Annabelle V: A Cuck Exposed
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Annabelle exposes a high-ranking executive as a wimpy cuck


* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains physical and mental abuse of a weak male by
stronger females. For those who prefer strong women who are gentler and more
respectful to their male lovers, please try my Christina, Debbie, Sara, and
Juanita stories.

I do not condone the type of behavior by the girls in this story in real life.
Annabelle, Cassie, and May are bullies. The purpose of this story is to
explore erotic fantasies of female dommes showing their strength and control
over weaker males. The key word being fantasies.

Now, on to the story!

* * *

May and Cassie looked up from their table at the outdoor cafe as Annabelle
walked up to them, still dressed in her prison guard uniform. "Hey, Ana," said
Cassie. "You look kind of depressed for someone who just got back from
dominating Stephen's faggy ass."

Annabelle smiled. "Oh, don't get me wrong. I'll always enjoy brutalizing that
wussy little bitch. But it's just the same old thing, you know?"

"Well, we also have our new series of videos starring Spike," said May,
referring to her ex-boyfriend that she had dumped when he had gotten beaten up
by a woman. She shuddered at the memory of actually going out with him and
giving him sex. Well, at least he was getting what he really deserved now.

"That's true," said Annabelle. "But it's still just...I want something new.
Something different. Oh well, I'm sure we'll think of something eventually."
She reached for a menu. "What's good?"

The three attractive young women turned their conversation to more mundane
subjects. To any outside observer, they appeared to be nothing other than
three regular hot chicks. Only the males who had been brutalized by them knew
what they really were - a trio of cold, calculating alpha female bitches who
filmed themselves dominating weak men and selling the videos on the Internet
to various femdom, gay, and cuckold porn sites.

* * *

Annabelle looked over her latest set of modeling pictures, nodding in
satisfaction. Being a part-time prison guard and a part-time model really let
her bring out both her masculine and feminine sides. Right now on the modeling
side, she had signed a one-year contract with a company called Triumphant
Sporting Goods to be their official spokesmodel, with very generous
compensation.

There was a knock on her office door. "Come in," she called out. An
attractive, middle-aged, auburn-haired woman entered. "Oh, hey, Veronica."

"Hey, Ana." Veronica, the executive vice president of the company and one of
Annabelle's closest friends there, smiled as she entered the model's office.
"I just wanted to let you know that we're having our annual softball game
against Imperial Sporting Goods this weekend. This year, the winners get to
fly to Las Vegas on a private jet for a five-night stay at the Wynn, and the
losing team has to pay for it all. Are you interested?"

Annabelle's dark brown eyes lit up. She was an experienced softball player,
having been a starting player on her high school varsity team right from her
freshman year, and she loved any kind of competition. "Sounds great. Count me
in."

"Excellent. Let me go into the rules a bit more. All the high-ranking
executives at both corporations have to participate, but any spots left over
can be filled in by anyone who works at our respective companies. Each team
has to have at least two women, so you and I fill that quota. Also, a woman
has to pitch. I'll handle that, since I pitched for my high school and college
teams. Is there any particular position you'd like to play? Since you're
younger and more athletic than the middle-aged guys who'll be making up the
rest of the team, the CEO has agreed that you should have first pick."

"I'll be happy to take center field. I mostly played outfield in high school."

"Perfect. I'll tell the CEO to pencil you in for center field, then he can
make the rest of the lineup." Veronica leaned in close. "I just hope we can
win."

"Why? Does the other team have a ringer?"

"No. Ringers aren't allowed. Employees only, and anyone on the team has to
have been employed for at least two months. The problem's on our side. It's
Elliott. He has to be on the team according to the rules of the bet, but he
sucks ass."

Annabelle vaguely remembered Elliott from a few meetings she had sat in on. He
was a short, thin, middle-aged man who was never without his suit and tie. The
better to hide his scrawny body, she thought. She also remembered that
whenever she had gone out with the executives for any kind of sport - golf,
tennis, even bowling - he had never participated. And in addition, she had
never seen him succeed at the "casual workplace slightly flirty banter" thing
with the hot female executives like all the other male executives had nailed
at least once.

A smile appeared on the hot model's face. This was just the new and different
thing she had been looking for. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much. I'm sure
things will work out. One way or another."

* * *

Elliott paced worriedly in his large office. He had to get out of this stupid
softball game somehow. He had to come up with a plan.

All his life, Elliott had been short, scrawny, weak, and frequently beaten up
in school by both boys and girls. He was also a nerd, and the epitome of the
"you might be beating me up now, but someday you'll work for me" kid that
existed in every school. After all the suffering, all the humiliation, all the
years of being at the bottom of the totem pole in school and college, he had
finally made it into the working world.

He had managed to start with a six-figure salary right out of college and had
only gone up from there. Now, he was a senior vice president here at
Triumphant Sporting Goods. Outwardly, he had all the elements of success. A
five-bedroom house. A black Audi A8 sedan. A large collection of Italian
suits. A steady stream of high-priced call girls. He just wished his female
co-workers would be a little warmer towards him.

But deep down, he knew that he was a fraud. All the executives at the company
thought of themselves as alphas. For most of them, it was true. For him, it
was not.

So despite his wealth and prestigious career, Elliott lived in constant fear.
Fear that his past life as a loser would come back to haunt him. Fear that
some asshole who had bullied him in high school would expose him to all his
comrades. Fear that his physical weakness and lack of athleticism would get
him branded a loser once again. It was getting harder and harder to make
excuses for not joining in every time the other executives wanted to play golf
or tennis. And now, with this softball game...

He would have to fake an injury. Yes, that was it. A sprained ankle would do
nicely. Then he could get make to his regular life, being accepted as one of
the boys by the alphas. Fake it till you make it had been his motto, and he
had made it. He would make it through this softball thing too. All he had to
do was...

