Debut performance
Martin Kane
The Popcorn King makes a movie with his newest recruit


Author's note:

Should anyone out there wish to get in contact with me, I happily 
invite you to do so, via the messageboard for readers and writers.
I welcome any comments.

Copyright is mine.  If you do wish to use this tale elsewhere I ask 
you to please seek permission first.

Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters 
contained herewith are merely the products of an overwrought 
imagination, not to mention an unfortunate quantity of truly bad 
B-movies.

As for the adult content warning... what else would you be expecting?


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The Popcorn King sat on his throne.  At his right hand stood his 
faithful bodyguard, a tall bottle-bleach-blonde named Gail.  She was 
both his bodyguard and beloved.  His lover and protector.  His 
employee in business and equal partner in life.

His throne was a leather swivel-chair, sat behind an expansive desk.  
A laptop closed before him.  The Popcorn King generally travelled 
light - in such a profession it was wise to do so.

Claire looked around the office.  Exquisitely decorated.  A 
photograph dominated one wall, centre of attention amidst blank 
space.  It was of a heavily muscled woman in a graceful pose; she was 
naked but her body twisted towards modesty.  It was Gail - the 
bodyguard babe, who even now rested a single light hand protectively 
on her boyfriend's suited shoulder.

Claire assessed the woman gently.  The immaculate, tailored jacket, 
the business skirt that revealed the bottom of her immensely muscled 
thighs.  Her powerful calves.

Her other muscles were concealed but she was doubtless well built, 
even without the evidence of the photograph.  Claire guessed the 
woman was at least as muscled as herself.  She was still just an 
amateur but had never met a woman who was larger than her own 
devastating physique.  Until now perhaps.

Victor Smith by contrast was a small man.  He looked a little sickly, 
anaemic even.  In fact, with his white hair and rose tinted specs, he 
looked like Andy Warhol.  It was certainly true that he fancied 
himself as a bit of an Andy Warhol.  Wasn't he after all known to all 
as Victor Videotape Smith?  Or Vic Video.  Or indeed - the Popcorn 
King.

Unlike others in his business, he liked to take a personal and active 
interest in the movies he made, liked to think of himself as an 
artiste.

He sat across from Claire, watching her even as she watched him.  He 
sat forward, his elbows on the desk, his fingertips pressed together.

'How are you feeling?' he asked her, finally breaking the silence.

Claire smiled.  'OK I guess.  A little nervous.'

He returned her smile, transforming his face into one of charm and 
confidence.  'That's only to be expected.  But there really is 
nothing to be worried about.  You're using your body to make money.  
A great deal of money, no less.  It's been going on since bartering 
began.  They do call it the oldest profession.'

'I guess so.  I hadn't really thought of it like that.'

'Though it's not quite the same.  A more modern take perhaps.  You'll 
be alone in the room with him but remember that the cameras will 
catch everything.'

She nodded.  Was she really ready for this?  Could she really go 
through with it?  Of course she could.  She thought about the debts 
hanging over her head.  The sleepless nights and the hell of 
spiralling financial horror that was the previous eighteen months.  
For that burden to be lifted off of her shoulders in one fail swoop, 
and to walk away with a happy bundle of disposable cash at the end of 
it.  Oh, she could go through with it alright.

'Good.  Then if you'd like to get yourself ready.  I just want a 
final word with your playmate before we begin.'

Claire left the room and was guided to a private dressing room.

Meanwhile, Glen was led to Victor Smith's office.  He too was visibly 
nervous.  Like Claire, this was his first time at playing in front of 
the cameras.

Unlike Claire however, there was nothing physically particular about 
Glen.  He wasn't any sort of athlete.  He didn't have a muscular 
physique, didn't look anything special at all.

Victor Smith smiled openly.  It was a good match-up.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

Glen smiled nervously.  'OK.'

'Good.  Any doubts or questions before we begin?'

'Just one.  About the money?'

'You'll receive full payment after the film has been made.  Once our 
nurse has given you the once over, just to be sure.  We'll discuss 
possible future arrangements.'

'Oh, this is just a one off for me,' Glen said.

Victor Smith shrugged.  'Perhaps.  But we'll see.  When you see how 
easy this money is.'

'About what you want me to do.  I'm not used to acting without a 
script.  Ad-lib was never my thing you see.'

'Just go with the flow.  You'll be fine.  It's naturalism I'm after 
here.  Besides, she'll be taking the initiative, just follow her 
lead.'

