Bad Luck Ben: Episode IX
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Ben meets Annabelle and her friends. The results? Predictable.


WARNING: This story contains severe male humiliation and male rape.

* * *

I fled from the carnage of the house in Montana, the only survivor, images of
blood and gore imprinted in my mind, but strengthened by the fact that I had
lived. Most importantly of all, the fact that Haley, a beautiful woman, had
agreed to have sex with me (even though she had been killed before we could
actually do it) gave me the confidence to know that despite my short height,
lack of athleticism, lack of career success, homely face, and shyness, I COULD
make it with girls and actually be a real man...

Whoa. Stop right there. Back to reality. Those positive thoughts about scoring
with hot women had been what I was thinking three months ago. But after three
months of failure, it seemed like nothing had changed. I was still Bad Luck
Ben.

Let me give some more details. Back in the bloody house in Montana, when I had
finally accepted the fact that Haley wasn't coming back and made peace in my
mind with God, I had let Haley's last words echo over and over:

"Live. Just live."

I had thought it would be like in the movies. The hero stands alone among the
pile of dead bodies after the final battle. The camera slowly pans out as
Deep, Thoughtful Music (TM) begins to play. With a quiet dignity, the hero
walks away, ready to start the next phase of his life. He may have lost his
love, but new girls are out there, waiting for him...

Well, my dignity lasted about twenty minutes. At the airport, I was pulled
aside for extra screening because of a "suspicious bulge" in my groin area
(which was a hernia that I had been meaning to get surgically taken care of,
but hadn't had the time or money to do so). Two male TSA agents had taken me
into a room and after indifferently listening to my pleas about the hernia,
had given me an ultimatum: strip nude to show that it really was a hernia, or
be officially detained for Extensive Interrogation (TM) by the police and the
FBI.

I chose the lesser of two evils and stripped. But of course, the lesser of two
evils is still evil. The TSA agents, giggling like schoolgirls, finally
allowed me to get dressed and go on my way. As I was leaving the security
checkpoint, I saw the two male agents eagerly describing the humiliating
situation they had put me in to their colleagues. They all turned to look and
snicker at me, with one of them, a young and pretty woman, letting out a loud
laugh and giving me that godawful "what a loser" look that I had gotten from
so many attractive girls over the years.

It hadn't gotten any better on the plane. At first my hopes had risen when a
hot, twentysomething auburn-haired woman sat in the aisle seat next to me (it
was one of those small planes with four seats in each row, and I was by the
window). But while I was busy trying to think of the best way to start a
conversation with her without looking like some sort of creepy weirdo, the
confident, athletic-looking guy in the seat across the aisle began flirting
with her, while also flirting with the pretty blonde in the window seat next
to him! To add insult to injury, the guy also flirted with the sexy female
flight attendant and got her to laugh and joke with him, while she interacted
with me like a robot. Story of my life. Alpha males got to flirt with multiple
hot chicks, while an omega like me was left with nothing. I felt like such a
cuck.

As the plane settled into its cruising altitude of 32,000 feet over the Rocky
Mountains, I looked out the window, tried to just enjoy the view, and tried to
console myself with thoughts of Haley. "I got a hot chick to respect me enough
to want to have sex with me. I did it once. I can do it again." I replayed
those words in my mind over and over.

I arrived back in my home town and tried to settle into a new life. I was a
free man, at least. I shuddered as I remembered my time in prison. I gave
thanks that Haley had proved my innocence and gotten me released. If only she
was still alive so I could give my love to her forever...

"Live. Just live." I repeated her last words in my head again.

So I got myself a crummy studio apartment (which was all I could afford), and,
after a bit of searching, a data entry job which paid one dollar above minimum
wage. After all the ups and downs - winning the lottery, losing it all, going
to prison, getting out, nearly getting killed, losing Haley - I was back to
square one. Just one of countless omega males, just getting by day to day,
left behind by society.

At that time, I still had hope because of Haley. If I could advance through
the ranks at work, I could become something other than the low man on the
totem pole who was basically a glorified personal assistant to everyone else
that I was now. More money, a better apartment, a better car (my old Toyota
Corolla had been confiscated and auctioned off by the cops when I had gone to
prison, and I had bought a used, ten-year-old Mazda to replace it)...all those
would help in scoring with girls and hopefully finding one to settle down
with.

But where to look? Not at work, that was for sure. My workplace was about 75%
male, and the few women there were the objects of competition so fierce that
even some alpha males had to go without. An omega male like me stood no chance
against odds like that.