He was startled by the sudden knock on the door. "Come in."

It was the sexy new spokesmodel, what was her name, Annabelle. Yes, that was
it. Damn, she was hot. At 5'8", she stood three inches taller than him. Her
130-pound figure with 34B tits, a 25-inch waist, and 35-inch hips was
perfectly proportioned. The half European, half Filipina beauty had inherited
the best of both worlds, with a tall white girl's height and the long silky
black hair and beautiful darkly tanned brown skin of a Southeast Asian.
Elliott, with his short stature and pale skin, found himself burning with
jealousy over both of those sides.

Annabelle was wearing knee-high black leather boots that gave her an alluring
domme look, tight black leather pants that showed off her round, muscular ass,
and a white blouse that showed off the darkness of her tan. The sleeves of her
blouse were rolled up, displaying her well-muscled, heavily developed,
surprisingly big (but still feminine) forearms. The studded black leather
bracelets she wore on each of her wrists covered up the thinnest part of her
arms and made them look even thicker. Another wave of jealousy flowed through
Elliott as he looked at her strong brown forearms. He knew that his wrists
were thinner than hers, which both made him feel ashamed and turned him on
schmoe-style. That was why he always made sure to wear long sleeves at work.

"Hey, Elliott," she said, giving him a dazzling smile and making him blush.
"Veronica and I are going to head out to the tennis court with the big boss
for a mixed doubles match, but we need a fourth player. Want to come?"

Elliott shook his head. "I...uh...I can't. I have too much work to do." He
knew that he would have made a total fool of himself on the court. Damn, it
was getting harder and harder to dodge these things.

"I guess I'll ask one of the other guys then. Oh, how about tomorrow? Tomorrow
Veronica and I are going shooting at the outdoor range. Want to join us?"

"I...uh...have an appointment tomorrow." Elliott had a flashback to the only
time he had gone shooting, several years ago. He had managed to use his wealth
to get a date with a pretty girl, and she had suggested they go to the range.
An experienced markswoman, she had showed off her skill with a pistol (which
both intimidated him and turned him on), then handed him the gun. On his first
shot, the heavy recoil from the weapon had caused it to jump and strike him
right in the face. Everyone there had being laughing their asses off at him,
his date loudest of all. She had immediately dumped him and left him to take
the walk of shame out alone, completely humiliated.

"You'll be there for the softball game, right?" Annabelle asked. "Can't go to
Vegas if you don't play. I think we're going to win. You should see how I get
when I'm over there. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas and all that."

Vegas! He had forgotten about Vegas. To go there, on a private jet, with all
the cool kids, including sexy Annabelle...Faking an injury didn't seem like
such a good idea now. Maybe the game wouldn't be so bad. Maybe there would be
other players who sucked as much as he did.

"Sure," he said. "I'll be there for that."

"Great. See you Saturday."

As Annabelle exited Elliott's office and headed off down the hall, she smirked
to herself. Her plan had worked exactly as she had intended. Pretend to be
friendly, casually invite him to play sports, make him uncomfortable. And that
shooting thing, that had been a good guess, worked like a charm. Sniveling
weasel types like him always seemed to have a tendency to be afraid of guns.
From the extremely awkward expression that had appeared on his face, she could
tell that he had had some traumatizing experience related to that which she
had successfully exploited to make him feel even more awkward. And finally,
remind him about Vegas and make sure he would be there for the softball game.
Yes, this phony's days as an alpha would soon be over.

* * *

That afternoon after work, Elliott went to the mall to buy a couple of new
suits for his upcoming business trip. After Annabelle had gotten him all
nervous, retail therapy would make him feel better. He was girly that way.

Suddenly, a flash of sexy female muscle caught the corner of his eye. Turning
for a closer look, he saw a large banner proclaiming the grand opening of a
new costume shop. A pair of models, one male and one female, were there in
costume to promote the store opening, posing for pictures with customers. The
woman wore a skimpy, sexy nurse's outfit consisting of a white miniskirt,
white blouse, and knee-high white boots. The all-white outfit showed off the
darkness of her tanned brown skin, and she had a slender but muscular build
that was the perfect combination of strength and femininity.

Elliott's heart leapt with excitement. This would be even better than retail
therapy. Pose for a picture with her, do a little flirting, reassure himself
that he belonged with the alphas. He began making his way closer.

"Would you like a picture?"

Wait a minute. That voice was all wrong. It was a male voice! The male model
was talking to him! The man was shirtless, dressed as a barbarian warrior.
Elliott found himself burning with jealousy at his inadequacy compared to this
man's muscular body...as well as burning with anger. He was supposed to get a
picture with the girl! That was supposed to be how these things worked! The
male models were for the girls and the female models were for the guys!

"Um...why would I...I actually wanted..." he stammered.

"Oh. Sorry, dude. I thought you were g...never mind." The male model moved off
to take a picture with a pair of young women.

Elliott was steaming. This wasn't the first time something like this had
happened to him. What was it about him? He marched towards the female model,
determined to get his picture. He waited impatiently as she posed with other
guys (and a few women as well). Finally, she was free. "Can I..." he began.

The hot female model looked at him for a moment, then looked right past him
and waved to a guy behind him. "Would you like a picture?"

WHAT?! Why was she ignoring him? He began getting a nagging feeling that he
wasn't whole, that he was missing something and people, especially sexy women,
could tell. He tried several more times to get his picture, but she was
constantly surrounded by other guys, and every time he called out, she seemed
not to hear him. Finally, he walked sadly out to his car, his retail therapy
forgotten.

* * *

Elliott lay on his back on the hotel bed as the high-priced prostitute - Nina,
that was her name - fucked him. She did it roughly and quickly, giving him
only a couple of minutes before he felt himself lose control and shoot his
load into her.