'OK.  I've just never hit a girl before.'

'Trust me Glen, she can take it.  Don't hold back.'

He was led out.  Victor Smith turned to his beloved, running his 
hands up her hips to slide under the jacket.  They eased along a rock 
hard stomach, up to large and substantial breasts.  He squeezed them 
once, hungrily and stood to kiss her lips.

Gail followed his arms down to his wrists and took hold of them 
tightly.  She wrenched his hands out and up behind his shoulders.  
Then she kissed him back, hard and forceful.  She pressed her body 
against him, feeling his solid erection prod at her own excited sex.

Victor Smith pulled away, shuddering.  'Let's go make a movie.'

And they did.

Claire finished pumping herself up, the oil gleaming off of her 
bulging physique.  She stepped out into the room.  Glen was already 
waiting for her.  He was sat on the wrestling mat.  He did a double 
take upon seeing her hugely muscled physique.

'Fuck me,' he muttered.  He had been told she was a bodybuilder, but 
to actually see it, up close and personal, was a sight to behold.  
This was indeed going to be painful.

First came the comparisons.  They stood face to face, Glen genuinely 
awed and intimidated by her body.

He was dressed a saggy grey vest, shorts.  She had on a lime green 
bikini.  As well as outweighing him in sheer muscle bulk, she was a 
head taller.  This was not going to be a clash of titans.  It was 
going to be a one-sided slaughter.

She flexed a biceps muscle in front of him face.  It exploded with 
power, swelling up huge and hard, as though it had independent life 
of its own.

'Now you,' she demanded, getting into the dominating role.  She had 
to admit, it did feel good.

He was too stunned to respond at first, staring mutely at the 
shocking mountain of muscle that had risen right before his eyes.

She jabbed a finger at his chest - hard and vicious.  It was painful 
enough to shake him from his reverie.

'Flex,' she ordered, grabbing his arm and trying to shake some life 
into it.

Mutely, he obeyed, raising his own weak noodle of a limb to flex 
alongside hers.

Claire laughed cruelly, really beginning to enjoy the role.  To call 
the comparison ridiculous wasn't going nearly far enough.  She 
overshadowed his non-existent muscle in the way a juggernaut truck 
looms over a child's toy.

She wrapped her hand around his upper-arm, squeezing viciously and 
making him cry out in surprise and pain.  She tossed him to the floor 
with a careless flick of her wrist.

Then she flexed, throwing her colossal muscles into a pose of 
humongous proportions.

He got up, backing away unconsciously.

Claire flexed a huge thigh, the mammoth layers of muscle hardening at 
her will.  Her legs were each thicker than his wimpy chest.

She didn't even ask him to compare his thighs to hers, the staggering 
difference was simply too great.  Instead she made him feel them, 
made him run his hand along the striated muscles.

She did compare her calves to his thighs though, her bulging slopes 
outmatching his weak physique.

Claire sat then, and parted her immense legs, like heavy vault doors 
opening on a prized treasure.

'Kiss my cunt,' she ordered.  It was as sexual as her brief specified 
she could go.  No that wasn't true.  It was as far directly sexual as 
her brief specified.  Absolutely everything about this was sexual.  
It was intimidation and humiliation, domination and conquest.

Glen shuddered backward.  He knew what she really intended.

'I won't crush you.  I just want you to see that I could.'

Reluctantly, he knelt between her legs.  Those thighs loomed 
threateningly either side of his head, horribly muscular and easily 
capable of crushing him like an egg.

They twitched and he shot back as though electrocuted.  But she'd 
merely fluttered her muscles a moment.

He lowered his head, slowly moving down.  He acted as though a lion 
tamer sinking into the King of Beasts' mighty jaws.  The muscles 
powering this vice however, were infinitely stronger.

He was sure at any moment, she would close on him and squeeze his 
skull in an iron vice he could never hope to survive.

But, true to her word, she didn't.  Glen reached her bikini-clad 
cleft, and planted a quick, frightened kiss upon her lips, so light 
she barely felt it, throwing himself back the second the task was 
complete.

His exit was inhibited by a careless ankle against his back.  A 
mountainous calf flexed against his shoulder-blade and forcefully 
sank his head back into the range of those crushing thighs.

She closed them, just enough to let him feel hard muscle against each 
cheek.

Glen squealed in panic, leaping back from her and running as far away 
as the small room would allow.