Church? No. Although I believed in God, I despised organized religion. Anyway,
church ladies weren't the place to get sex. Athletics? It would never work.
Physically weak and uncoordinated, I was terrible at all sports and the girls
would just laugh at me. And my own interests - things like computers and video
games - were so male-dominated that it would be virtually impossible to find a
date in those fields. The bar scene? I tried it a couple of times. Both of
them ended not only with strikeouts, but public humiliation. I should have
known better. An environment that chews up and spits out even alpha males
would slaughter an omega like me, and it did.

As the months wore by with my life seeming to settle into nothing but the same
repetitive emptiness...work, sleep, try to score and fail, over and over...I
became increasingly obsessed with Haley. As time went by, I felt a part of my
mind wondering if she had been just a dream. Those thoughts terrified me, and
to try to counter them I built a shrine to Haley next to my bed, centered
around a large blow-up picture of her and surrounded by smaller pictures, a
few trinkets that reminded me of her, and various love poems and art. Even
though deep down I knew how weird this was, she was all I had. I was failing
with girls, and the memory of her was the one thing I could use to make myself
feel better.

One Saturday morning, I woke up and decided to just take a long drive out into
the desert. It had been a particularly stressful week at work and I just
wanted to be alone. I would go out and find a place to think and enjoy the
solitude, then find a motel for the night and drive back on Sunday. (I was
still a probationary employee, and as such had no vacation days).

So I drove the old Mazda on the interstate out into the desert, then onto
smaller roads, then onto a dirt road as far as I dared take a vehicle without
four-wheel drive. Finally, I parked, got out, and sat on a boulder to think.

My life sucked. I was in a rut. But at least it was quiet and peaceful out
here, and maybe a rejuvenating weekend in solitude would be just what I needed
to provide that push that could...

Wait a minute. What was this? A car engine? I sighed. My solitude was
interrupted already. I would have to wait until whoever it was passed by. I
felt annoyance rise up inside me...until the car came around a bend and I saw
the driver.

The car was a brand-new black BMW 7-Series, but the driver far outshone the
vehicle. She was a beautiful young woman with long silky black hair, an
elegant, high-cheekboned face, and a deep tan. I instantly went from wishing
for solitude to wishing she would stop and bother me.

As if my wish was granted, the woman parked the BMW next to my old Mazda and
got out. She was probably about three inches taller than me, looking about
5'8" and 130 pounds, with the feminine figure of a graceful athlete - strong
shoulders, perky B-cup breasts, a slim wasp waist, and a muscular dancer's
ass. She wore black leather pants, knee-high black leather boots, and a white
blouse. The sleeves were rolled up, displaying a pair of muscular female
forearms that were surprisingly big for a woman of her slender build and
definitely bigger than mine. A black studded leather bracelet on each wrist
and a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses on her model-like face completed
her outfit. My heart was beating very fast. Was this God's way of finally
granting me a gift? Was Haley smiling down from heaven at me?

"Hey there," she said, removing her sunglasses. "I'm Annabelle." As I got a
better look at her face, I could see that it was definitely a model-level of
beautiful. She looked half European and half Southeast Asian - Filipina,
perhaps - and had clearly inherited the best of both worlds genetically, with
the height of a tall white girl and the beautiful dark brown tan of a
Filipina.

"I'm Bad...I mean, my name is Ben." Damn, I'd almost accidentally introduced
myself with my silly Bad Luck Ben nickname to a pretty girl AGAIN.

"So what brings you way out to the middle of nowhere?" she asked. "I don't
usually find anyone out here in my private shooting spot."

My heart started beating even faster. Not only was I out here alone with an
incredibly hot woman, not only was she dressed in a way to show off her
forearms - my favorite female body part, but now she had hit another of my
fetishes - girls with guns.

"S...shooting spot?" I stammered.

"Yep." She reached into her car and took out a large black pistol. "I like
coming out here to practice."

"That's really cool. I don't really have any experience with guns, but I've
always admired women who do." I wanted to openly hit on her very badly, but
didn't want to offend this armed and deadly girl, out here all alone with her.

"I can show you how." She took out from the car a paper target and three
apples, setting all the targets up about fifty feet away. She then made her
way back to me and quickly and expertly loaded the weapon, chambered a round,
and flicked the safety off. Taking careful aim, she fired five rapid shots at
the paper target, switched her aim, and fired another shot. This one was a
direct hit on one of the apples, vaporizing it into hundreds of pieces.

"Now you try it," she said, handing me the gun.

I took the pistol nervously. I really didn't know what the hell I was doing,
and I didn't want to make a fool of myself, since I guessed that most women
who were into guns expected their male companions to be at least as good as
they were. I tried to aim at the second apple as best I could and squeezed off
a shot. The weapon jerked upward hard from the heavy recoil and I felt pain go
through my wrists. Of course the shot missed the apple, by several feet.