He watched as she cleaned herself off and put her clothes back on. She was a
tanned blonde, petite but muscular, with a slender wasp waist and a round,
hard ass. Yes, this fuck had made him feel better after Annabelle's
discomforting words and the incident at the mall. It was the perfect way to
relax on a business trip after a long, boring day of meetings. And it was the
perfect way for him to tell himself that he still had it, that he was still
one of the guys.

"Hey, baby," he said. "Want to stay for some champagne? I've got a bottle of
the good stuff."

"No thanks. I gotta run." She put on her coat and quickly hurried out of the
room.

Elliott scowled. The girls never wanted to stay anymore, for some reason.
Deciding to watch some TV, he was about to reach for the remote when he heard
Nina's voice, talking on her cell phone in the hallway. Curious, he went over
to the door and pressed his ear against it to listen.

"...not only is he only four inches, but everything about him is just
so...unmanly. He walks and talks like a girl, he fucks like a girl, and he has
arms like a girl. And he has these weird fetishes that he tries to keep secret
and pretend he's a normal man, but I can see through that shit. Like just now,
he was quietly trying to compare his wrist with mine and see whose was bigger,
and not have me catch him. But of course I did. I pretended not to because I
was curious to see if his was actually smaller than mine, and it was! I mean,
I'm 5'3" and 110 pounds and a guy has thinner forearms than me? Like,
seriously? Anyway, can you put him on my 'Do Not Fuck' list? I don't want to
have to go through that with a loser like him again. Just thinking about it
gives me the creeps. Thanks, Marge. See you at the office."

Elliott froze in horror. All the happiness he had gotten from the fuck had
gone out the window, just like that. This Nina chick hated him so much that
she was refusing to fuck him again, despite the fact that he had paid her
thousands of dollars and would have continued to pay her thousands of dollars
each time? He thought about some of his other regulars and how several of them
had mysteriously disappeared. He began to get a nagging suspicion that Nina
wasn't the only call girl who had put him on her 'Do Not Fuck' list.

"No," he thought, trying to push that awful thought out of his mind. He was
probably just being paranoid. Yes, that was it. At any rate, there would be
other girls on his next business trip.

The next day, as he waited to board his flight home, Elliott was still
alternating between hope and paranoia, unable to stop thinking about last
night's events. The negative thoughts seemed to be winning out. He needed
something to make himself feel better. Maybe just some warm, friendly
conversation topped off with a little flirting from a hot female flight
attendant. He scowled as he remembered the flight over. There had been a
stunning stewardess on the plane, but she had ended up taking care of the
coach passengers while a male steward handled the first-class section he had
been in. He remembered back when he had been young and poor and stuck in
coach, and how the hot female flight attendants always seemed to be in first
class. And now that he was finally in first class himself, the hotties weren't
there. It wasn't fair.

Maybe the flight back would be better. As he settled into his first-class
seat, his hopes rose when a tall, slender, exceptionally beautiful brunette
stewardess who looked like a model began making her way down the aisle,
smiling at each passenger and asking what he or she wanted for a pre-departure
beverage. Elliott began trying to think of a cool line that he could use on
her as he waited impatiently for his turn.

But when she got to his row, she suddenly stopped, looked at him closely,
frowned, and hurried to a male steward, tapping him on the shoulder. Elliott
saw her point at him and speak in a low voice, catching the words "something
about him creeps me out" and "could you do me a favor?" A cold chill and a
"this can't be happening!" moment swept over him. Not again! Why?!

The hot stewardess took one last look at the other male passengers, almost as
if she was saying, "Sorry, guys. You're collateral damage." Then she dashed by
in a flash of navy blue miniskirt, tanned muscular thighs, and knee-high black
leather boots, and disappeared into the back. The male flight attendant took
over asking the first-class passengers for their drink choices. Elliott
groaned to himself. What was going on? It was as if Annabelle could see right
through him, could see that he didn't belong in this lifestyle, and was
somehow causing everything to go to shit. Three horrible things had happened
in a row. And now he had to worry about the softball game and hope and pray
that he didn't fuck up...

* * *

The day of the softball game arrived, bright and cloudless. The nine members
of the Triumphant Sporting Goods team faced off against the nine Imperial
Sporting Goods players. Annabelle looked over at the competition. The other
team had seven men and two women, just like theirs. Most of the guys seemed
pretty average, but both of the women looked powerful and athletic.

Triumphant was up to bat first. The Imperial pitcher, a tall, curvaceous,
muscular brunette, wasted no time showing off her skills, striking out the
leadoff man and getting the second hitter to pop out to the shortstop. Even
Annabelle, batting third, the traditional place to put the best hitter, found
it hard to deal with this woman's blazing fastballs and wicked curveballs.
Finally, Annabelle managed to draw a walk. Showing off her speed, she stole
second base, but was left stranded when the cleanup hitter grounded out.

Triumphant then took their places on the field. Elliott, playing right field,
was shaking in his shoes, praying that no one would hit the ball to him.
Annabelle was calm and collected in center field. She thought about giving
Elliott a wink to make him even more nervous, but she didn't want to give
herself away just yet. Anyway, she could tell that he was quite scared enough
to fuck up all on his own.

Veronica, despite being older and smaller than the opposing team's pitcher,
showed herself to be a match for her with her skills and experience. She
retired Imperial's first two guys on easy groundouts. The third batter
launched a fly ball towards right-center field. Elliott found himself
panicking until Annabelle waved for the ball and made a clean catch for the
third out.