Claire let him go, laying back and laughing out loud.  He was 
petrified of her.  It felt wonderful.

She recovered herself and stood.  She gave the cameras a few more 
Herculean poses and finished with fists thrust defiantly on her hips.  
Her belly rippled with hard, dense musculature.

'We've not finished the comparison,' she told him.

She made him feel her solid abdomen, made him jab the hard, round 
rocks of her eight-pack with his finger.

Then she made him punch her.

He did so, thumping his fear and fury into a fist, into her belly, 
again and again.  Don't hold back had been the last instruction 
Victor Smith had given him.  And he held nothing back, slamming into 
her gut with all the hate and power he could muster.

He might as well have punched the wall.  It would have been equally 
futile and equally painful.  He gave up not because he had exhausted 
himself but because his knuckles couldn't stand any more abuse.

Claire was unaffected by his assault, nowhere near pained by his 
efforts.  Her muscle was a wall he could never hope to penetrate.

'Done?' she enquired.  'Good.  My turn.'

When she punched him, she did so at an upward angle, wanting his feet 
to leave the ground when her fist powered into his belly.

They did.  The power of her blow lifting him into the air with a 
solid grunt.

Glen flew backward through the air, travelling a number of feet 
before he crashed down onto the matted floor with a seriously pained 
though savagely winded cry.

Another mountain muscle pose from the chick with the biceps, then the 
show continued.

She helped him onto his feet by lifting him, hands flat beneath his 
shoulders.  She put him down on his feet and he managed to stay there 
when she released him.

'You OK?' she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Glen looked defeated and they hadn't even started the fight yet.

'You ready to fight?' she asked.  To look at him, the answer was 
obvious.  But then, a man such as he would never be ready to fight a 
woman such as she.

'I've changed my mind,' he whimpered.  'I want out.'

'Tough shit,' she countered and slapped him hard across the cheek.  
The blow sent him reeling.

He staggered to retain his balance but failed, collapsing weakly onto 
his knees.

Claire helped him back up by grasping a handful of his vest and 
lifting, raising him level to her, though doing so left his feet 
dangling uselessly.  Glen did not seem to notice.  This wasn't going 
to be a difficult fight to win.

'At least try to make it look good.'

She stretched the arm holding him out straight, lifting him up high 
above her.  Then she turned her body, twisting around from the 
shoulder.  She thrust her body forward and carried his weight over 
and above her, dragging him from her shoulder and tossing him with 
all her might over the entire length of the room.

His feet didn't touch the ground, his body smashing against the far 
wall before finally crashing back down to the floor.

Claire stalked the room towards him, striding slowly with assured 
poise and evil intent.  She reached down and grabbed him by both 
shoulders.  She did the twisty thing again, throwing him over her 
shoulder to smash against the ground.  Padded or not, he hit the 
floor hard, powered by her tremendous strength.

She lifted him again, this time, catching hold of him by shoulder and 
waistband.  A jerk of her vast muscles and she heaved him up to her 
chest, as though his body were a barbell.  Then she threw up her 
strength, heaving him to arm's length above her head.

She held him there a few moments, letting the cameras get a good 
view.  Then she threw him, hard against the wall.

He smashed into it and fell back to the floor.

By now, Glen was battered almost insensible.

But he could still fell pain.  Claire proved this to all those 
watching intently by wrapping her fist around his hand and squeezing.

She did it slow, ensuring her fingers and whole arm was clearly 
visible, making sure every muscle could be seen working as she 
meticulously crushed his hand to a bleeding mess of meat, compacted 
to the size of a golf-ball.

Glen screamed and she released him again.

'Enough, enough,' he begged.  'You win.  It's enough.'

'It's not enough,' Claire told him.  'It's never enough.  They lied 
to you.  When they said this was just a fight, they lied.  When they 
said you were gonna survive, they lied.  Only one of us is getting 
out of this room.  And you don't need three guesses to know which of 
us it's going to be.'

Glen backed away from her, the fear on his face assuring her that she 
was believed.

'Tag.  You're it.'

She punched him square in the face - a solid blow that landed dead 
centre, splattering his nose and spraying blood.  He went down hard.

Her kick crushed him, breaking and rupturing various insides.  More 
posing, her muscled leg lifted to rest on his quivering chest.  She 
could plunge her foot down.  She could end his misery just by flexing 
that massively muscled thigh and sinking her foot right through into 
his chest cavity.  But she didn't.

