent, ball-busting type death. If 
you find yourself getting squeamish from, or too turned on by these 
stories, don't worry about it, it's only fantasy....) 


    Paulina danced on the dimly lit stage, every inch of her lean, lithe 
body slithering across the shiny surface. She reached out for the pole 
with one gloved hand and wrapped a long leg around the bottom, curling 
her glitter-painted toes around the base and spinning slowly, her long 
hair cascading behind her, until she spun to the floor on her succulent, 
g-stringed ass. 
    Some watched, most sucked down their beer and expensive, watered-
down drinks and tried to think of what it would be like to be Paulina's 
g-string, still others looked away, lost in a world of jumbled voices in 
their heads. 
    It was the strip joint that Paulina was told she'd find Aramonis, 
the wealthy Greek businessman/prick whom she was scheduled to dispatch. 
She liked that term. Dispatched. Better than kill with extreme 
prejudice, which was the exact reason she was here. 
    Paulina and dozens and dozens of other women, had gone through 
rigorous training at the Assassin School for Girls, a months-long course 
that involved extreme physical activity, hands-on , or more usually, 
feets-on training, and a huge battle in the school's arena as a 
graduation activity of sorts. 
    All the women passed, Claudia, Deanna, Christy, Kathy, Bridget, all 
the others, the world's most beautiful women, all now trained in the art 
of death. They'd branched out, far and wide, all over the globe, taking 
assignments from their mentor and leader, Suze. Paulina found herself 
here, in Amsterdam, dancing in a sleazy strip joint awaiting the arrival 
of one of the world's richest and meanest men. Aramonis had fucked over 
a wealthy client - nearly as wealthy as himself - and the client came to 
Suze looking for retribution. 
    It was a business. If Aramonis had gotten there first, Paulina would 
have been sneaking up on his enemy now. 
    She saw him, dark and sunglassed, slide into a back booth. It was 
his MO, just like the dossier said. He traveled incognito and liked the 
favors of local strippers. He'd usually get the greasy hags used up by 
the barflies of this end of town, but when he laid eyes on Paulina, he 
fairly drooled. This place seldom saw them this nice. He winked and 
waved. She returned the motions and finished her dance. 
    She put a lacy shawl around her slender shoulders that barely 
covered her sweating breasts. She sauntered through the bar to the back 
of the room, into the little alcove where Aramonis sat. No one noticed 
her go as the music came up anew and a new stripper of lesser talent 
than Paulina took the dim limelight. 
    "Hello, little lady, have a seat," Aramonis said in thick accent, 
twirling his dark, oily mustache in one fat hand. "I want you." 
    Paulina laughed. "You waste no time, do you?" 
    "Never," he said, smiling white through his dark face, a glint of 
gold in his teeth. "Time is money and I waste neither." 
    "Neither do I," Paulina said, snuggling close and draping one lean 
leg into his lap, rubbing his crotch with her slim calf. "Let's talk." 
    Aramonis gulped. He was usually the aggressor. He balked and she 
noticed and picked up the pace. 
    "Tell me, Mr. Aramonis," she hissed, sliding behind him on the 
cheesy padded bench at which they sat behind. "What's it like to be such 
an asshole?" 
    "How did you know my name?" he said, startled, trying to turn to 
look at her as she rubbed his shoulders, slowly encircling his chubby 
waist with her long legs. "How?" 
    "I know many things, Mr. Aramonis," Paulina cooed into his ear, 
tightening the legs, crossing her feet and locking them in his lap, 
smiling as she felt his cock stiffen and poke up through his pants into 
the locked vee of her naked feet. "I know you are a businessman of 
global proportions and that you screwed over a Mr. Johnson in Sweden. 
Correct?" 
    "I did business with him, yes," Aramonis said curtly, reaching under 
the table to free his thick cock from his expensive pants and let them 
slip between the locked upper soles of Paulina's pumping feet. "That 
feels soo nice..." 
    "Mmmm, doesn't it, doesn't it feel nice to have such creamy, smooth 
feet stroking your cock, hmm?" she said, slowly jerking his prick in her 
feet, the tops of them wrapped around the shaft, pumping him until a 
stream of precum coated them, making the job easier and far more erotic. 
    "How do my thighs feel, Mr. Aramonis?" Paulina growled seductively. 
"Squeeezing your sides, squeeeeeezing your ribs, like you put the 
squeeze on those you do business with, no?" 
    She laughed and tightened her scissor. He fidgeted, still absorbed 
by the sweet pleasure of her pumping feet, but feeling his ribs bend in 
her legs. Paulina stopped rubbing his neck with both hands; with one, 
she reached into her purse and pulled out a length of strong leather, 
two looped handles in either end. She slowly draped it around his neck, 
putting one hand in a loop and then the other. It hung loosely around 
his throat, brushing the knot of his silk tie. He looked down, confused. 
    "What..." he started to say. 
    "How do my feet feel, Mr. Aramonis?" she hissed into his ear, taking 
up the slack on the leather. 
    "Going to...come....soon.." he grimaced, the thighs squeezing 
tighter, the leather coming closer to his neck, the feet crunching his 
cock as he heels pounded into his nuts, adding pain to his pleasure. 
    "No, you're not," she said calmly, leaning forward to whisper into 
his ear, pulling back harder on the leather. "Because I'm going to 
tighten this garrote around your fat neck, I'm going to scissor you 
until I break your ribs, and I'm going to push my feet together in such 
a way as to break your cock just before you come. And oh, yes, I'm going 
to kick your balls back up into your dying body. I'm going to kill you, 
Mr. Aramonis. That's why I'm here!!" 
    He stiffened to fight but she leaned back, snarling, and twisted the 
garrote tight on his neck, the leather slicing into his windpipe, 
cracking it, the sides cutting into his carotids, numbing him 
immediately. His hands trembled as they tried to find purchase inside 
the garrote, but it was too tight. Paulina's strong, long hands crossed 
as she hauled back hard, twisting the garrote, digging it in even harder 
on his neck, at the same time punching down on her scissors, snapping 
four lower ribs like kindling. 
    Aramonis tried to scream, but nothing came out. His eyes grew huge, 
bubbling almost out of their sockets in a ghoulish white glow as Paulina 
tightened the garrote, bloating his face horribly. And she made good her 
promise down below; he was on the verge of coming when she twisted her 
feet round each other, bending and wetly snapping his cock like a fat 
green twig. That deed done, she began hammering her heels into his 
balls, blasting them to paste, and then driving them back up inside his 
dying body. 
    "Goodbye, Mr. Aramonis," she seethed into his ear, crossing her 
hands further and snapping the garrote, cracking his neck in the jerky 
motion. 
    Paulina, athlete, stripper, assassin, shook loose the garrote and 
her legs from the broJohn man's body, straightened herself up and left, 
Aramonis face down on the table as if he'd had too much to drink. No one 
would notice for hours, Paulina smiled to herself as she dressed in the 
back stage area and then slipped out the rear door, eager for her next 
kill. 

    Rodriquez strutted. 
    He always did, of course, a man makes as much money as he does, he 
walks the walk. But Rodriquez liked to strut, thinking himself a true 
black man and entitled to the strut by heredity. Truth was, he was 
black, Hispanic, Haitian and whatever other brand of man happened to be 
in the sperm blender the night his crack-addicted momma conceived him, 
the unwitting side effect of a $15 trick. 
    He grew up poor watching rich kids handle thick wads of green from 
drug dealing. He started as a watchdog at 8 and progressed from there. 