The second inning was scoreless and uneventful for both teams. In the top of
the third, Elliott came up to bat for the first time, batting ninth, of
course. Sure enough, he was terrible, swinging wildly and missing at the first
two pitches, both of which were way low, then standing there with a completely
retarded expression on his face and not swinging as the third pitch went right
over the middle of the plate and the umpire called him out. He heard muttering
and grumbling coming from the bench as he took his walk of shame and began
turning red. Although other players had struck out, none of them had looked
nearly as bad as him.

Elliott's woes continued in the next inning. An Imperial batter hit a fly ball
to right field that was easily catchable, but he of course dropped the ball.
To add insult to injury, his throw towards first was so girly and weak that
the ball fell onto the grass midway between himself and the first baseman,
allowing what should have been an easy out to turn into a double. More
muttering and grumbling came from his own teammates. Luckily, Veronica used a
combination of strikeouts and groundouts to keep the game scoreless. In the
bottom of the fifth, however, the tie was broken when the cleanup hitter and
the second woman on the Imperial team, a tanned blonde who looked like a
fitness model, blasted a solo home run over the left field fence.

Finally, in the top of the seventh inning, the muscular brunette pitcher for
Imperial began to show signs of weakening, allowing her first hit, a double.
Annabelle was up to bat next. She had to drive this run in. It was unlikely
that they would get another chance. She took a deep breath.

She worked the count full, then finally saw the pitch she wanted. She swung
and heard the beautiful, familiar CRACK. The ball was sent like a rocket down
the right-field line, just fair. She ran, showing off her speed, rounding
first, then second, watching as the batter ahead of her scored and tied the
game. She turned on the jets, going for the triple. Imperial's right fielder,
who was far better than Elliott, of course, had snatched up the ball and
relayed it to the second baseman, who threw to third, but it was too late.
Annabelle was safe. She pumped her fist in triumph, basking in the cheers of
her teammates.

With a series of wicked throws, the Imperial pitcher fought back, striking out
Triumphant's cleanup hitter. But Veronica was up to bat next. She came
through, hitting a fly ball that was caught by the left fielder but deep
enough to allow the speedy Annabelle to score on the sacrifice fly, giving
Triumphant a 2-1 lead. The Filipina beauty celebrated with a standing back
handspring after crossing home plate. The next batter grounded out, but the
damage was done.

Finally, the bottom of the ninth inning rolled around. The score was still 2-1
in favor of Triumphant. Elliott was shaking in right field. He had struck out
on three pitches all three times he had come up to bat. By his third
strikeout, his own teammates - his own coworkers! - were booing him, giving
him flashbacks to his humiliations in physical education in high school. They
had to win. They had to hold the lead. They just had to! If they did, all
would be forgiven. If not...

Veronica struck out her first man, but then gave up a single followed by a
walk. Then, the opposing pitcher, taking her turn at bat, laid down a nice
sacrifice bunt, putting runners on second and third with two outs.

The next batter came up. Veronica tried to stare him down. Five pitches. Three
balls, two strikes. She threw once more...

Elliott watched in horror as the ball came flying out to right field. He froze
like a deer in the headlights, not even hearing the screams of "Just catch it,
damn it!"

Annabelle raced over from center field. She leaped with all her strength,
stretching out with her glove, trying to make a diving catch...

The ball fell onto the grass, six inches in front of her glove. She snatched
it up and made a powerful and accurate throw all the way from the outfield
right to home plate. But it was too late. Two runs had scored. Triumphant had
lost, 3-2.

The nine Imperial players made a big dogpile celebration at home plate.
Meanwhile, Annabelle's teammates came up to her with encouraging words.

"Great effort. That was an impossible catch to make from center."

"Great throw. You throw like a man. Better than me."

"Wasn't your fault. You were great the whole game."

"Yeah. It was HIS fault."

Elliott found himself staring at eight hard, cold, angry faces. He found
himself listening to words that cut through his feelings like a knife through
butter.

"Struck out three times, three pitches each time..."

"Didn't make a single catch the whole game..."

"Throws like a girl - no offense, Annabelle and Veronica..."

"Piece of shit loser cost us Vegas."

"You know what?" It was the CEO speaking now. "Since this douchebag cost us
Vegas, it's not right that all of us should pay equally for Imperial's trip.
Elliott should pay the whole amount by himself, since it was all his fault." A
chorus of agreement greeted his words.

Elliott felt like he was in a nightmare. He pinched himself, but he felt the
pinch. No, this was real. It was high school all over again! He had worked for
decades to build himself up as one of the cool kids, and now, in less than
three hours, it had all come crashing down. He was exposed. He was a loser
once again.

He stood there, all alone, looking over at the two groups who were coming
together and shaking hands, wishing with all his heart that he could still be
part of that. He had been able to fake it at the cool kids' table for a while,
but it was all over now. He began to cry as he walked away.

* * *

"Hey, Elliott."

He whirled around at the female voice. It was Annabelle.

"Look, I know those guys were giving you a rough time," she said. "And maybe I
did, too. I want to apologize for that. I just got caught up in the peer
pressure."

"It's okay. Thanks for being so understanding."

The brown-skinned beauty gave him her best fake smile. Soon, she told herself.
She wouldn't have to keep up this act for much longer. The game had gone
perfectly for her plan. She had been all ready with various fake catch
attempts to make him look bad, but she hadn't had to use them. He had fucked
things up all on his own. As for losing the trip to Vegas, she didn't really
mind. She had enough money for a luxury vacation whenever and wherever she
wanted, and at any rate it wouldn't have been much fun going with these guys.
Most of them were middle-aged male corporate stuffed shirts whom she
considered dorky and beneath her on the social status scale, and even
Veronica, who was her friend, was also basically her boss, as well as not
being nearly as fun as her best friends, Cassie and May. And of course, if
they had won this contest she would have had to deal with Elliott tagging
along. What a dweeb.