Instead she reached down and grabbed herself a handful of vest, 
lifting him one handed.  She held him out, a dangling mess, at arm's 
length.

She walked over to the wall, pressing him against it, bracing 
herself.  Then she let loose.

Holding the man flat against the wall, his feet still dangling, she 
drew back her free arm and crossed the line into murder.

Her fist sank into him, squishing all that lay beneath it.  She drew 
back and fired again, crushing and mashing his organs with each 
successive blow.

Again and again her fist landed in his belly, liquefying his innards, 
ending any doubt that the climax of this would be anything other than 
fatal.

He was already dead when she eased off but she held him aloft anyway.  
She turned the corpse around, wrapping her huge arm around his neck.  
One last twisting squeeze and the resounding crack sounded his 
complete defeat.

Claire tossed the meat aside and walked away - walked out of the room 
without looking back.

She showered and dressed before seeing the Popcorn King.

Again it was in his office.  Again, the muscled girlfriend/bodyguard 
stood beside him.

Victor Smith shook his head a little in satisfied awe.

'What can I say?' he murmured.  'That was wonderful.'

'You were fantastic,' Gail told her.  'Everything we hoped for and 
more.'

Victor Smith smiled at her.  He seemed lost for words.  This wasn't 
just a part of the charm or the salesman shtick, he was in a genuine 
state of wonderment.

'How do you feel?' Gail asked her.

How did she feel?  How to put into words such a blur of confounding, 
conflicting, chaotic emotions?

'Wired,' she concluded.

'I bet you do,' Gail told her with a conspiratorial smile.  'It's 
fairly intense isn't it.  The first time is a ride like you'll never 
know again.'

She didn't say anything.  Didn't know what to say.

'Christ, look at you,' Gail murmured.  'You're about ready to pop.'

Victor Smith dropped an impossibly fat envelope on the desk in front 
of her.

'You earned that.  And there's a cherry on top for you.  I know you 
wanted a one shot deal but now I've seen you work, I really do hope 
we can make more films.  That stack there is just the beginning.  You 
have potential to become great - you really do.  Not to mention 
incredibly rich.'

Claire took the money without even looking at it.  Pocketing it 
quickly.  Her life had just changed.  Whatever the cost may have 
been, whatever the repercussions, her life had just changed for the 
better.

'Thanks.'

She didn't want to be so callous or guarded but she had no choice.  
She felt as though her head was about to explode.

They didn't seem to take exception however.  Gail showed her out, 
laying an intimate hand on her shoulder as she did.  She offered 
Claire a business card, a personal mobile written below the business 
number.

'If you want anything, anything at all, any time of the day or night, 
then my phone is always switched on.  It's going to be a strange time 
for you right about now.  But always remember that you have friends 
now.'

Claire took it.  'Thanks.'

'And one more thing,' Gail offered.  'Some personal advice.  Go home 
to your boyfriend and fuck his brains out.  I guarantee that tonight 
you will have the most mind-blowing sex of your entire life.'

'Thanks.'

And she thought about what Gail had said as she made her way home.  
She thought about her next encounter with the debt collector.  She 
thought about her boyfriend - the man who'd been with her for these 
past few years.  She thought about all that had happened and all that 
would happen now.

When she opened the front door, her boyfriend called out to her.

'Where have you been?  I was worried shitless.'

Oh, that self-righteous tone.  Where had she been?  How about where 
he had been last night.  How about the lies and alibis.  They were 
getting more convoluted - more extreme.  It was almost as if he 
wanted to be caught, wanted to be found out so they could end this 
twisted game once and for all.

But she never bit the bait, never pushed it that far because the 
truth was, she still loved him, still needed him.  And if it came to 
blows, they both knew they would not make it through intact - that 
the relationship couldn't take it.

So they carried on in a constant state of denial; two walking wounded 
spiralling down, each into their own personal hells, no longer able 
to count on the other for support.

'I want you.  Now,' she told him, anger hedging her lust, giving her 
new dominatrix persona the rein.

'What?'

But she didn't repeat herself, instead tossing her jacket aside and 
grabbing him hard, slamming him back against the wall with all her 
strength.

He was winded by her roughness, shaken by her hostility and totally 
aroused by her vicious lust.

To live with a female bodybuilder, he was the kind of man to desire 
powerful women, even though Claire was never quite the strong woman 
in spirit that her body would suggest.  