Now he was a lord in the neighborhood of NYC where whites mixed with 
blacks only by driving up in their NJ-registered Beemers and Volvos to 
score diluted bags of dope from the street hustlers. Rodriquez was a 
rich man, stepping on others to get there, killing some outright and 
lord only knew how many others by stepping all over his dope with rat 
poison and whatever else he could use to stretch profits. 
    Some of his reach extended to school yards. Kids were dying, young 
kids, who were trying to be like the punk they'd buy dope from. 
Rodriquez didn't give a fat ghetto rat's ass for them, he liked the 
dough, bottom line. So when some of the neighborhood parents got 
together and talked to a friend of a friend of a friend who knew of this 
place where beautiful women would take care of things, well, Rodriquez 
was strutting his last, only he didn't know it. 
    Helena knew it. The black-haired beauty would stick out like a sore 
thumb in this neighborhood, though, and she didn't want her mark to know 
she was there, so she pulled about as opposite a supermodel look as she 
could: Hair covered in a kerchief, big dark glasses, baggy sweatshirt, 
baggier sweatpants, ratty old sneakers, dingy yellowed socks. 
    But a woman that beautiful can never hide the truth and even as she 
skulked through the neighborhood keeping a watch on Rodriquez, Rodriquez 
was keeping an eye on her. He sensed beauty beneath the veneer and he 
could smell out pussy almost as fast as a good drug deal. It was a knack 
that made him so powerful and despised. 
    Helena staked him out for about a week, tracking his moves, watching 
where he hung out, figuring where to strike. As good as she was, she 
didn't count on him being better. It was late one night, she was rooting 
around the trashcans in an alley, looking like a bag lady, when she felt 
a poke in the ribs, a shiv jabbing at her. She froze. 
    "OK, my little cunt fan, what do you want?" Rodriquez hissed in her 
ear, leaning close to her, feeling her through her clothes, feeling hard 
muscle and soft tits. "Why have you been following me? You the law?" 
    "No, not the law," Helena said, not turning around. "Just someone 
who wants to know you better, that's all." 
    She knew it was lame as soon as she said it. So did he. 
    "That's bullshit, now what do you want?" he said, poking harder with 
the knife, and now humping her soft ass with his crotch, pushing her 
farther back down the alley. 
    "OK, OK," she said, spinning away from him and backing into the 
alley wall, nowhere to go and no one seeing them this far from the 
street. "I was sent here to kill you." 
    Rodriquez looked shocked, than broke into laughter. It worked. She 
continued. 
    "No, really, I belong to an international ring of gorgeous 
assassins," she said. "We kill with our hands, legs, feet, we break 
cocks and rip off balls, we stab, strangle, stomp, we're killers, all of 
us." 
    Rodriquez was doubled over in laughter now, the knife in his hand 
loose on his knee. 
    "Oh, that's rich, bitch, really," he said, straightening up now and 
coming toward her, knife extended. "I really like fucking the crazy 
ladies, I really do. They never remember it after and even if they do, 
who the fuck would believe someone as loony as you?" 
    His look got stern as he waved the knife inches from her. 
    "Lose the hat and shirt and pants," he growled. "If you don't stink 
too fucking bad, I just may fuck you." 
    Helena smirked and peeled off her hat, her long black locks spilling 
down. Rodriquez was entranced by her beauty, more so as she pulled off 
her baggy sweatshirt, her perfect tits rising high over her hard belly 
and bouncing back down as she tossed it aside. She pulled down her sweat 
pants and stood now in a black g-string, yellowed socks and dirty 
sneakers. Rodriquez gulped. 
    "Wow," he said. "Lady, crazy or not, smell or no, you and I are 
gonna fuck!!" 
    "Bring it on, lover," she said, backing up to the wall and spreading 
her slender, powerful legs. 
    Rodriquez slipped the knife into the waistband of his jeans, behind 
his back, and snuggled close to Helena. He nuzzled her neck, biting the 
white flesh, and rudely pinched her thick nipples in his rough hands. 
She growled as he pumped his thicJohning crotch into her pussy. 
    "Mmm, lover that's it, that's it," she cooed, circling his waist in 
her long legs. "I wanna feel that big cock of yours inside me, I wanna 
feel that hot load explode in my cunt!!" 
    A hunk of rope hung down from the wall Helena was backed into, left 
there by others who had scaled it, probably a regular escape route from 
the cops. Helena felt is brush her hands and hoped he wouldn't notice. 
But he did. 
    "Just in case, honey," he said, stopping his dry fucking for a 
moment to tie her hands in the rope, leaving her standing with her arms 
extended straight above her, against the wall. 
    'This will make things a little more interesting, that's all,' she 
thought to herself as Rodriquez roughly slobbered over her creamy tits 
and pulled at the gentle curls of her pussy hair. 
    She had to work fast. She didn't want this guy's cock inside her, 
God only knew where it'd been, what diseases collected inside his 
system. He pulled it out of his zipper and the thick head gleamed precum 
in the greasy light of the dirty alley. He rubbed it on her belly, 
leaving a trail of goo. He laughed and started pulling down her panties 
and slipping his cock up into her. 
    "Wait, lover, not so fast," she cooed, snapping her legs down and 
together, pushing him out. "How about a little foreplay, get a girl a 
little wet, whaddya say?" 
    Rodriquez looked at her flatly. 
    "What kind of foreplay, baby?" he asked, irritated, as he stroked 
his cock. 
    "Eat me," she hissed. "Get in there and eat my pussy!!" 
    He smiled and hit his knees. He had time to kill, he'd oblige her. 
    Her cunt was drenched already; she always juiced up prior to a hit. 
Rodriquez thought it was his charm and she giggled as she felt him 
nuzzle his nose in her hairy slit, parting the meaty lips, and driving 
his tongue deep into her hole. It actually felt rather good and she 
allowed herself a quick orgasm before faking a larger one. 
    "Oh, yeah, YEAH!!!" she growled, letting her legs snap up and around 
his neck, scissoring him tight in her thighs and squeezing as hard as 
she could. "Baby, make me come!!!!" 
    He passed out cold in her scissors, the cords of inner muscle 
creasing his neck and blacking him out. Perfect, except for one thing: 
He'd rolled away and she couldn't reach the knife in his pants with her 
feet. When he regained consciousness, she snared him with her legs again 
when he got close, hooking him back in a figure four, a long calf tucked 
into his throat, her thighs chewing at his head. She wasn't nearly as 
pleasant as before. 
    "Now look, fuckhead, I'm here to kill you, and that's the truth," 
she growled, punching the hold down, snapping his head back and forth. 
"But first, we'll have a little fun. Reach down and take off my shoes 
and socks. And don't entertain a fucking clue about pulling that shiv 
outta your pants; one snap of my legs and you're neck's fucking broke, 
you got me? Want a sample?" 
    "N...no..." he grimaced, quickly unlacing her foul sneakers and 
pulling off her socks. The aroma from her feet wafted up to her nose and 
she laughed. 
    "Put those socks in your mouth," she ordered him. "NOW!!" 
    He trembled and lifted the soiled cloth to his lips and put them 
inside. Helena curled a foot up and used her toes to stuff them deeper, 
all the while keeping a tight grip on his head. Then she stuffed a pair 
of toes up his nose and made him sniff. Rodriquez obeyed and began to 
cry. Helena laughed. 
    "Now take that knife out verrrrry slowly and put it in my toes, 
handle first," she said evenly, curling back the calf until he gagged, 
keeping his neck at the point of snapping so he'd obey. He did and she 
clenched the knife in the toes of her extended foot. 
