Marina's Story
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
Slim, athletic female model dominates cuck male

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This tale stars Marina, one of the minor characters in my story
"Life: A Loser's Story" about the trials and sufferings of Percy Pigglesworth.
This one will go more in depth into Marina's life and give her a day in the
spotlight. Fan favorite character Annabelle makes an appearance. And of
course, a weakling male gets brutalized and humiliated.

Dedicated to my real-life Marina, who has the firearm skills and beauty of the
woman in the story, although I make no claim that she shares her fondness for
violence and sadism!

* * *

Marina parked her white Mercedes near the entrance to the secluded park and
checked her watch, a large, gold man's Rolex that hung loose on her slender
wrist. Ten minutes early. Perfect. She checked her reflection in the mirror
one last time before stepping out and making her way along the path to the
designated meeting point.

A man and a woman were waiting in a clearing. Behind them were two more men
unloading boxes. Recognizing her friend, Marina smiled and waved. "Hey,
Annabelle."

The woman smiled and waved back. "Hey, Marina. Glad you could make it." They
gave each other a quick hug. Annabelle turned to the man next to her. "Well,
here she is, my friend Marina and the model I recommended for this job."

The man shook Marina's hand. He was wearing an expensive suit and a gold Rolex
watch identical to hers. "Early. I like that. I'm Mr. Brockers, director of
marketing for Triumphant Sporting Goods. Annabelle's told me a little about
you, but how about you tell me a little more?"

"Well, it turned out that one of my best friends, Karima, was besties with one
of Annabelle's best friends, May, so we met through them," Marina began. "We
discovered that we had a lot in common. We're both part-time models with other
jobs - I'm a real estate agent and she's a prison guard. We're both very
active and athletic and love swimming, softball, tennis, golf, and of course
shooting. That's why I was excited when Ana told me about this gig."

Mr. Brockers nodded. "Well, let me tell you a little more about it. As you
probably already know, Annabelle is our official spokesmodel on a year-long
contract, but sometimes we like to pair her up with other models for specific
photoshoots or videos. Our CEO wanted to do a video of two young women
shooting guns together. He wanted a slim, pale girl to pair and contrast with
our muscular, tanned Annabelle. You definitely have the looks part down to a
T."

The two hot women did make a striking pair. Annabelle stood at 5'8" and 128
pounds, with firm 34B breasts, a slim 25-inch waist, and a round, hard
dancer's ass. She had long silky black hair, brown eyes, and a dark brown tan
from her half-Filipina heritage. She wore black leather pants and black boots
that gave her a domme look, along with a white blouse.

Marina, at 5'6" and 117 pounds, was distinctly more petite, and had pale skin,
but with a healthy glow. She had blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. Her
small 32B tits were round and exceptionally perky. Her waist measured an
impressively tiny 23 inches, and her hips were slim, but still feminine. She
wore a black miniskirt, knee-high black leather boots, and a long-sleeved
white top. Both women had the elegant, high-cheekboned faces that were the
trademark of successful models.

"We've auditioned several models so far, most of who've fallen into the decent
range, but we want someone better than that," Brockers continued. "Annabelle
says you're it, and I hope she's right."

Marina nodded. "I'm almost as good as she is."

"If that's true, I'll hire you on the spot. Are you ready to get started?"

"Of course."

"Excellent." Brockers introduced the two other men, who had finished unloading
the boxes and setting up the targets. "This is Roger, our cameraman, and
Cyril, one of our interns. Roger, you ready?"

"Sure thing, boss." Roger tapped his video camera.

"Great." Brockers handed Marina an AK-47 assault rifle and a fully loaded
magazine, then pointed to three pumpkins set up down a long field. "Destroy
those pumpkins."

Marina smiled. She swiftly and expertly loaded the weapon, then took aim and
emptied the 30-round magazine in a single long burst, annihilating all three
pumpkins. She ejected the empty mag and turned back around, still smiling, but
more cockily now.

"Yeah, Rina!" Annabelle cheered her friend. "Rock it, girl!" Roger put down
his camcorder to applaud, while Mr. Brockers nodded, impressed.

"Nice shooting, Marina. And you were able to keep perfect control of the
weapon even on a long full-auto burst," said Brockers. "That's where we had
some trouble with the other applicants. Oh, they were all experienced shooters
- almost every attractive young woman is these days - but because of their
petite figures, they had some trouble controlling the gun like that. But you -
you did it better than I could."

"Better than I could, too," Roger spoke up. "How did you get to be so good?"

Marina flipped her hair. "Oh, a combination of natural talent, a lot of
practice, and daily workouts and sports experience to build physical
strength."

"Can you do it one-handed?" Brockers asked her. "That's one of Annabelle's
tricks she does in a lot of our promotional videos. Very few women are able to
pull that off. Very few men, for that matter. But if we could include both of
you doing it in our video, that would be very impressive."

"Sure. I've done it before." Marina quickly loaded another magazine and took
aim, pressing the butt against her lower torso to absorb the recoil as she
held the rifle in her right hand. Again she emptied the magazine in a single
long burst.

"Hmm," she said, studying her handiwork. "Not quite as accurate as last time,
but I still shot up those watermelons pretty good."

"Don't be modest, Marina," said Mr. Brockers. "Most men I've seen are less
accurate than that shooting with both hands. Well, I think the rest is a
formality at this point, but I'd still like to see you shoot with some other
weapons."

"Of course." In rapid succession, Marina took out more pieces of fruit with a
.45 pistol, then several clay pigeons with a shotgun, and finally an apple
with a crossbow. Roger filmed her, in awe of her skills, while Annabelle
smiled calmly, having known what her friend could do from their shooting trips
together. Mr. Brockers, though he had the calm manner of an experienced
businessman, was still clearly impressed by her talent.