"Everyone needs a friend when they're down," she said, trying hard to keep the
fake smile on. "How about we go for a drive together? Take your mind off all
those bullies."

Elliott's eyes lit up. He had always been secretly attracted to Annabelle, and
even though she had said the "friend" word, just the thought of spending time
together with her was thrilling. He had never really been successful with
girls, even with all his money. He just didn't have the confidence to ask them
out, and on the rare occasions when he had gotten a date, things had ended in
disaster, like with the hot chick at the shooting range. His only source of
sex was high-priced call girls, and he now feared that Nina wasn't the only
one of them who secretly hated having to fuck him. (His fears were justified).

"I'd love that!" he said.

"Great. Follow me. Let's go in my car."

* * *

As Elliott sat in the passenger seat of Annabelle's black BMW 7-Series,
watching the countryside whiz by, he decided that now was the perfect time to
ask her questions related to his softball girl fetish. He knew that he could
never score with a girl like her, but what he could do was ask her those
questions and then use the information to help him jerk off to her when he got
home.

"So...uh...you were amazing at the softball game today," he began. "You made
so many great catches, you hit well, you can run so fast, and you can throw so
hard and far and accurately. Where did you learn to be so good? You were
better than the guys."

Making sure he couldn't see it, Annabelle smirked to herself. She had guessed
right once again. She had thought he had a fetish for athletic girls, and she
had thought he would bring them up when they were alone together.

"Oh, I played on my high school varsity team for four years," she replied
casually. "I was the starting center fielder. Guess I still got it." She
tossed her long silky black hair.

"Well, you sure do."

"Thanks." She paused, as if struck by a sudden thought. "So, do you know of
any good neighborhoods to buy a nice house? With this modeling contract I've
basically become rich for the first time and since you've been wealthy for a
while, I'm sure you know the best places." She batted her eyelashes and felt
triumph flow through her as she saw his eyes light up again. Insecure males
like this were so easy. Just a quick little appeal to their ego and they would
fall for anything.

"Well, yeah. I bought my house in..."

"Why don't you give me directions to your place and show me?"

"S...sure," he stammered. Why did she want to see his house? Was Annabelle
changing her mind? Was she actually becoming interested in him? In his stupid,
arrogant brain, Elliott actually thought that this was possible. He began to
get a hard-on in his pants.

* * *

Annabelle tried not to roll her eyes as Elliott led her into his house. All
the rooms were decorated with the tackiest art imaginable. It was clear that
he was trying to make it look hip and sophisticated, but failing miserably.

"Show me your bedroom," she said. "I bet it's got a nice view."

"It sure does," said Elliott cockily. Was he actually going to get some pussy
now? He couldn't hide his arrogant expression. She rolled her eyes as she
followed him up the stairs.

Once they were in the bedroom, Annabelle pretended to enjoy the view for a few
moments, then suddenly spun to face Elliott and looked straight into his eyes.
"There's something I have to ask you," she said. "Are you attracted to me?"

"Yes," he admitted quietly. He hung his head. Deep down inside, he knew he
wasn't good enough for a woman this hot. What was she doing to him? She was
somehow destroying his confidence, and she was doing it by acting nice.

She touched his cheek. "I could tell. Now I want to know, what exactly about
me makes you attracted to me?"

He hesitated. "It's okay. You can tell Miss Annabelle," she cooed.

"Well, it's a few things. First of all, like I mentioned before, your softball
skills. I've always liked girls who could throw far. And how big your wrists
and forearms are." He held out his next to hers. His pale, thin forearm with
no muscle tone was clearly smaller than her thick, heavily muscled, dark brown
forearm with excellent definition and prominent veins. She was wearing jeans
and her trademark white blouse with the sleeves rolled up, knowing it would
draw attention to the darkness of her tan and the substantial but still
feminine size of her forearms. She also wore her trademark studded black
leather bracelets on each wrist to make them seem even thicker and give
herself that "bad girl" look.

She giggled. "Yeah, I have arms like a man, and you have arms like a girl."
Elliott felt his cock grow harder at that comment. Although a regular man
would not have taken that positively, Elliott was not a regular man.

"And I love how dark your brown tan is. I'm so jealous. I always burn instead
of tanning," he continued.

"Well, I got my brown skin from my Filipina mother. And I got my tall height
from my white father. I think I got the best of both worlds. Well, go on. Tell
me what else."

Elliott couldn't believe that he was blurting out his fetishes to this
insanely hot chick who could undoubtedly kick his ass without breaking a
sweat, but she didn't seem mad at all. So he kept going.

"Just that comment you made, about going shooting. Girls who know their way
around guns get instant extra hotness points. I just really admire it for some
reason."

"Probably schmoe-style since you can't handle a gun like a man," thought
Annabelle to herself, resisting the urge to say it out loud.

"And finally, that back handspring you did to celebrate at the softball game.
I've always had a special thing for girls who could do back flips, and adult
women who can do them are so rare. Every time I go on the Internet to search
for backflip videos, 95% of the results are guys doing them."

"Yeah, and you probably jerk off to them too, you closeted fag," Annabelle
thought, again resisting the urge to speak the words aloud. Instead, she said,
"Oh, really? Would you like to see some tumbling skills?"

"I'd love to!" Elliott's heart was beating incredibly fast. Was this stunning
female model really going to backflip for him?

Annabelle stood up, walked to the edge of the room, faced the wall, and raised
her toned arms in the air. Then she threw herself into a series of standing
back handsprings, elegantly backflipping like a pro-gymnast down the entire
length of the large room. She finished her standing tumbling run with a high
split-leg layout and landed perfectly in a full 180-degree split on the floor.
She swung her legs together and used a kip-up to get back to her feet.