    "Now jack off," she said. "I want your hot load on my toes." 
    He balked and she squeezed. He quickly got jerking. She pointed her 
sexy toes downward at his cock, the tip of which grazed the top of her 
foot. It didn't take long, it never did with Helena's feet as the prize. 
He twitched in her tight legs and jettisoned a thick river of goo all 
over her foot, a puddle forming on top, a river running between her 
toes. She quickly clamped the bent calf deep into his throat and brought 
that foot to his face. 
    "Lick," was all she said and he did her bidding, sliding his mouth 
all over  her slimed foot, sucking in and swallowing every gob of his 
goo, his cock never shrinking an inch as he did. 
    Helena laughed. "They all have such staying power when I get them," 
she sighed. 
    "The time has come, little man," she growled, extending her legs 
down for a straight headscissor squeeze, the knife sticking out of her 
toes. "Say your prayers." 
    "NOOOOOOO!!!!" he screamed through clenched teeth as Helena bore 
down on the leg lock. 
    His cock stayed stiff. Helena brought up her locked feet and pounded 
them down, driving her hard heels into the tip, smashing the head 
bloody, and snapping the shaft in the middle. He screamed a guttural 
scream, his shaking hands trying to keep her from repeating the move, 
but she did, again and again, snapping his busted cock and now driving 
his balls down to the ground between his legs, slamming her heels into 
them, mashing them to flat sacks of meat. He slumped in her legs, nearly 
out. She let go the scissorlock and he fell to the ground at her feet, 
the knife still sticking out of them. 
    "Perfect," she growled. 
    Clenching the knife in her soles, she drove it downward, slicing the 
point into the flattened mush of his balls, piercing the meat and 
stabbing his thighs on the other side. She pulled it up and out, the 
sucking sound filling the still alley again and again as she repeatedly 
stabbed his nuts. Rodriquez twitched and gurgled and started to come 
around from the new pain. He half sat up and looked at his mangled cock 
and blood-spurting balls and he screamed a high-pitched death wail. 
    "Lights out," she said, switching the knife to one foot and grabbing 
his bloody genital package and stretching it out with the other. 
    One clean swipe at his cock with the knife and Helena held it up in 
the other foot, the bloody stump left behind gushing a river of blood so 
high and hard it hit Rodriquez in the stunned face. His hands 
instinctively clamped over the severed lump and a torrent of red pushed 
them away. 
    "You....cu...." he started to say, but never finished. He died from 
instant loss of blood. 
    Helena smiled and curled her lithe body up and back to slice through 
the rope that held her hands with the knife clenched in her feet. She 
quickly dressed and covered his body with trash from the alley. Rifling 
his pockets, she found thousands of dollars in 50s and 20s. 
    Two days later, long after Helena was on her next assignment, the 
local drug abuse center down the street would receive rather large and 
anonymous cash donation, all  50s and 20s. 

    Gabriella and Pamela sat in the waiting room on the cheap plastic 
furniture of the Hollywood producer awaiting their audition. They'd 
answered the ad that had drawn others here before them, most of them 
never to return. 
    Making pornos in Hollywood is a way of life - and occasionally, 
death. Snuff films were made here, totally underground, featuring 
beautiful young girls eager to crack the lucrative porno market, 
thinking they're just fucking their way through a film only to find 
themselves tied up, tortured and eventually killed when it was over. 
    And the films sold big, mostly to a bizarre foreign market, rich men 
eager to watch screaming, terrorized girls being sliced up, hacked and 
chopped and murdered as they sat in their plush piazzas or mansions, 
slowly jacking their fat wealthy cocks. 
    The girls' assignment was simple: Crack the company, get jobs, make 
a movie - and then wipe them out. Running this company was a slug named 
Parsons, a fat shit in polyester clothes who reeked of cheap cologne and 
cheaper cigars. 
    "Youse wanna make a movie for me, huh?" he leered at the two 
beauties sitting on the couch before him in his office far from the real 
money streets in Hollywood. "So kiss for me. Go on, I'm making a lezzy 
film, I wanna see you guys kiss and suck each other off." 
    Gabby and Pam shrugged and embraced. Most of the girls in the school 
were bi, if not outright gay. Having sex was no big deal, and soon they 
were locked in a hot 69 on the floor before a leering Parsons, tonguing 
each other's tight pussies to a shuddering orgasm. They looked up and 
heard a man groaning; Parsons had taken his cock out and was jacking off 
above them. Quickly, Pam and Gabby spun on their asses and extended 
their feet and Parsons had two pairs of heels grinding up into his fat 
balls. He stopped jacking off. 
    "Put that fucking thing away or you'll be picking your nuts out of 
your fucking ears," Gabby growled, thickening her athletic thighs to 
show the power behind the kick she would surely deliver if he didn't 
obey. 
    Parsons gulped. He obeyed. 
    Shooting began the next day. It was a simple shoot; the two girls 
were to suck each other. That was in their script. The real script held 
that they'd be tied to the beds, atop each other, and slowly cut with 
sharpened dildos, fucked with them, leaving them bloodied and begging 
for mercy. They would die like that. 
    Ordinary girls wouldn't know this. These were no ordinary girls. So 
Gabby and Pam performed on each other, happily, bringing each other to 
genuine orgasm before a leering Parsons running the camera. It was low-
budget all the way. The girls waited for the next move. It soon came. 
    "We wanna try something different now, do you mind?" Parsons said, 
walking over to the girls on the bed with a length of rope. "I wanna tie 
you together in a 69, that should be hot. Won't take long and you'll be 
outta here with your money in an hour. OK?" 
    This was in films the girls had seen before, the snuff films they 
viewed as research. They would be tied, face to pussy, their hands 
behind their backs. Then Parsons would pull them away from each other 
once they were immobile, tie them to chairs facing each other and slowly 
kill them, dutifully running the camera on tripods, walking back and 
forth to slice them deeper and then run the camera. 
    The girls smiled and sat up on the bed, naked. Parsons stood before 
them, waiting. 
    "Well?" he said. "I ain't got all day." 
    "Correction," Gabby said. "You got less time than that!" 
    She lashed out her athletic legs and blasted both smooth, hard heels 
into his crotch, burying her feet up to the ankles in his balls. 
Parsons' face went white and his breath left him quickly as he crashed 
backwards, past the camera running on the tripod, and into a wall. Gabby 
and Pam stood, laughing, and descended on the blubbering fat man. 
    "We know all about you, Parsons," Gabby said, getting him in a side 
headlock, her strong arm digging into his neck as Pam shook his pants 
and underwear down his fat legs until he stood bareassed in Gabby's 
grip. 
    "Did you think you'd get away with killing for long?" Pam said, 
spreading his legs before the camera, exposing his hairy, low-hung nuts. 
"How many did you kill, Parsons? How many?" 
    "F...fuck you," he growled from the vicegrip of Gabby's muscular 
arm. 
    "Never mind, asshole, we know how many," Gabby grunted, powering 
down on the hold until he groaned. "47. 47 girls killed, you fat fuck, 
47 families ruined because of you." 
    Pam wheeled over a device onto which people are tied, spread-eagled, 
and tortured. They'd seen it in the film, a crude, handmade wooden 
machination, almost a crucifix. They strapped Parsons on, legs spread 
wide, arms tied down out to the side. He was completely immobile. He 
cried for mercy. 