"Damn," I said, trying to use some self-depreciating humor to try not to look
like a total dork. "This thing kicks like a mother. How come it didn't seem to
be kicking that much when you were shooting it?"

Annabelle laughed and held out her right forearm. "Probably because my wrists
are a lot stronger than yours. Here, let me see how yours compares."

My heart rate skyrocketed again. I had been trying to think of a way to bring
up the size of her forearms without offending her or sounding weird, but here
she was putting the opportunity right into my lap. As I held my arm out next
to hers, the contrast between the two became very apparent. Hers was thick,
but not too big to be out of place on a woman, with well-developed muscles
that rippled with each movement, and a beautiful and very dark brown tan that
looked even darker next to the white blouse she was wearing. The studded
leather bracelets she wore covered up the thinnest part of her wrists and made
them look even bigger. My forearm, sadly, was thin and pale, with no muscle
tone, and clearly smaller than hers.

"I know, I know," I said, trying to let out a laugh again. "I have arms like a
girl."

"Yeah, you do." She responded in a giggling but friendly-sounding manner. Was
my self-depreciating humor working? I hoped to God and Haley that it was. "And
I have arms like a man," she continued.

"Oh, no. Your forearms are big, but still perfectly feminine." I tried to
compliment her.

"Actually, these bracelets I'm wearing are men's bracelets because most
women's bracelets don't fit me." She tossed her long black hair. "I take pride
in it."

"As you should," I said. "I...I really admire women with arms that strong."

"I can tell that you do. Anyway, try shooting it again. Try for the paper
target."

I aimed as best I could, but again missed completely, seeing an impact of dirt
several feet to the left and low of the paper. Again I felt the pain go
through my thin wrists. "I don't think this is the right one for me," I said,
handing the weapon back.

"This is my favorite .45 caliber," said Annabelle. "I was strong enough to
shoot it when I was 11. But then, I've always had freakishly strong wrists."
She giggled. "This is the only one I brought. I guess we can see if I can nail
the other apples."

The darkly tanned beauty went back to shooting, annihilating the second apple
with a single perfectly aimed shot. "One bullet left in this magazine," she
said. "Hey...I have an idea. Why don't you stand over there and put the apple
on your head?"

"Um...I'm not sure...What if..." I stammered nervously.

"What if what? I miss? Come on, you've just seen how good I am," she said in a
cocky voice, turning me on (even more than I was already). "I'm not going to
miss."

"I still don't think it's a good..."

"Oh, come on. Pleeeeease?" she pleaded, batting her eyelashes. "Courage is
very important to me in a man."

That got me going. I had already shown myself to be physically weak, built
like a girl, bad at shooting, and shorter than her. I had to find some way of
showing that I had SOME manly traits. Having the balls to put the apple on my
head would do nicely. I just had to hope that she wouldn't kill
me...accidentally or on purpose. But why would she do it on purpose? She
seemed very nice, and accepting of my lack of stereotypical masculinity. She
seemed like one of those cool alpha female chicks who paired well with a
submissive male partner. She reminded me of Haley...

I quickly snapped myself out of it, made my way over to the targets, and put
the apple on my head. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. All I had to
worry about was her shooting me accidentally, and since she was so good, there
was no real danger of that, right?

The shot rang out. I opened my eyes. Bits and pieces of apple were strewn all
around me. With a sigh of relief, I applauded.

She tossed her long silky black hair confidently. "See? Nothing to it. At
least for me. It's an easy shot at that distance. Hey, could you bring that
paper target back over?" She expertly ejected the empty magazine and loaded a
fresh one as she spoke.

I picked up the paper target. She had fired five shots at it and sure enough,
there were five holes in the bullseye. I felt my cock rise at her
markswomanship and covered my crotch with the target as I made my way back to
her.

For the next act, I helped Annabelle set up various pieces of fruit in a wide
semicircle. Then the brown-skinned beauty went into action again, this time
shooting the gun one-handed. After the first three dead-on shots which
vaporized a lemon, a lime, and an orange, she suddenly did a one-arm
cartwheel, firing with her other hand as she was upside down and hitting her
target once again. Again my heart rate soared. Girls who could do gymnastic
flips were another of my fetishes.

If that wasn't enough, she then threw herself into an aerial roundoff followed
by a series of one-handed back handsprings, firing a shot each time she was
upside down. Her aim was perfect and she hit every piece of fruit. The
combination of her tumbling, her markswomanship, and her big forearm muscles
rippling nearly sent me over the edge. I had to think of the time I had
accidentally walked in on my grandmother showering to make my hard-on go away.