The Filipina beauty then did a tumbling pass back across the room, starting
with a front tuck somersault, then going into a roundoff, two whip backs, four
one-handed back handsprings - alternating hands with each flick flack - and
finishing with a full twist. She landed perfectly on her feet. Elliott,
staring with lust, just sat there frozen with a stupid expression on his face
for several seconds, then finally broke into applause.

"Glad you liked it," she said cockily. She flipped her long black hair, then
strutted towards him slowly. "Maybe next I can..."

Annabelle's cell phone suddenly rang. She took it out of her pocket. "Hello?
What? Really? Oh, no. Yes, I'll be right there."

She turned to Elliott. "I'm sorry, but I have an emergency. Maybe we can hang
out some other time. See you later!" Then, with a flash of her silky hair, she
was gone.

Elliott sat on his bed, sexually frustrated. Why? Why did it have to happen at
the worst possible time? He felt his throbbing hard-on straining and decided
to take care of it. He took off his clothes, lay down naked on the bed, and
began choking his chicken. He called out loudly as he spanked his monkey,
rambling about his fantasies about Annabelle. "Ooh, Annabelle, baby, you're so
hot. You throw like a man, and I throw like a girl. You have arms like a man,
and I have arms like a girl. I bet you're really good with guns, you'd really
show up a wussy loser like me who doesn't know how to use them. Oh, baby, I
get off schmoe-style on all that."

He felt himself nearing the edge. "Ooh, your dark brown tan, so sexy. And your
tumbling, oh my God, so amazing. You can backflip like a pro-gymnast, while I
can't even do a simple cartwheel. Ooh, I get off schmoe-style on that too.
Ooh, Annabelle, I want you to kick my ass. Make me your bitch. I need a strong
woman like you...ooh, can't hold it back any longer...gonna cum... gonna
blow!" With that, Elliott shot off a massive load of semen that flew straight
up into the air, hit the ceiling, and bounced back down, striking him right in
the face and decorating it with a brutal facial.

Elliott felt his heart rate slowly return to normal, feeling mental
satisfaction as well as physical. If Annabelle wouldn't give him sex, jerking
off to her was the best way to get back at her. He reached for some tissues to
wipe off the cum.

Suddenly, the bedroom door was kicked open. "Surprise!" Two hot young women
walked in. One was a curvaceous, muscular, slim-waisted, raven-haired girl in
a white dress that he had never seen before. The other was...Annabelle!

"Annabelle...what the fuck..." he stammered.

She smirked. "It's about to get worse." She pointed across the room.

Elliott watched in horror as the door to the big walk-in closet swung open and
another girl appeared. She was hot, slender, blonde, athletic-looking, and
wearing a black dress...and she was holding a video camera in her hand!
"That's right, wanker, I filmed it all," the blonde laughed.

"NOOOOOOO!" screamed Elliott. He turned to Annabelle. "You...you set me up..."

"Way to go, Einstein," the Filipina hottie snickered. "You figured it out.
Finally. Maybe you even know how to tie your own shoes." She high-fived the
girl next to her.

"But...but how..."

"Oh, I looked up your address in the company personnel files. I sent these two
over here ahead of me." She pointed to the blonde. "Cassie over there disabled
your security system, picked the lock, snuck inside, and hid in the closet."
Annabelle then pointed to the girl in the white dress. "May here hid outside
in the bushes. When I flipped my hair, Cassie sent May a text message, then
May called my cell phone for the phony emergency. I knew that after talking
about your fetishes and showing off my back flips for you, then suddenly
taking off, you'd be so horny that you'd have to jack off. Cassie was waiting
in the closet to film it all."

"Yeah, faggot," giggled Cassie. "And I got every second of your utter
humiliation on video."

May stepped forward. She looked Middle Eastern, perhaps, and had a tan as dark
and brown as Annabelle's that was really shown off by the white dress. "And
you finished it with an own goal facial!" She burst into laughter as she
pointed at the cum that was still on his face. "You weakling submissive-ass
cucks must be natural born cumsluts."

Elliott hung his head in shame, not wanting to admit it but knowing the words
were true. "What are you going to do to me?" he trembled.

Annabelle put on a pair of long black leather gloves that went all the way up
to her elbows. "Well," she grinned, "since you're so attracted to my forearms,
I'm going to give you a chance to get acquainted with them up close and
personal. I'm going to fistfuck you up the ass."

Elliott stared, not quite sure at first if she was serious. But the evil looks
on the beautiful faces of all three girls showed that she indeed meant what
she said. Panic overtook him. Without thinking, he began to run for the door.

Annabelle began moving, but May raised her hand. "I've got this," the muscular
Middle Eastern girl said. With that, she threw herself into a tumbling pass,
starting with a roundoff and going into a series of back handsprings. She
elegantly backflipped like a pro-gymnast after Elliott's fleeing form,
catching up to him rapidly. Her lacy white panties were visible underneath her
dress each time she was upside down.

Finishing her tumbling pass with a back tuck, May kicked him as she rotated
through her final flip, knocking him to the floor. She landed perfectly on her
feet and sneered down at her victim. "You slow-ass wimp. Can't even get away
from me even though you were running and I was doing back handsprings." She
kicked him hard in the stomach with her black leather ankle boot as she spoke,
knocking the wind out of him further.

"This'll be another good preliminary before we get to the main event," Cassie
spoke up. Elliott whirled in alarm and saw that she was aiming the video
camera. "That's right, dipshit, I filmed it all."

Annabelle became a brunette blur as she moved incredibly fast to Elliott with
a blinding set of cartwheels and fronthandsprings. She stood over him
dominantly. Even though her wrists and forearms were completely covered by the
long black leather gloves, her forearm muscles were so heavily developed that
the slightest movement she made caused them to visibly ripple underneath the
leather. Elliott found himself getting a hard-on.