To have her forcefully abuse him now, he happily forgot their 
problems for the time being, as she jammed her tongue into his mouth, 
forcing his teeth apart and making with gasp with the sheer savagery 
of her desire.

Claire carried her lover to their shared bedroom.  There she tore his 
clothes off of him, literally ripping his T-shirt and jeans into 
rags.

She repeated the process with her own clothes, shredding them off of 
her body to expose her hot, hungry muscles.

He gasped, as turned on now as he'd ever been in his life, even more 
than the first time when his lifelong fantasy had finally come to 
pass, to consummate his fascinated desire for the covered creature 
that was a muscled woman.

About ready to pop.  It was an understatement.  She was about to go 
supernova.

This man beneath her, this man shrieking in pain as she manhandled 
him.  He was as hard inside her as ever he had been, despite the 
infliction of her savage will upon him.  He was shrieking in sheer 
agony but his orgasm still kept on coming.

This man who'd been cheating on her, this man whose selfish, childish 
whims, whose refusal to face responsibilities and control his 
addictions and sent them both spiralling into debts neither could 
handle.  This man who'd cheated and lied and dragged her down with 
him, who'd drained her emotionally, psychologically and financially.  
This man who'd taken everything she had to offer and then continued 
to suck her dry - to leave her a spent husk.

And even after that - after all he had done and all he'd left her 
with - he still refused to cut her loose, refused to let her go.  
Instead, manipulating the situation until she could take no more and 
ended it for him, allowing him to wallow in his own self pity, blame 
her for all his problems even while he left then all with her.

Claire screamed - her orgasmic cries drowning out her lover's death 
agony.

They both had the most mind-blowing sex either had ever imagined 
possible, even as her fingers tightened around his skull.  Even as 
she crushed him in her grip, they were both locked in the most 
intense orgasm either would ever know.  His brain triggered electric 
ecstasy even as it caved in, even as her finger splintered the skull 
and dove into the wet meat.

She went supernova as his head burst in her grip.

Claire lay amongst cold gore, her body still refusing to come back 
down.  Every motion triggered a fresh reminiscence of her glory.  She 
lay there, writhing and unable to focus on anything but the purple 
explosions that continued to wrack her utterly spent and helpless 
body.

Eventually she could move once more.  Amongst the tatters of her 
discarded clothing she found the card that Gail had given her.

She truly hadn't intended to do that to her boyfriend.  She'd half 
considered murder in the past but in the heat of fury, never the heat 
of passion.  But something had taken hold of her and for once in her 
life she'd decided to go with it and not hold back.  She'd acted 
purely on instinct and let the beast take over.  And now she was 
naked in a gore-splattered bedroom with the inconvenience of a 
corpse, which was missing most of its head.



Gail was currently dressed in black lace lingerie sitting on her 
boyfriend.  The man she was paid to protect was currently tied 
helpless to their huge king sized double, dressed only in cowboy 
boots, complete with spurs, and a felt cowboy hat.

'Just a minute.'

'Uhg?'

(Oh yeah, and a small leather gag.)

'Hello?'

'Uhhhh.  Uhg!'

'Shhh.  Claire?  Is that you?'

'Uhg.'

'Honey, what is it?'

'HHHuuuu.'

'SSsshh.'  She pointed to the phone, as though he was unaware of it.  
'It's fine.  I told you, anytime at all.  Please, tell me what's 
wrong.'

'Uhg.  UHG.'

'OK.  Don't worry about a thing.  Stay there.  Don't do a thing.  
I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

'Uhg?'

'It's OK, you did the right thing, calling.  Just wait for me.'

'Uhg, uhg?'

Gail was already dressing, pulling clothes on and stepping into her 
shoes.

'Uhg?'

'It's Claire.  Just wait there, we'll finish when I get back.'

'Uhg!'

'Hmm.  No, I won't be long.'

'UUHHH.'

'OK.'  She pressed a remote control and the large screen TV opposite 
their bed came to life.  It began to play the film they'd taped 
earlier that day.  Claire beating Glen to death.

'Uhhg,' he tried one last time, tugging at his bindings.  Gail wasn't 
to be moved though.

She gave him a quick kiss goodbye and left him, pausing at the door.  
'You know, I think we've just got ourselves a new recruit.'  

Victor Videotape Smith, sometimes known as the Popcorn King sighed 
and watched the TV screen.  It was currently displaying a pretty 
young bodybuilder forcing a very frightened looking man to feel her 
hugely muscled thighs.