Annabelle finished her tumbling pass as the last piece of fruit exploded and
the pistol clicked empty. Winking at me, she then did a rapid series of
one-armed standing back handsprings towards me, elegantly backflipping like a
pro-gymnast. She finished this tumble run with a high back tuck and landed
perfectly on her booted feet.

"Wow, Annabelle," I said. "In addition to being an expert markswoman, you
didn't tell me that you were a champion gymnast."

She smiled coyly. "Not a champion gymnast. I can't do any of that super-fancy
stuff like double and triple full twists. I just have some tumbling skills
from dance practice."

"That's so cool. Are you a professional dancer?"

"No, dance was just one of the things I did growing up. I'm a part-time model
and a part-time prison guard. Helps me express my feminine side and my
masculine side."

"Wow, even better. You certainly are a well-rounded woman."

"Thanks." She smiled. The kind of smile that Haley used to give me. Could
Annabelle be my new Haley? The woman who would finally provide redemption
after all the years of failure with the opposite sex and the heartbreaking
death of Haley?

"So what do you do for a living?" the tall model asked.

"Oh, I have a boring-ass data entry job. Nothing special," I replied, wishing
I had a prestigious and well-paying career to increase my manliness status on
the totem pole. But Annabelle didn't seem to be bothered by my response.

We made small talk for a little while longer, during which time I found out
that Annabelle was indeed half Filipina and half European, perhaps my favorite
ethnic mix in a woman, and that she had won several shooting competitions
against male opponents. When she asked about me, I gave a condensed and
sanitized version of my life story, leaving out the part where I had been sent
to prison, and also not mentioning the part about winning the lottery, getting
duped by a gold-digger, and losing it all.

"So, want to play some catch?" asked the Filipina beauty, reaching into the
BMW and taking out a football. Once again (this was getting repetitive) my
heart rate soared. Yet another of my fetishes was girls who could throw far.

The fact that all four of my major fetishes (girls with big forearms, girls
who could shoot, girls who could do back handsprings, and girls who could
throw far) had "coincidentally" come up in a single encounter should have sent
alarm bells through my head. But I failed to see the warning signs. I was
thinking with the part of my body that wasn't very good at thinking. I was
bitter about not being able to score, desperate to turn it around, and
obsessed with finding a "replacement," so to speak, for Haley, the only woman
who had ever loved me.

"Um...I'm not sure I would be a good partner for you in that," I said. "I
throw like a girl." Normally, I wouldn't have volunteered that information to
a woman, but at the time I still thought Annabelle was one of those cool,
nice, strong chicks who wouldn't laugh at that. Someone like Haley.

"Oh, that's all right," my female companion responded. "Not every guy has to
have an arm like mine. In fact, very few do. Here, let me show you." She waved
for me to go back, back, back until I was about fifty yards away from her. I
stared. Could she really throw that far?

She could, and did. I could only make a halfhearted attempt to catch the
impressively fast and powerful throw, and I missed completely. Which was
probably a good thing, since her rocket-like throw might have broken my
fingers.

"Now throw it back," she called out.

"There's no way I can throw it that far..."

"Just try to get it as far as you can."

Well, I threw the football with all my strength, but I still looked so girly
doing it compared to her. And the ball traveled less than half the distance
that she had been able to throw it.

She giggled as she jogged forward to pick it up. "You do throw like a girl,"
she said in a friendly teasing voice. "Here, get ready. I'll be much gentler
this time." She threw it again. Even though she used much less force, I still
failed to catch it. I threw it back and she caught the ball neatly with just
one hand.

We kept at it for a while, me only being able to catch her gentlest throws,
while she caught all of mine effortlessly, with some more of her catches being
one-handed. We continued to chat while throwing the football, her words slowly
(and wrongly) causing me to gain more trust in her. She really did seem like
Haley, like a unicorn. A beautiful, strong woman who could actually respect
and like an omega male like me.

Finally, Annabelle said, "I'm getting hungry. Let's go get some lunch."

"Sounds good," I replied. I had gone out into the desert expecting solitude,
but instead I had received a gift - a date with a stunning female model. I
thanked God, wishing I had known at the time that it was too soon.

"Just let me try one last thing." She took the football and jogged to a
position about fifty yards away from the BMW. "I want to test the distance and
accuracy of my kicks." With that, she drop kicked the football, sending it
sailing high through the air. Her perfectly aimed kick delivered the ball
right into the open door of the vehicle to land neatly on the back seat.

"Holy shit," I said. "Have you thought about playing in the pros?" I was just
as turned on by girls' kicks as I was by their throws.

She laughed. "I probably could if I wanted to," she said in that confident
voice. "Come on, get in. We can come back for your car later. Mine's a lot
cooler than your crummy old one, anyway."