May pointed and laughed. "Oh my God, the little queer's getting hard! He must
be excited about getting fucked up the ass!"

Cassie backflipped over to them. "Yeah, what a faggot." She kneed Elliott in
the face as he tried to get up, knocking him back down and releasing a spray
of blood.

"And of course he's hung like a little boy," smirked Annabelle. Elliott's
boner was only four inches long. He hung his head in shame at his inadequacy.

"Please, don't..." Elliott begged.

Annabelle yanked him to his feet and punched him in the face, the rough
leather of her glove opening a nasty cut on his cheek. "Why not, baby?" she
mocked him. "Your mouth says one thing, but your tiny little woody says
another. Looks like you want this. Now get on your hands and knees and assume
the position."

"Please, no, Miss Almoite..." he begged, using her last name, anything to get
her to change her mind.

May performed a roundhouse kick on him, her booted foot crashing into the side
of his head. Elliott was knocked to the floor from the strength of the impact.
"She said to assume the position, bitch."

Annabelle jumped on top of her male victim and grabbed him by the throat.
"Maybe you want to be fistfucked by her instead." She pointed at May. As big
as Annabelle's forearms were, May's were even thicker. With her 5'6",
143-pound figure, her build was perfect for developing huge wrists. May had
the same dark brown tan as her friend, and her massive forearms bulged with
muscle and power.

"Yeah," May bragged. "My wrist measurement is bigger than 80% of guys. You
don't even want to imagine the pain this forearm can do inside your wimpy
faggy rectum."

Terrified of the lethal female arm, Elliott began to whimper. "I'll be a good
boy! I'll do anything you say, Miss Almoite!" Annabelle released him and he
assumed the position, on his hands and knees, ready to "receive" from behind.

All three girls burst into laughter. "What a creepy, wimpy, ultra-submissive,
no-balls cuckold," snickered May.

"Is he, or maybe I should say SHE, the least masculine being of all time? Or
second least masculine, anyway, not counting Stephen/Stephanie," said Cassie.
"I'm only 5'6" and 120 pounds, and even I have thicker wrists than him...her.
Maybe we should start calling her Ellie." She aimed the video camera and began
filming.

Annabelle looked straight into Elliott's frightened eyes. "Yeah, Ellie. Smile
for the camera, baby. When all the muscular men and sexy women at the company
see this, and I'll make sure every single one of them does, they're not going
to obey your orders any more. You'll be forever known as the worthless cuck
wimp you are. No one will ever respect you again, you phony. This is karma for
the fraud you've perpetrated on the world." With that, she clenched her right
fist, preparing it. Cassie zoomed in for a close-up of the muscles in her
forearm rippling underneath the leather.

Then Annabelle began forcing her leather-gloved fist into Elliott's asshole.
She grunted, using her strength to force it in. "Hmm," she said. "You're
pretty loose, Ellie. Have you done this before? Have you taken a nice big cock
up the ass, faggot? Do you like always being someone's bitch?"

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!" Elliott screamed in pain as his butthole was savagely
violated. Annabelle began forcing herself in further, her wrist entering him
now. She was still wearing her studded leather bracelet underneath her glove,
and her male victim let out an agonized howl as the bulges from the studs
passed through his sensitive asshole.

"Stay loose for Ana," she mocked him as her forearm began going in. "I saw you
looking at one of the big, muscular guys during a meeting. I bet you secretly
have a hard-on for him, cocksucker. Just imagine that my thick forearm is his
massive cock. Bet that'll get you off, cuckold." Across the room, May was
holding her sides in laughter, while Cassie's giggling fits were making it
difficult for her to hold the video camera steady.

"Make sure he sees the video!" said Cassie as she straightened the camera out.

"And if he's as strong and alpha as you say, can you get his number for me?"
asked May. "I need a new boyfriend after I dumped Spike for not being man
enough." She turned on Elliott. "But at least he's more of a man than YOU."

Annabelle's thick, heavily muscled forearm was now all the way up her male
victim's ass up to her elbow. Its size was causing Elliott to whimper
continuously. "Oh, I'll make sure he sees it," she said. "And I'll get his
number for you, May. I think he's single."

"Thanks, Ana."

"No problem." She began clenching and unclenching her fist. Annabelle had
excellently sized hands - slightly larger than the average female's, big
enough to make a threatening-looking fist or grip a handgun built for a male,
but not so big as to be unfeminine. For Elliott, however, it was big enough to
do devastating damage to his colon. All three girls were rolling with sadistic
laughter at his screams. In addition, Annabelle's repeated fist clenching was
causing her forearm muscles to ripple, putting further strain and pain in his
rectum.

"What's the matter, baby?" she taunted him. "Is Miss Ana too big for you? Not
man enough to handle me?" She increased the pace of her thrusting as she
spoke, simulating nearing climax. "I thought you liked my thick forearms.
Changing your mind? Don't like them anymore?"

"Maybe he does still like them!" said May, pointing. Sure enough, Elliott had
another hard-on! His cock had again reached its disgraceful maximum length of
four inches. Annabelle and Cassie broke into laughter.

The Filipina babe grabbed his balls with her other leather-gloved hand and
savagely twisted them, laughing at his screams. "What a total, un-masculine,
girly little shit you are, ELLIE, actually enjoying getting fucked up the ass.
Maybe this'll teach you not to hit on women out of your league. Even though I
don't even require my dates to be more athletic than me since I'm so good at
pretty much any physical activity, I at least require them to have bigger arms
than me. Mine may be big for a girl, but any normal guy should be at least my
size. Not like your scrawny, weak, girly ones."