    "C'mon, please, look, money, I'se got lots of fucking money, and you 
can have some, just let's me go and we'll talk, OK?" he babbled. 
    "You suck, and your grammar is worse," Gabby laughed, walking in 
front of him. "OK?" 
    "We did the math, fat man," Pam continued, walking to stand behind 
him now. "47 girls. From families. Average size family is about 4 in 
this country. 4 times 47 is 168. That's 168 people whose lives you 
fucked up and ruined. 168 people, Parsons. Remember that number. You'll 
wish you never heard it." 
    Gabby stepped up to his sweaty, nervous face. 
    "168. 168 times you're gonna get this. Don't bother to count. We 
will," Gabby hissed. 
    She stepped back, pumped one foot behind her and ran forward, 
letting that foot fly up - and right into Parson's hanging balls. He 
screamed like a trapped animal, his eyes fat and clenched shut against 
the pain, the harsh slap of foot bone on tender nutflesh resonating off 
the cheap walls nearly as loudly as his scream. Gabby stepped back. 
    "One," she said. 
    Pam ran up from behind and delivered the top of her foot into his 
wounded balls, driving the bulk of them up and in, her sharp toenails 
digging a slice into his cock in the process. 
    "Two," she said. 
    On and on and on it went, Gabby ruining his balls from the front, 
Pam from the back. The girls would use the tops of their slender feet 
mostly, splattering his tender nuts against them, but for variety would 
occasionally point their toes straight and hard and brutally drive them 
into his blistered ball bag, digging into the meat, bloodying and 
bruising it. Gabby also liked to get on her hands and knees in front of 
Parsons and ram her leg up in reverse, using the entire length of the 
bottom of her foot to plaster his pulverized pills. For about a dozen of 
the kicks, Gabby stood between his legs and yanked his nuts down in one 
hand, forming a tight circle with her fingers around the base, 
ballooning the damaged flesh into a big purple ball in her grip, holding 
them down and out for Pam. 
    "Perfect," Pam growled, taking aim. "Looks like a big fat tick! If I 
hit 'em hard enough, maybe they'll blow up!!" 
    And she tried, delivering brutal kick after brutal kick to the 
puffed-up package of nut meat, the top of her foot blasting into it, 
then the sides, the bottoms. She turned and punched her heel into it a 
few times. As they neared the end of the 168 blows, Parsons' fat face 
was awash in tears, and the murderer blubbered like a baby. 
    "Please.......no...more..........please...." he cried, head hanging 
on his chest. 
    "Hey, this looks familiar," Pam said, retrieving a metal softball 
bat from a corner of the room. "I think this has been in a few of your 
movies, right?" 
    It had been used against bound women, Parsons savagely fucking the 
women with it as he tortured and killed them. Pam stood before him as 
Gabby finished up her round of kicks, leaving the total at 165. 
    "Batter up!" Gabby hollered and stepped aside. 
    Pam took aim and swung the heavy bat up and in, the fat end slamming 
into Parsons' hanging balls. He screamed anew, his eyes rolling into the 
back of his head. 
    "Strike one!" Gabby shrieked. "Try again!" 
    Pam stepped up, twisted the bat in her hands and delivered another 
brutal blow, harder than the first. Parsons' nuts flattened and stuck to 
the bat as she pulled it back. Blood oozed from his mouth, evidence of 
heavy internal damage. 
    "Strike two!!" Gabby giggled. 
    Pam looked determined now and delivered the hardest swing yet, 
smashing it up between his quivering thighs and leaving it there, 
twisting and rubbing and jabbing the fat bat into his mauled balls. 
Parsons vomited, a river of chunks running down his fat chest to his 
crotch. 
    "Yerrrrrrrrrrrrr OUT!!!" Gabby said, yanking a thumb back like an 
umpire. 
    The two girls walked to a table and grabbed a pair of dildoes, the 
special ones Parsons used in the movies, the ones sharpened to points. 
They turned the buzzing tools on and walked back to the man strapped to 
the framework. His face was white and green, spew ran down his body, and 
his balls were a bloody, flat mess. They smiled. 
    Retrieving a piece of plywood, they put it up behind Parsons as he 
hung limply from his torture device. His balls lay flat against it. 
Putting on rubber gloves, Gabby and Pam lifted his nuts, spreading them 
against the wood. 
    "You'll be dead soon," Gabby said, lifting the point of her buzzing 
dildo to one of his nuts. "But this should stretch it out nicely." 
    Both girls slowly, painfully, deliberately, sliced the tip of their 
sharpened dildoes into Parson's mangled nut meat. His eyes rolled in his 
head again, more vomit leaked out of the corners of his mouth. The cuts 
were made as the points sliced through flesh and found the wood behind. 
The girls leaned hard onto the dildoes, grunting to push harder and make 
sure the whirring devices dug into the board. Pam grabbed a nearby 
hammer and slammed it into the fat end of her dildo until it stuck into 
the wood, like a big nail, vibrating a quiver of agony up his shattered 
nuts. Gabby did the same and both girls stood back, admiring their 
handiwork. Parsons lay dying on the board, his balls impaled by the 
tools of torture with which he had killed so many others. 
    Pam and Gabby dressed. They popped open the running camcorder on the 
tripod and took the videotape out. 
    "Maybe when Suze sees this, we'll get a raise," Pam laughed as the 
two assassins strolled out of the room. 

        Kate turned heads as the tall, leggy beauty strolled through 
Palermo International Airport in Sicily. The island always attracted the 
rich and famous and beautiful, but Kate's lean body walking on air 
through the crowd made even long-time airport workers turn and stare. 
    She'd been sent to the Italian Mafia stronghold to do away with a 
mobster, pure and simple. He'd been cutting in on someone's turf who 
didn't like it and who had the financial balls to do something about it. 
    Kate knew she would like this one. The guy had a thing for feet, and 
no one had sexier feet than Kate, long, lean, toes to die for - and by. 
She'd slowly kill this guy and he wouldn't even know it until toward the 
end. He'd just think she was an intense sexual young woman playing his 
game.        
    She found her mark, Mario Pardini, sitting in a small outdoor cafe, 
sipping espresso. Taking a table across the piazza, she waited. It 
didn't take long. Kate wore a pair of stretch pant culottes ending at 
the knees, her lovely, slender calves exposed. On her feet she wore gold 
lame sandals, flat, a thin strap around the ankle, a wider one across 
the top of her feet, just above the toes, effectively making her long 
toes look longer still. The paint on the nails matched the light golden 
tone of the sandals. 
    She crossed her leg, the top leg's calf muscle creased sensually 
along the side as she slowly bounced it. Her perfectly straight toes 
were pointed right at Pardini. He took a huge, nervous sip of espresso 
and spit it out in a coffee-colored spray, forgetting it was piping hot. 
Kate smiled at him as he blasted the waiter in Italian for serving the 
beverage too warm. 
    She winked at him and he waved back. He beckoned her over. She shook 
her head in a little 'no' motion, pursing her sexy, full lips in mock 
sternness, instead curling a long finger at him. He hurriedly tossed a 
handful of lira on the table and bolted across the piazza. 
    Kate's Italian was marginal, Pardini's English much less so, but the 
universal thought was there. She slowly worked a foot up under the 
table, between his legs, and massaged his fat cock to life in his 
designer suit pants. 
    "You like, no?" Kate hissed. "You like my feet on your cock, Mario? 
You like more of this? Hmm?" 
    "Ci, ci, ciiiiiiii," he moaned, eyes closed as Kate's toes bent and 
straightened on his prick. "Bella, bella..." 