I laughed as well. I had just met this chick and already we were on
comfortable enough terms to joke around like that. If only I knew that she
wasn't joking...

Annabelle drove us back to the highway in her BMW and we got burgers and fries
at a roadside diner. I felt envious of her as we ate, being jealous of the way
she could eat junk food and still keep her perfect figure. I, on the other
hand, was well on my way to developing a gut, despite my scrawny build.

I looked into her dark brown eyes. Even though I had just met her, I thought I
saw something there. (Of course, I was wrong, but I didn't know that then).
"Annabelle, you're certainly a unique woman. So few girls can do back flips
like a pro-gymnast and shoot like a pro-marksman. You remind me of Angelina
Jolie in Tomb Raider and Nadine Velazquez in Blast. Both of those actresses
did back handsprings and shot guns in their roles."

"Hmm," said Annabelle. "I've seen Tomb Raider, of course, and I remember that
scene with Angelina, but I haven't heard of that other one. I know Nadine, but
I can't recall that movie title. Do you have it?"

"Of course. It's one of the crown jewels of my DVD collection."

"Maybe after lunch we could go over to your place and watch it."

Drumroll please. Once again my heart rate soared. Actually wanting to see my
place? Could I actually be on my way to scoring tonight? Was the "Bad Luck"
part of my name about to be dropped forever?

Calm. Keep calm, I told myself. Don't expect too much too soon. Still, this is
a big step. "Sure. I'd like that," I said.

When we were done eating, Annabelle paid the check, despite my protests. As
part of practicing at being a real man, the guy should pay, but Annabelle
insisted, saying she was a lot richer than I was, and wouldn't take no for an
answer. We got back into the BMW and I gave her directions to my place.

I was so nervous that my teeth were chattering as I led her up the stairs,
trying to think of anything that could potentially go wrong and making sure I
had a way to nip any such thing in the bud. Yes, I had a shitty little studio
apartment, but Annabelle already seemed okay with me being poor. She seemed so
nice, just like Haley...

Haley! I suddenly remembered with horror my shrine to her. If she saw THAT,
even a girl as seemingly compassionate as Annabelle would think I'm a total
creep. As I frantically tried to think of a way to make sure she didn't see
it, she solved the problem for me.

"Got any beer?" she asked as I unlocked the door.

"Sure. It's in the fridge, over there."

"Great. I'll get it."

"Thanks." With a sigh of relief, I quickly pulled down the shrine while she
was busy on the other side of the room. "Sorry, Haley," I whispered. "I'll fix
you up later." I threw a towel over the smaller items, then looked around to
see what I could do with the big picture. I thought about putting it in the
closet, but at the last second changed my mind and just slid it under the bed.
If I had put it in the closet instead, things might have gone differently...

I began setting up the DVD. Annabelle came over with a beer in each hand and
handed one to me. "Is it a good movie?" she asked.

"Truthfully, no. It's pretty cheesy and dumb. I just like the scenes with
Nadine."

"Let's just skip to the scene where she does the flips, then."

I had no problem with that. That's what I usually did when I watched that
movie and I knew exactly where to skip to.

On the screen, Nadine performed a roundoff followed by several back
handsprings, elegantly backflipping the length of a dark room. Leaping up and
grabbing onto a basketball hoop, she propelled herself forward and used her
momentum to kick a male opponent, knocking him backwards. The man aimed a gun
at her. Immediately, she began doing a series of standing back handsprings
away from him into the darkness, leaving the man standing there, unable to
properly aim at such a fast-moving target. He pointed his gun around wildly in
the dimly lit room, trying to figure out where his deadly female opponent was.

Suddenly, she came flying out of the darkness with a fast series of
handsprings and cartwheels. With a final cartwheel, she landed right beside
him before he could take aim, delivered a powerful kick that sent him flying
onto a table, and leaped on top of him.

I paused the video. "That's the end of the gymnastics scene." I had a hard-on
in my pants. Annabelle suddenly looked down at my crotch.

"You have a thing for girls who can do back flips, don't you."

I reddened in shame and hung my head. Annabelle pulled my face upward, looked
into my eyes, and said, "It's okay. Nothing wrong with that. I could tell you
were turned on by my back flips too."

"Really? You're okay with it?"

"Sure. And I think you have some other fetishes that you should tell me
about." She crossed her muscular arms in front of her expectantly.

I took a deep breath. It was time to go big or go home. Well, I was home,
but...you know what I mean. So anyway, I said, "Well, I've always liked girls
with thick, muscular forearms. I like how yours are bigger than mine. And I
love girls who are good markswomen, and girls who can throw far." I couldn't
believe I was blurting all these things out to a girl who I had just met
today. Then again, I couldn't believe that a girl this hot had actually
invited herself to my apartment.