"As if any female is low enough to be in the league of a pathetic loser like
him," said Cassie. "Take away his money, which, by the way, we're in the
process of doing right now, and what does he have? Nothing. Absolutely
nothing." Elliott, despite being in the middle of an ass-rape, panicked at the
blonde's words. What did she mean? His money was safe in the bank, wasn't it?
He was frightened because he knew she was right. Without his money, he had
nothing. Absolutely nothing. Without his millions, he would drop back down to
the level of the total loser in high school who got bullied even by nerds and
got beaten up even by skinny girls.

"Oh my God," Annabelle play-moaned, clenching and unclenching her fist faster.
"I just can't hold it back any longer! I'm going to shoot!" With that, she
suddenly squeezed as hard as she could on the object she had slipped into her
leather-gloved hand before sticking it into her male victim. There was a faint
pop, then Elliott felt a massive amount of something wet soak the inside of
his rectum.

Annabelle roughly withdrew her thick forearm and large wrist. She opened her
hand, revealing the remnants of a compact waterskin-like container. "I snuck
this into my grip just before entering you," the brunette beauty mocked
Elliott. "Before coming here, I gave hand jobs to several of the muscular,
athletic, well-hung guys from the softball game. I collected all their semen
in here. Then I crushed it while it was inside you for my 'climax.'
Congratulations, fag. You're now the epitome of a catcher."

Elliott simply flopped down on the floor, spent physically and mentally and
frozen in shock at this new terror. May smirked. "Was it good for you too?"
she taunted him.

Cassie's voice suddenly came from across the room. Elliott managed to turn his
head and saw that the blonde was now seated at his computer. "That's the last
of them! All of his bank accounts have been hacked and drained, all of his
stocks have been sold, and all of the money has been put into our joint Cayman
Islands account. I've also hacked into his direct deposits and redirected
those to the Cayman Islands account too."

"What?!" cried Elliott. "You can't..."

"I just did." Cassie grinned wickedly. "With the loss of your money, you now
officially have nothing. Congratulations, you are now what you were meant to
be. What you were born to be. A worthless omega male on the very bottom of the
totem pole."

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!" he screamed, sounding like Luke Skywalker when he found out
who his real father was.

Annabelle stood up and kicked him hard in the stomach. Elliott clutched his
wounded gut in pain. The Filipina beauty sexily flipped her long silky black
hair. "All right, cocksucker," she announced. "Now, it's time for the 'The
Reason You Suck' speech. When I saw you at work trying to masquerade as an
alpha male, it pissed me the fuck off. You're short, scrawny, weak, lacking in
confidence, unathletic, and ugly. You might have some nerdy book smarts, but
that's worthless to a girl. We want guys with street smarts and quick wits,
guys who can make us laugh and go toe-to-toe with us in witty banter. Those
are things you could never do, loser. And, worst of all, you have a short
cock. I can't stand you vile mini-dicked wankers."

Annabelle removed her glove, which was now completely covered in blood, shit,
and semen, and dropped it right on Elliott's face. She went on, "You know who
USUALLY comes up to me and tells me they wish they could throw as far as me,
or their arms were as big as mine, or they could shoot guns or do back
handsprings as well as me? GIRLS. When a GUY says those things to me, like you
did, it just shows how much of a wimpy cuck you are. A GUY isn't supposed to
be saying how envious he is that a girl can do traditionally masculine things
better than him. He's supposed to actually BE better at those things. That's
the definition of a REAL man. That's the kind of man all girls want. Not
pathetic dipshits like you."

"But why couldn't you just leave me alone?" Elliott cried. "I wasn't doing
anything to y..."

May stomped hard on his face, shutting him up. "Shut up, faggot. We're the
ones doing the talking here."

"Yeah," smirked Annabelle. Continuing her speech, she said, "Even though they
all secretly hated you, you were still getting sex from those high-priced
whores. Omega males like you are UNWORTHY of sex. Get that through your thick
skull. UN-FUCKING-WORTHY. So we intervened to prevent you from taking more of
what you don't deserve. You're never going to have sex again."

"Not with a woman, anyway," added Cassie with a snicker.

"Yeah," said May. "The next time I get a bisexual boyfriend, watch out. He's
going to show a wimpy male like you what a REAL man can do." As May was
speaking, Annabelle was removing her other glove, causing the muscles in her
thick brown forearm to ripple. Elliott got a hard-on at the sight.

"What the fuck?" said May. "You're hard at the thought of a guy fucking and
alphadominating you? You disgusting creep."

"Yeah," Annabelle added. "We knew you were a fag, but even I didn't think you
were THAT much of one. Well, I guess I was wrong."

"Say hi to the camera, Mini-Woody!" smirked Cassie, filming a close-up of his
small hard-on. Elliott reddened in shame and humiliation, wanting to explain
what had really given him the boner but knowing that the girls wouldn't listen
and wouldn't care. He simply rolled over, just waiting for these awful domme
bitches to go away.

"What the fuck do you have that expectant look on your ugly face for,
douchebag?" demanded Annabelle. "Waiting impatiently for us to leave so you
can get back to your normal life? Well, I've got news for you, cocksucker.
You're going to be waiting a long time. We're not going anywhere."

May looked around. "Yeah. You know, this is a nice house. Plenty of space,
lots of bedrooms...Way too nice for this loser. We should move in and set up
shop here. We can redo the different rooms for various porno set themes and
film all our videos here, except for the prison one with Stephanie. It'll save
us the trouble and money of renting that studio."

Annabelle and Cassie were nodding in agreement. Elliott, although he had a
look of utter horror on his face, couldn't find the will to resist. They had
broken him. What could he do, anyway? These girls had completely and utterly
dominated and destroyed him physically and mentally. There was no way he could
rebel now.

"Welcome to your new life, cuck," May smirked down at him.

"You're our bitch," added Cassie.

"Forever," finished Annabelle.

THE END