    They were soon on the way to his villa, high in the olive-tree laden 
hills. It was midday, no one was around. They alone had the handsome 
home to themselves. They started out in his den. He sat behind his big 
desk, she pulled her slim, hard ass onto the top, swinging her legs 
apart, planting her feet on each arm of his chair. 
    "Do you understand what I'm gonna do, Pardini?" she cooed, pursing 
those famous lips and running her long fingers over her shins, to unsnap 
the buckles on her sandals and toss them aside. "I'm gonna seduce you 
with me feet, sexually abuse you with my feet, and then I'm gonna kill 
you with my feet. Capice?" 
    "Ci, capice, capice!!" Pardini frantically nodded, faking that the 
had a clue what she was saying as Kate spread her long toes with her 
fingers and fucked the crevasses between them, slowly bringing the 
fingers to his nose so he could inhale the sweaty vapor laced with fine 
lilac cologne. 
    She spun away quickly, dancing seductively on the den's thick rug, 
as he watched, fondling his own crotch. She laughed and danced some 
more, standing on her toes, flexing her slim calves at him, pumping the 
toes back and forth, up and down, until his cock was fully erect in his 
trousers. Then she went to him, sat on the desk again, and slowly 
unzipped his pants and slid them off - with only her feet. Pardini was 
going wild, his huge, thick cock oozing a huge dollop of precum. Kate 
bit her lower lip and rubbed one big toe over his cock head, shining it 
thoroughly with his lubrication. She brought it to his mouth. 
    "Suck it," she ordered him. He didn't understand the word, but knew 
the intent and popped the big toe in his moaning mouth, licking it like 
a cock, sucking clean his own juice from the silky digit as she fucked 
his lips with it. 
    She quickly pulled it out, and he looked disappointed. She laughed 
and waltzed out of the room, her hot feet padding across the cold marble 
hallway floor. Curling that finger again, she motioned him to follow, 
and he did. She pointed to the floor. 
    "On her knees, slave boy," she growled in Italian. "On your knees 
and crawl, looking only at my beautiful feet!!" 
    He eagerly obeyed, his eyes transfixed on her heels as she walked 
away, toward the sitting room, where she lay on the couch, feet crossed. 
She motioned for him to sit on the end. She scissored his fat cock in 
her slender feet, gripping the base in her inturned soles. Jacking him 
off slowly, she smiled at him. 
    "You dumb dago, you have no clue what's gonna happen to you, do 
you?" she teased in English, laughing as he madly nodded, humping her 
feet, having no idea what she was saying. 
    She squeezed. His root reddened in her foot grip as she crushed in a 
bit harder, a bit harder still. He grimaced and tried to pull away. She 
didn't let go and he smiled nervously. 
    "Your balls are next," she growled in Italian this time. His face 
whitened a bit. 
    Kate scooted her feet down and took his huge nuts between the soles 
of her feet, now capturing his entire genital package in them. She 
crushed them in, bubbles of ball meat billowing up between her feet. He 
winced but didn't pull away; he couldn't if he wanted to. Now he closed 
his eyes as Kate slowly increased the pressure, tilting her head back, 
clenching her teeth and looking sternly at him. She pumped her feet up 
and down slowly at first, then more quickly, jacking off his entire 
gonad bundle and cock. Pulling up hard, the balls and prick would snap 
up against the tops of her locked feet before she let them flop down 
again, only to pull on them harder on the next upstroke. 
    Pardini was sweating profusely, making Kate giggle. He was scared, 
but extremely aroused, he'd never had a woman do this to him before. 
Then suddenly his nuts were free and she was gone when he opened his 
eyes. He saw her around the corner, making her way to his workshop. He 
followed, again on his knees, watching those feet. 
    "Close your eyes again, Mario, I like that," she hissed in his 
native tongue, sitting him on a bench, his legs spread wide. 
    He obeyed and didn't open them again even as she slowly tightened a 
wooden C-clamp around his swollen balls. Tighter and tighter she twisted 
the handles, until his balls were blue in the middle. Smiling, she let 
the clamp fall free, over the edge of the bench, stretching his balls 
horribly. His eyes remained shut, tears squeezing out of the corner. 
Kate laughed and stepped back, sitting in a chair, crossing her legs. 
She told him to open his eyes and watch as she slowly flexed her sexy 
feet, the long tendons dancing under the delicate skin. His cock was 
hard as a rock, even as his balls grew longer and more blue in the 
hanging grip of the big wooden clamp. 
    She freed him shortly and allowed him to follow her to the barn. 
This is where it would end, and soon; Kate had a return flight to catch, 
no time to stay in a country where the sanctity of the mob is taken 
deadly seriously and those screwing around with the code meet a deadly 
fate. She had Pardini stand in the middle aisle of the stable area, the 
whinnying horses nervously rearing to their feet when they saw him. Kate 
patted each one and they calmed down. She had a way with animals, two- 
or four-legged. 
    Kate grabbed a low hanging rope and tied his hands above his head. 
Another rope hung nearby. She grabbed it and pulled herself up, her 
lithe arms rippling with small balls of muscle as she did. When her feet 
got to his crotch, she encircled them with her feet again, jerking his 
balls and cock until he moaned in ecstasy. 
    Suddenly she lowered herself and spun him around. Driving her pretty 
foot upward, she delivered a dozen foot kicks into his exposed ass, 
reddening the flesh. He screamed in Italian for her to stop. She laughed 
and spun him around. Terror filled his eyes. Her's flashed power. The 
foot came up again, toes first, right into his nuts. 
    "NOOOOOooooooooo!!" Pardini screamed as Kate powdered his nuts again 
and again, finally going up to him and pulling his hair, snapping his 
head back. 
    "This is good, no?" she spit into his ear in Italian.. "Tell me you 
love it, tell me you love me kicking your balls, you little fuck, tell 
me you love me!!" 
    He did, he babbled that he loved her feet crushing his nuts and that 
he loved her. And he meant it, for his cock stiffened as he said it. 
Kate smiled and cruelly grabbed his rod, twisting it until he screamed a 
silent scream. She stepped back and kicked again, this time into his 
cock, snapping it painfully in mid-stem. His eyes rolled into his head 
and he passed out. 
    When he awoke, his guts were burning. Kate had lowered him to the 
floor, still with his hands tied, and stood on him, one foot on his 
balls, mashing them to the hay-strewn floor below, the other digging 
mercilessly down into his belly, toes pointed like a spear, digging, 
digging. She was massaging his internal organs with her strong foot. 
    "This will cause internal bleeding and will eventually kill you as I 
rupture you from the outside in," she said calmly, putting her weight 
into the twisting and grinding toes. "Mmm, I love this, I really do. 
Shows you what a woman with strong feet can do to a man!" 
    He didn't understand her English, but he knew pain and he tried to 
buck her off. Her foot speared harder, her other foot crushed his nuts 
flat. The pain/pleasure threshold had been crossed and now Pardini 
feared for his life, or at least the life of his balls. 
    Skin broke as sharp toenails popped through the flesh. Blood oozed 
up around Kate's pumping foot and she felt her cunt moisten. Growling, 
she twisted and snapped and ground her foot harder and harder, driven by 
Pardini's helpless moan, and soon she saw her big toe disappear inside a 
ripped fold of bloody flesh. She came, and came hard, a river of her 
sweet juices running down the inside of her hard thighs, wetting her 
pants, as she fucked his speared body with the one big toe, the obscene 
sucking sounds it made filling the stable. She pulled it out and wiped 
it across Pardini's crying face; a huge bubble of blood welled in the 
wound and ran down his side. More followed, slowly. 