"Could you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Could you jerk off to your fetishes for me?"

I nearly fainted. Jerkittoaninsanelyhotchickomgthisislikeadream
butiwishshedhavesexwithmebutmaybeshewillafterIdoasshesays ... My thoughts were
running a mile a minute.

"Hear me out. Let me explain," said the darkly tanned Filipina beauty. "Most
guys are intimidated by my shooting and throwing and tumbling skills and my
big arms. It's nice to meet a guy who's turned on by them for a change. I'd
really like to see you do it to know that a woman like me is appreciated in
the world. Please? Pretty pleeeeeease?" She batted her eyelashes again.

"O...okay, Miss Annabelle. If that's what you want." I slowly began removing
my clothes. I wasn't even sure what I was thinking at the moment. My raging
hard-on was doing all the thinking for me. Soon I was nude, exposing my
erection's maximum length of four and a half inches. I was afraid she would
start laughing, but her elegant face showed no expression at all as I lay down
on the bed and began choking my chicken.

"Talk to me," said Annabelle. "Talk about your fetishes."

"Oooh, Annabelle," I moaned. "Your throws...so powerful. You throw like a man,
and I throw like a girl. I get off schmoe-style on that. And your killer drop
kick, so strong and accurate. Your muscular forearms. So much bigger than
mine. I feel so girly comparing my wrist to yours, and I love the feeling.
Your white blouse, showing off how dark brown your tan is...sooo sexy."

I continued, the sexual pleasue shutting everything else out, no longer
heeding in the slightest the foolishness of what I was doing. "Oooh,
Annabelle. Your deadly skills with your gun. I love seeing a girl handle
recoil that I could never handle. I love seeing a girl with accuracy that I
could never have. You're so much more of a man that I could ever be. I am such
a schmoe."

"And your back flips. You're so sexy, being able to elegantly back flip like a
pro-gymnast. You're a girl doing things that a male like me could never do.
Oooh, baby. Just thinking of you back handspring...flick-flack, flick-flack,
flick-flack, oooh... can't hold it back any longer...gonna cum...gonna blow!"
With that, I shot off a massive load of cum, propelling it with enough force
to hit the ceiling. It bounced off and landed back down right on my face.

You know the high you get when you orgasm? You know the few seconds it takes
between the release and the time the buzz fades? Well, I was in that stage
when I suddenly heard Annabelle yell, "Cut!" in a movie director's voice and I
froze, the buzz disappearing abruptly. What was going on?

To my horror, the closet door, which had been ajar, swung open all the way,
revealing a pretty blonde girl in a red dress standing there pointing a video
camera at me! Both she and Annabelle were roaring with laughter.

"Oh my God," said Annabelle. "Please tell me you got that own goal facial!"

"I sure did, Ana," the blonde responded. "I wouldn't have missed that for
anything. I wasn't sure it would work, but that wanker came through! Boy, did
he ever!"

I was sick with disgust, shame, and rage. She had set me up! The whole thing
had been a trap right from the beginning! All my hopes, all the thinking that
she liked me, all the thoughts of "the next Haley"...all had been for naught!
I should have known it was too good to be true!

"Why, Annabelle, why?!" I moaned. "And how?" How had she chosen me? I hadn't
seen anyone following me out into the desert, and even if she had, how would
she have chosen me for this sick scam in the first place? I had never seen her
or her blonde friend before.

"Oh, I could explain, but I think SHE can explain much better," said the
Filipina babe, pointing to the kitchen. I turned to look.

From behind the counter, a female figure stood up slowly. Dressed in jeans and
a white T-shirt, she was well-built and muscular, with large breasts,
jet-black hair, and dark brown skin and elegant facial features that indicated
Middle Eastern heritage. She looked like...

"MAY?!" I shouted, remembering the pretty salesgirl at the mall (read my story
"Christmas in May") who had beaten me up, humiliated me, and left me naked in
a park after I had hit on her because of her thick wrists. I could see that
her wrists and forearms were as thick as ever, far bigger than mine and even
bigger than Annabelle's, and May wasn't shy about drawing attention to them,
wearing a shiny silver bracelet on her right wrist and a shiny gold man's
watch on her left.

"That's right, cocksucker, it's me," the Middle Eastern beauty sneered,
stepping out from behind the counter and revealing the full bulk of her
powerful 5'6", 143-pound figure. "The three of us have a good thing going
making videos of weakling males humiliating themselves and selling them to
various femdom, gay, and cuckold porn sites on the Internet. When Ana asked me
if I knew of any good new targets I immediately thought of you." She suddenly
broke into a fit of giggles. "Own goal facial! Too perfect."