    She pulled him up again, high in the air, off his feet. He swayed 
before her. 
    "Now you die, Pardini," she growled, hoisting herself up on her 
rope. 
    She pulled herself up until her feet were at his head. Swinging them 
up, she put one heel on each temple, pointing her feet out - and slowly, 
painfully bore down, driving the bones of her heels into his soft 
temples. His eyes bugged out and he screamed, his face contorting in 
pain and from the squeeze of her feet. She'd occasionally pull the feet 
off, spread her legs wide and slam them, heels first, into the temple, 
driving quivering shockwaves to his agonized brain, causing ministrokes 
to explode in the tender tissue inside. His voice garbled and he 
drooled. She was vegetating him with her powerful feet, and it made her 
come again. 
    She stopped the heel assault and dropped her feet to his shoulders, 
locking them behind his neck. His teary eyes looked at her as he felt 
her bony ankles dig into his carotid arteries. She scissored his neck 
hard in her ankles, jolting the hold on, and in seconds he was on the 
verge of passing out. Letting up, she let him regain consciousness - 
then did it again. She'd scissor those ankles on again and again and 
again, reeling him back from the dark, letting him come round, and then 
do it again. 
    "I'm killing you slowly, Pardini," she said in Italian this time. 
"My little ankle scissors slowly rob your brain of blood and oxygen, and 
like my heels pounding and pressing your temples, they make you have 
little strokes, which put together, will kill you slowly." 
    As she beat him, more blood oozed from his side wound, slowly 
draining his body of the vital fluid. She laughed and squeezed again, 
not stopping until she'd nearly knocked him out and brought him round 
again 100 times. His brain was sizzling - and slowly rupturing from 
within. 
    She hurried it along now, eager to leave the estate before workers 
returned from their afternoon break. She swung on her rope backwards and 
let herself crash forward, feet first, into his open mouth, driving her 
deadly toes inside, filling his lips, splitting his jaws, breaking 
bones. The long toes wiggled against the back of his throat as she foot-
fucked his mouth. She came once more, especially hard this time as his 
dying eyes implored her for release. 
    "Ciao, baby," Kate hissed through clenched teeth, punching her 
deadly feet deeper into  his mouth. 
    He choked, gagged and slowly and painfully died at the end of the 
beauty's long legs and incredible feet. She let herself down and fetched 
her handbag, taking out another pair of shoes. Slipping them on, she 
picked up the sandals she had been wearing, and looped the ankle straps 
around his cock and balls, pulling them as tight as possible and hooking 
the buckles shut. Smiling, she walked out of the barn, sliding the big 
door shut and locking it. She took his car back to the airport and made 
her way out of the country. 

    
    Kim, Angie and Eva found him easily enough. He was the loudmouth at 
the redneck bar, challenging everyone to a fight. The three women had 
made their way to backwater Oklahoma in search of a batterer, a man who 
repeatedly beat whatever woman he was married to or involved with, and 
he'd been married six times. Three of the women died, and here in 
frontier-justice land, he slipped between the judicial cracks in a 
system that doesn't really care about its women getting beaten and 
killed. 
    So the women came to mete out a little justice of their own. It 
would ordinarily take just one, but it was a training-working mission; 
Kim needed to make her first kill on the job and she was a little 
nervous about it. Angie and Eva would show her the way, guide her 
through it. Kim was eager. 
    The man, Carl Wayslow, staggered toward his pickup truck in the 
dimly lit and dusty parking lot of the Tornado Bar and Grill, so named 
because it had narrowly avoided destruction in twisters a number of 
times in its lucky past. The women waited in their own pickup truck 
parked next to his. 
    "Carl?" Kim said, walking up to him, dressed in flannel shirt, tight 
jeans and cowboy boots. "You Carl?" 
    "Cunt? You a cunt?" he leered, eyeballing the tall blonde. "I wanna 
fuck you." 
    "I know you do," she said calmly as Eva and Angie came up beside 
her, two more beautiful women in western wear. "Are you the guy who's 
killed his wives and other women before and gotten away with it?" 
    "Fucking A, I am, " he said proudly, weaving on unsteady feet, 
reaching to fondle Kim's huge breasts through her shirt. 
    She rolled her eyes and let him have a quick feel - then she felled 
him with a kick of her pointed boots right into his crotch. His eyes 
went white and wide and he fell at her feet. Laughing, the three women 
hoisted him in the back of the pickup and drove away. 
    They came to their campsite 20 miles out of town. Wayslow had been 
quiet the whole ride, largely because Kim stayed in the back with him, 
laying at the far end of the truck bed, her booted feet pressed into his 
nuts. He never moved, just stared at her with uncertainty and hatred, 
waiting for the time he could make his move. He always made his move, 
and no woman would stop him. Until tonight. 
    Eva jumped out of the truck and held a large hunting knife to 
Wayslow's throat, beckoning him to get out. He obeyed, his dark eyes 
flashing anger. He didn't say anything, but would occasionally let loose 
a beer-stinking belch. They tossed him down near the campfire and 
circled him, slowly peeling off their clothes. Wayslow finally smiled 
and started taking off his clothes until he sat naked in the dirt, his 
cock stiffening at the site of the three women who were now clad only in 
pointy cowboy boots and hats. 
    "Let's see, Carl, you beat one of your wives, or a couple of them, 
with a bullwhip, right?" Angie said. "That right?" 
    "Right," Wayslow sneered. "Cunt had it comin'. She wouldn't take 
this up her fat fucking ass." 
    He fondled his cock, aiming it Angie's way as she stood before him 
as he knelt in the dirt. 
    "Thought so," she said. "Kim? The whip?" 
    Kim ran to the truck and returned with a big, nasty-looking 
bullwhip. She cracked it at her side, the rifle-shot snap sound cracking 
the night air. Wayslow looked uneasy. 
    "Uh, what're you gonna do with that?" he asked slowly. 
    "Rip your balls apart," Kim growled. "Girls, pin him!" 
    Wayslow couldn't move fast enough and quickly found Eva sitting by 
his head, her boots on his shoulders as she pulled his arms tight up at 
her side, stretching them painfully. Angie sat on his belly and pulled 
his legs up under her arms, putting her full weight back on the small 
man to hold him still. His big balls, and now soft cock, hung down over 
his asshole. He hollered in protest. The girls laughed. 
    "Let 'em have it, girl!" Eva yelled to Kim. 
    Kim had trained for weeks with the whip for this moment and the 
practice showed. The first crack of the whip put the feathered end of it 
right into the middle of his ball package, splitting the skin in the 
seam and letting blood spray out. Wayslow screamed horribly against the 
pain and the women holding him. Eva pulled on his arms harder, the 
sockets in his shoulders beginning to tear. Angie raked her long nails 
down the backs of his thighs, leaving huge bloody scrapes. He begged for 
mercy and screamed like a little girl when Kim's whip tip crackled down 
on his balls two more times, one in the middle of each one, opening a 
hole. 
    "STOP!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!" he yelped, tears rolling down his 
face. 
    "Oh, but it was OK for you to do THIS.." Kim yelled, snapping the 
whip on his nuts on the word 'this', "to those women's tits and pussies, 
right?" 
    Kim's strong arm reared back and the whip flew again and again, 
leaving his balls a bloody mess and the cowboy pinned under Angie's 
delicious ass a crying baby. His shoulders were badly damaged by the 
constant pull of Eva's powerful arms and by the time they all go up, he 
rolled in the dirt, barely able to move his hands to cover his aching 
and destroyed balls. 
    "How 'bout the plain beatings you put on them, Carl," Kim said, 
walking around to Carl's head, shoving the point of her boot under his 
heavily breathing face. "How 'bout the times you stomped them. Like 
this!!" 
    She lifted the boot and drilled the side of his head with it, 
crushing his jaw under the heavy sole. His head bounced off the hard 
ground and he tried rolling away, but Kim was there, behind him, 
slamming the metallic toe of her cowboy boot deep into his agonized 
nuts, flipping him over. Now all three girls stomped the moaning man at 
their feet, Eva drilling her heel into his mouth, breaking his teeth and 
nose, Angie jumping up and down on his legs, shattering his kneecaps and 
snapping his lower leg bones, Kim pummeling his already destroyed balls, 
grinding them to paste in her pointy boots. He was nearly dead when they 
finished, but they weren't finished yet. 
    "Oh, and remember that woman, Erline, you lived with, the one you 
tortured and killed?" Kim said. "Remember the pitchfork and what you did 
and how the sheriff said it was the most gruesome murder he'd ever 
seen?" 
    Wayslow looked at her through black eyes and moaned through busted 
lips and teeth. 
    "....uck....you...." he hissed, knowing his time on earth was very 
limited now. 
    "No," Kim smiled, snapping her fingers for the other girls to put a 
pitchfork in her hands. "But this can fuck your cock!!" 
    Kim kicked apart Wayslow's broken legs and used the toe of her boot 
to nudge his cock. Amazingly, it started to get hard. Eva and Angie 
slipped off their boots and sat beside him, pinning his cock between 
their feet. They jacked him off by holding his meat between their soles 
and pulling the meat up and down. Wayslow moaned in pleasure, his head 
back in the dirt, blood smearing his face. 
    Then his eyes popped open wide just as he started to come. He felt 
extreme cold and pain in his cock and looking down, he was horrified to 
find out why. Kim Alexis was poking one thick tine of the pitchfork into 
the hole of his cock, twisting and pushing, grunting as she did, until 
the metal speared the entire length of his prick. Where once come was 
about to spew out, now their seeped blood. 
    "EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!" Wayslow screamed, his entire 
body convulsing against the incredible pain in his cock. 
    Eva and Angie continued to hold his bloody cock in their bare feet 
as Kim now brutally fucked it with her pitchfork, the steel sliding in 
and out of his meat easily. On each downstroke she'd plunge it in deeper 
and deeper, stabbing through the base of his cock, into his nuts, into 
his urinary tract, into his bowels. She was sweating heavily, her eyes 
wide, her mouth grinning maniacally. It was her first paid kill and she 
was so totally absorbed in it, come from her gushing pussy ran down the 
inside of her creamy thighs. 
    "ARGHHHH!!!" she screamed finally, leaning all her weight into the 
pitchfork, skewering his cock one last time, the other tines in the tool 
spearing his lower body and pinning him to the ground. 
    Wayslow died in a slow gurgle of blood as Kim stood over him, 
leaning on the pitchfork, rubbing her coming cunt against the smooth 
wood of the long handle. She bent it down now and inserted it in her 
pussy, fucking herself deep and long and screaming out another drenching 
orgasm that ran down the handle and fork and dripped on the dead man's 
body. Eva and Angie watched, amazed. 
    "By George," Eva laughed. 
    "I think she's got it," Angie finished. 
    The three women hugged by the campfire and then set about cleaning 
up after themselves before leaving - and after dumping Wayslow's body in 
a gully wash nearby. 
 
    Suze walked into the office building in a crush of other people so 
she wouldn't be noticed. And at nearly 6 feet tall and possessed of 
supermodel beauty, she would be noticed. She wore dark glasses and a 
dark business suit with stiletto heels as she got on the elevator and 
made her way to the business suite. 
    John was alone at his desk late in the day. He was making plans long 
after everyone had left, plans to turn his small underworld female 
assassins' organization into a huge, world-class affair - like Suze's. 
He was recruiting heavily, offering more money, apartments, health 
benefits, and a load of other perks, to lure girls from Suze's fold. 
    Suze picked the lock of the outer office, happy no one was there. 
She walked through the maze of doors and found John's office deep in the 
suite, an office overlooking the huge lake beyond, some 25 stories above 
ground. She was impressed. He didn't see her standing there. He was so 
engrossed in his work, he didn't see her slither in and slide into a 
chair before him, crossing her lean, sexy legs, the black-shoed foot 
bouncing sexily. 
    "John, we need to talk," she said calmly. 
    John jumped a foot off his chair, his pen clattering to the floor. 
His eyes were wide and a sudden sweat broke on his brow. 
    "Jesus Christ, Suze, you'll give me a fucking heart attack!" he 
grumbled. 
    She smiled. "That would be easier, yes." 
    He glared at her. 
    "Look, I know why you're here and it's just not gonna work," he 
said. "I'm gonna do this and you can't stop me, unless you kill me and I 
don't think you will." 
    "Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow and tensing her body to full 
alert. "And why's that?" 
    "This is why," he said, pressing a button under his desk. 
    Suddenly two women appeared, two extremely large women, 
bodybuilders, each topping 6-4 inches and weighing at least 240 pounds. 
They wore tight, barely visible bikinis and they were thick with muscle, 
from the round pads of meat around their necks and chests to the 
monstrous bubbles of hard flesh on their calves. One stood on each side 
of  Suze, their huge arms bowed at their sides. 
    "This?" Suze said, laughing, looking at the steroid-fed monsters at 
either side of her. "You call this the reason why? Please, John, is this 
what you're going after? This mutants couldn't get out of their own 
way." 
    John smiled and nodded at the women. Each reached down and grabbed 
an arm of Suze and stood her up. The tall, lean beauty went along 
easily, standing between the behemoths, dwarfed by them. 
    "They could easily tear your arms off right now and beat you to 
death with them," John said, leaning back in his chair and laughing. 
"I've seen them do it." 
    "Ah, but have you seen me do this?" Suze said. 
    Instantly, she sprang backwards, her arms still held tight by the 
amazons. She did a back flip and hit the floor to push off hard and 
return to her original standing position, smiling at John. 
    "Yeah, so?" he said, not impressed. "You did a backflip, you showed 
your agility, your flexibility because your arms stayed in the same 
position. So fucking what? How does that get you out of their grip? It 
doesn't." 
    "Oh, but it does," Suze hissed. "Watch!" 
    Suze did the backflip again and sprang back to the front. And again. 
And again. John watched, confused. The amazons held her, confused. And 
Suze smiled. It was time to move. 
    She did the backflip again, but this time spread her legs a bit as 
she did - and drove a pointed stiletto into the eye of each amazon, 
spearing it in a juicy pop. She pulled back to the standing position, 
yanking one eyeball each from the muscle women, and using her momentum 
on the return spring to fling them at John. The eyeballs bounced off his 
chest and face and rolled onto his desktop, bloodying the papers before 
him. 
    "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!!!!!!!" John shrieked, jumping up and batting 
at his chest and face as if a horribly large bug had brushed across him. 
"GODDAM SON OF A BITCH BASTARD CUNT!!!!" 