"But how..." I moaned, reaching up to wipe the cum off my face. Annabelle
suddenly did a cartwheel to get to me and rammed her knee into my stomach. The
blow felt like a truck had hit me. I doubled over, gasping for breath.

"You'll keep that cum on your face, Ben...hmm, we need a girl name for this
wimp. How about Benita?" smirked Annabelle. "You'll keep that cum on your face
like the good little cumslut you are, Benita. You got that, faggot?" She made
a fist.

"Yes, Mistress Annabelle," I sobbed.

"As for how." The Filipina sexpot tossed her hair cockily. "Cassie here
installed a tracking device on your car," she said, pointing to the blonde. "I
used it to follow you far enough behind so you wouldn't see me. After you
left, Cassie picked the lock and she and May came in here."

"Of course we saw that creepy-ass shrine you put up to that girl, Haley,"
Cassie spoke up. "I made sure to film it close up, with dramatic and humorous
narrations of your pansy-ass douchebag love letters. I even filmed you
desperately trying to hide it." She mocked me in a falsetto voice. "I'm sorry,
Haley! Please forgive me, my love!" The blonde smirked. "Good thing you didn't
put that picture in the closet. That was a close one. But never mind, we got
what we needed."

"How was he out there?" May asked Annabelle.

"Oh, just as pathetic as we expected. He shot like a total girl. Gave up on
the .45 after two shots because his weak little wrists couldn't handle the
kick. I was able to handle it when I was an 11-year-old girl. And of course he
didn't even come close to hitting the targets. Oh, and the throwing. He threw
like a total girl too. He couldn't even throw the football half as far as I
could, and I practically had to baby-throw to him before he could make any
catches."

Annabelle turned to me icily. "You're as stupid as you are weak. Did it ever
occur to you that a hot, athletic, successful alpha female like me would never
want to hang out with a complete and total omega male loser like you? Why
would I waste my time with a zero like you when I can have any male 10 that I
want? You should have known something was wrong, but you were too dumb to
figure it out."

May sneered at me, continuing the verbal bitch-slapping. "You should be
thankful my boyfriend isn't here. He'd alphadominate your wussy omega male ass
so hard you'd still be feeling it when you went to an old folks' home. Unlike
you, he's a REAL man. He's one of the 20% of guys who actually have bigger
wrists than me." She casually showed off her big forearms.

"Yeah, and you're one of the 20% of faggy losers who have smaller wrists than
a skinny chick like me," said Cassie. She did a roundoff followed by a back
layout to take herself to me, being athletic enough to pull off the flips in a
long dress. She compared her wrist size to mine. Sure enough, even though the
5'6", 120-pound girl had a slender one, it was still thicker than mine.

"Come on. Let's give this loser-ass virgin his next assignment," said
Annabelle.

"I'm not a virgin!" I said defiantly. "I lost it when I won the lottery!"

"Is that true?" Cassie asked May.

"He did win the lottery," said the Middle Eastern girl. "In fact, I wanted to
move in and pull a scam on him then, but some other chick beat me to it. No
matter, the cocksucker lost all his money anyway. But even so, getting
gold-diggers to have sex with you because you have money doesn't count as
scoring. It's like hiring a prostitute. It's cheating. A baseball player who
reaches base on an error and eventually gets to home on nothing but errors
still has a batting average and on-base percentage of zero."

I hung my head in shame. She was right. And Haley...Oh, if only I had gotten
to have sex with Haley just once before she had been killed.

"Let's inspire you, Benita," Annabelle smirked at me. "We have a little video
to show you. This is what'll happen to you if you don't do exactly as we say."

Cassie walked over to my computer like she owned the place and inserted a
memory stick. She quickly opened up a video clip. Annabelle backhanded me
across the face, the studs from her leather bracelet leaving painful welts,
then shoved me towards the computer. Cassie caught me, bitch-slapped me, and
pushed me into a chair.

On the screen, a pale, scrawny man lay naked on the floor of what looked like
a prison cell, crying. A woman entered the cell. It was Annabelle! She wore a
prison guard uniform with her top tied to display her brown six-pack abs, and
the sleeves rolled up to show off her big, muscular forearms. She twirled a
baton in her leather-gloved hands.

"Get in the position, Stephanie," Annabelle ordered onscreen.

"Yes, Mistress!" shrieked the terrified male, clearly brutalized into
responding to the feminized name. He positioned himself on his hands and
knees, his ass pointing vulnerably upward.

Annabelle brutally rammed the baton up her male victim's asshole, savagely
butt-raping him. She taunted him as she fucked him, saying things like, "You
like that, Stephanie? You like being the catcher? You like being my good
little cumslut bitch?"