    Suze laughed and turned to grab the backs of the heads of the 
amazons who were staggering into each other, their burly hands clamped 
over the blood oozing eye sockets in their heads. She slammed their 
heads together repeatedly in a basic pro wrestling move, cracking their 
skulls and opening up scalp wounds on their steroid-thinned skin. She 
spun back to face John now. 
    "I'm gonna finish them off now, John," she growled. "Then I'm coming 
for you!" 
    John moved for his desk drawer but Suze was like a cat, leaping 
across the room and desk in one jump, punching him back to his chair 
with her feet. She jumped up and came down with her knees, driving both 
into his crotch. John's face went white and he nearly passed out as the 
beautiful woman knelt on his balls, grinding them in his pants. When he 
was sufficiently calmed, she ran back to the woozy amazons. 
    She leaped up, legs first, and took one down in a flying 
neckscissors, her taut thighs slicing into the throat of one of the big 
girls. She crashed to the carpeted floor and locked her ankles, wasting 
no time in going for the kill. The amazon's hands came away from her 
face and tried in vain to pull apart Suze's long, strong legs, but Suze 
was on her hands now, leaning up and brutally snapping her thighs on the 
neck, the corded muscles of one inner leg crushing the big girl's 
windpipe, the other grinding into the spinal column from behind. The 
amazon's popped eye spouted blood and optical nerve goop under the 
tremendous scissor pressure of Suze's relentless legs and the other eye 
stared mournfully at the woman doing all the damage. Suze grit her teeth 
and powered down with a series of thunderous jolts, one of which snapped 
the amazon's neck cleanly, killing her. 
    Suze unhinged her deadly legs and jumped to her feet to square off 
against the remaining girl, who lurched for her. Suze leaped up and 
blasted her feet into the growling face, puncturing the remaining 
eyeball with her heel and pulling it free. Rolling to her back, she 
pulled the eyeball from her heel and rolled it over on John's desk. 
John, still nauseous from the ball mashing Suze had given him, puked all 
over  the floor. 
    Suze dropkicked the amazon to her back and unleashed a brutal 
torrent of kicks to the girl's pussy, pointing the toe of her black 
shoes and drilling through the thin bikini bottom fabric, tearing it, 
bloodying the hairless cuntlips underneath. Walking around to the 
amazon's moaning head now, Suze stepped on her muscular throat with both 
feet, punching her weight down in a series of grunting jolts until the 
sharp heels of her stilettos popped through the windpipe and killed her. 
    She was a growling, feline animal now. Pulling her feet free from 
her shoes and leaving them in the dead woman's throat, Suze slithered to 
John's desk, spinning him around in his chair. She sat on the desk and 
bent her legs up. Grabbing the back of his head with one foot, she 
lathered his face with the other, grinding his nose and lips in the sexy 
smooth sole of her foot, rubbing it raw, mashing his facial features and 
making him kiss and lick her long, strong toes. Laughing, she pinched 
his nose between her big toes and twisted. He cried out in pain as she 
cracked it one way, then the other. 
    "Never," she said with a crack of his nose. 
    "Ever," she said, cracking it the other way. 
    "Think," she continued, cracking it again, and doing so on each of 
the words that would follow. 
"That..you...can..fuck..with...me..and...LIVE!!!!" 
    On 'live,' she twisted John's nose so brutally hard it shattered in 
her toe grip, blood gushing from his nostrils and coating his $500 suit. 
She kept twisting and grinding and snapping, holding the back of his 
head with her other slender foot, until John was convinced she would rip 
the nose right off his face. 
    She finally let go and he slumped back in his seat, blood pouring 
from his face. Suze laughed and lowered her feet, unsnapping his pants 
with them, pulling them off to reveal his limp cock and balls. She used 
the toes, the soles, the heels, to slowly stiffen his cock, taking it 
between her feet and jerking it slowly at first, then more quickly. 
    "Come for me, John," she hissed, looking at his pained, bloodied 
face. "Come all over my pretty feet, Johnny baby, c'mon, I wanna see a 
big, creamy load of come blast from that big cock of yours and lather my 
feet, my pretty feet, my painted toenails, my smooth, smooth 
insteps..mmm, you're gonna come for me, baby? Huh?" 
    Despite the pain in his head and nuts, John felt his inner sexual 
soul bend and twist and start the irreversible gushing of spunk up his 
foot-wrapped prick. The first shot jettisoned high in the air and made 
Suze moan out loud - and then slam her feet together so tightly, the 
rest of the screaming load backed up inside John's nuts in a welling of 
extreme pain, as if he'd been hit in the balls with a hammer. 
    "How's THIS feel, asshole??" Suze growled. 
    As she shut down his coming, she moved one sole to the base of his 
cock, the other to the head and pushed. John's cock snapped cleanly in 
the middle. The pain seared through his body like a red-hot poker up his 
ass. His mouth cracked open in a silent scream and as he looked down at 
his stiff cock bent at a gruesome 90-degree angle, he puked all over it, 
and just as Suze moved her feet away. 
    "Can't take it?" she hissed, slapping his face with her foot, wiping 
his one shot of come clean on it. "Baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet!" 
    She grabbed him and flipped him to the floor in front of his big 
desk. He moaned, his face bloodied, his cock mangled, his balls mashed. 
She stood between his legs and delivered a series of brutal front kicks 
to his nuts. 
    "Just doing business, Johnny boy," she said, slamming her foot into 
his nuts, using her toes to crush them further. "You fuck with my 
business, I fuck you up. Simple." 
    She went over to the amazons' bodies and pulled off one of their 
tiny bikini tops. She returned to Johnny and tied the flimsy material 
around his nuts and cock, in garrote fashion. Sitting on his chest, she 
began twisting and jerking the fabric, slicing the nylon into this 
genital package, cutting him. He screamed in renewed terror. 
    "NOOOOO!!" he roared. 
    Suze smiled and jerked her hands to one side, then the other. If 
this garrote were around his neck, it would snap it, but now just sliced 
deeper and deeper into the meat of his ball and cock base, blood pouring 
from the wound. When it was nearly through, she tied it in a knot and 
stood up. Retrieving her shoes from a dead amazon's throat, she slipped 
them on her feet and walked to Johnny, who was looking up at her through 
fading eyes. 
    "Please...." he groaned. "Work..together...you and me..." 
    She laughed. 
    "Nice try, but too little, too late," she said, twisting his head to 
the side and lifting one foot to fit a stiletto heel to his temple. 
"Besides, I could never work with an asshole like you. But I could do 
this!!" 
    She stomped down hard, the sharp heel easily piercing the soft 
temple tissue and slicing through cleanly to John's brain. At the same 
time, she pulled back on the knotted bikini top around his cock and 
balls and the jerking motion finished the job, severing his genitals 
which rolled clear of his legs and left nothing but a stump ejaculating 
thick rivers of blood. She ground down with the heel now, grinding it 
into his brain and his entire body convulsed and jerked around the point 
of the heel holding his head still. His mouth cracked open and let out a 
shrill, frightening screech. Suze growled and twisted more, corkscrewing 
the heel inside John's brain, mashing and destroying the organ as she 
did. Within seconds, he was dead, his head pinned to the floor by Suze's 
heel, his cock and balls laying in a bloody lump beside him. 
    She cleaned up before leaving. 
    "Nice not doing business with you, Johnny," she laughed and headed 
out the door, stepping over bodies as she went. 
           (For information on how custom stories like this may be created for 
you, e-mail KanDor876@aol.com
You can also buy custom stories in Diana's Shopping Mall, at
http://www.TheValkyrie.com/mall/office/shoppin1.htm)