The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the guy's tortured face, sobbing his
eyes out as he said, "Yes! My name is Stephanie, and I'm a good obedient
little cumslut!"

"I think Benita knows what's expected of her now," said Annabelle. Cassie
paused the video clip. I turned around and saw with horror that Annabelle and
May were each twirling a baton. Cassie picked up the video camera.

"No, please..." I begged.

"You know you're too wussy to beat us in a fight, cocksucker," said May. "So
you can assume the position and prepare to be fucked, or you can try to
resist, get a beating, and then assume the position and prepare to be fucked
anyway." She advanced on me, slapping the baton into her free hand, and stared
straight into my terrified eyes. I looked back into her dark brown ones,
wondering how such a beautiful woman could have become such a sadist.

I knew from my past experience with her that May would show me no mercy. In
desperation, I looked at the other two girls, hoping that one or both of them
would have enough compassion to call the brutalization off, but both Annabelle
and Cassie were simply smirking.

May suddenly did a standing back handspring, kicking me and knocking me to the
floor. She roughly positioned me on my hands and knees. "Lights, camera,
action," Annabelle called out.

* * *

"Cut!"

I lay on the floor, naked and crying. I knew that I wouldn't be able to sit
properly for a long time.

"Nice job, girls," said Cassie. "This should be a good seller."

"We'll keep doing the prison series as well as this series," said Annabelle.
"We should be looking at steadily rising long-term profits from those two.
Plus we have our new list of targets we can go over and make plans for."

I froze in horror. They were going to keep doing this? No! I had to call the
police...

As if reading my thoughts, May kicked me in the stomach, knocking the wind out
of me, and sneered, "You're not going to call the cops, Benita. You're going
to stay right here and be available for videos whenever we need them. If you
think you can get away from us, you'd better think again. You can run, but you
can't hide. With Cassie's hacking skills and Annabelle's connections as a
part-time prison guard, we can track you down wherever you try to go. And when
we catch you, we're going to be PISSED."

"That's right," said Annabelle. "If you try anything stupid, all we have to do
is say that you tried to rape one of us, with the other two as witnesses.
Remember Stephanie in the video? We framed that cocksucker for attempted
murder and got that cumslut basically a life sentence. We can do it to you
too. So you'd better be a good boy...I mean GIRL."

"I think Benita should see the rest of the video," said Cassie. She did a pair
of standing back handsprings to me, yanked me up roughly, and shoved me into
the computer chair. She clicked the mouse and the video resumed.

The male called "Stephanie" was lying on the floor of the cell. Annabelle
stood over him with her baton, taunting him. "You think that was bad? It's
about to get way worse."

Four heavily muscled male inmates entered the cell, licking their lips. They
began stripping. They were HUGE down there. I turned away in disgust.

"No, cumslut," snapped Cassie, pimp-slapping me. "Watch it. Watch the whole
thing."

I did so, trying not to throw up. Finally, the horrific scene was over. "Be
glad that's not you," said the blonde.

May looked at her shiny gold man's watch. "Well, we'd better get going. We'll
be back every Saturday at one to film a new video. You'd better be here and
ready every time we show up. If you're not, you know what's in store for you."
She pointed at the computer screen.

The girls began packing up their things. As they were leaving, Annabelle said,
"If it's any consolation, you're only the second wimpiest, faggiest cumslut in
the world. Stephanie is even worse than you. But you're still our full-time
bitch, and don't you forget it."

The Filipina beauty reached into my pants pocket, took out my wallet, removed
all the cash from it, and put the money into her own pocket. "You didn't
really think I'd let you get a free lunch on me, did you?"

Bootsteps sounded across the floor and the door slammed shut. I lay crying on
the floor for a long, long time after they left.

I remembered complaining about my dead-end job and shitty studio apartment. I
would have given anything to go back to that level, where those were my worst
problems. I remembered when Kate (from my story Bad Luck Ben...Again) had been
blackmailing me. I would have given anything to go back to even that level,
where at least she was only taking my money and my worst problem was
occasionally having to eat dog food when I didn't have enough cash.

Finally realizing I hadn't even wiped the cum off my face, I cleaned it off
and put on my clothes. I then went over to re-assemble my shrine to Haley.

I set up the big picture, then removed the towel that was covering the smaller
items. A ray of sunlight shone through the window directly on one of my poems.

"And like an avenging angel, like a divine goddess, she will deliver me from
evil and use her strength to defeat my enemies..."

I stared at the verse that was lit up by the sun. Was it some sort of sign?
Some indication that Haley was still my guardian angel? Some foreshadow that
something would come to save me from those three evil witches?

I could only wait, and pray.

THE END...for now