And what of Cyril, the intern, watching from the shadows the whole time? He
had mixed feelings, stemming from his own inadequacies. For while Mr. Brockers
was a tall, good-looking man and Roger was of average height and decently
athletic - not super-strong, but decent - Cyril was a scrawny, unathletic
weakling with an ugly, acne-scarred face. He was very short as well and at
5'5", an inch shorter than Marina, he had felt shame as he'd looked up at her
(and even more when he'd looked up at the 5'8" Annabelle).

Cyril, on one hand, had a fetish for girls with guns, and frequently rubbed
one out to one of those scenes in his DVD collection. On the other hand,
however, having no experience with guns himself, he also felt like an
inadequate sissy when he saw expert markswomen in real life. He felt shame
that these women were better than him at something that was supposed to be
"manly." In previous weeks during his internship, he had seen Annabelle shoot
a few times, and each time he had to go to the bathroom afterwards to rub one
out to her.

Simultaneously turned on and ashamed of being turned on, Cyril's mind was a
whirlwind of emotions. So he stayed to the side as Brockers offered Marina the
gig and she happily accepted. He stayed in the shadows as the others
congratulated her. And he watched in the background, a hard-on raging in his
pants, as Roger filmed Marina and Annabelle shooting various weapons.

When the girls had finally gone through each weapon, Brockers said, "That was
perfect. Let's take a quick break. I'll call the CEO and tell him that his
worries about this video are over."

Roger put down his camcorder and looked at the last gun the girls had fired, a
shiny .44 magnum revolver. "Don't think I've had the chance to shoot that one
before. Mind if I cook off a few rounds, boss?"

"Go ahead," said Brockers as he took out his iPhone.

"Careful," said Marina. "It's got quite a kick. Be ready for it."

"Both of you girls shot it one-handed with no problem. I should be able to
handle it two-handed." Roger loaded the gun and fired six shots at one of the
paper targets downrange.

"Pretty good," said Marina, looking over the target.

"Not as good as either of us girls, of course," added Annabelle, giggling. She
playfully slapped him on the rump.

"You want to try it?" Roger asked Brockers as he finished his call to the CEO.

"Don't mind if I do. It's been a while since I've shot this one." Brockers
took his six shots, slightly beating Roger's score but still falling short of
the girls' marks.

"What about you, Cyril?" said Brockers, suddenly turning to the young intern
half-hidden in the bushes. "You're the only one who hasn't tried it yet. Want
to give it a go?"

Put on the spot, Cyril looked around at the sea of expectant faces. He knew
that he would make a fool of himself, but he couldn't appear like a wuss in
public. Especially not in front of girls as hot as Marina and Annabelle.

"S...sure." Trying to look as confident as possible, he strode up and picked
up the revolver...then froze as he realized he had no idea how to load it.

"Whatcha waiting for?" asked Annabelle. "You do know how to load and handle
it, right? All of my male friends do. In fact, all of my female friends do."

"Um...uh...er..." There was snickering all around him.

"Here, I'll do it." Marina swiftly loaded the gun, then handed it to Cyril with a 
cocky smirk on her face, her expression saying, "You needed a GIRL to do that 
for you? How pathetic."

Muttering thanks, he took a deep breath as he held the weapon in a tight two-
handed grip, hanging on for dear life. He began squeezing the trigger.

BANG!

The heavy recoil from the powerful weapon caused it to jump and strike Cyril
right in the face. With a high-pitched, incredibly gay sounding squeal, he
dropped the gun like a hot potato. All of the others immediately burst into
laughter.

"I was afraid something like that would happen. Correction. I was HOPING
something like that would happen," smirked Annabelle.

"Oh, man!" howled Roger, holding his sides. "Can you do that again so I can
film it? That'd definitely be one for the blooper reel."

"I know I shouldn't be laughing, but damn, I can't help it," said Mr.
Brockers.

"No wonder he couldn't handle it. He's got some girly-ass wrists." Marina
rolled up the sleeve of her top, comparing his to hers, and snickered. "Wow.
I'm a skinny chick and even I have thicker wrists than him."

"And he dreams he could have wrists like mine," added Annabelle, showing off
her big wrists and thick, heavily muscled forearms, their tan looking even
darker than normal next to the white color of her blouse. "Did anybody bring a
water pistol? He might actually be able to handle that."

"No, but I brought sandwiches," said Brockers, finally turning serious. "While
we eat, we can discuss other ideas for filming."

While the four others chatted and ate, Cyril sat off to the side, trying to
hold in his tears, his appetite gone. He wished he could be a real man, man
enough to attract the likes of Annabelle and Marina insted of being humiliated
in front of them. He continued sulking and feeling sorry for himself until the
girls began the next portion of their video, showing off their gymnastics
skills. That perked him up. Girls who could do back flips were another of his
fetishes. Similar to his girls with guns fetish, it was motivated by his own
lack of skill in something men were supposed to be better at (the best
tumblers are male, and adult women who can tumble are very rare).

They started off with back handsprings, both girls doing 15 standing back
handsprings in a row simultaneously, next to each other. The girls then did
several aerial cartwheels together, then Marina did a tumbling pass on her
own, starting with a front tuck somersault and from there going into a
roundoff, two whip backs, four one-arm back handsprings, alternating arms as
she flipped, and finishing with a split-leg layout. Finally, Annabelle did her
tumbling pass, a front handspring, roundoff, whipback, full twist, two back
handsprings, and finishing with a kick-full. Brockers and Roger applauded the
two young women enthusiastically but politely, while Cyril remained on the
side with his hard-on, in awe of the ladies' tumbling skills but too bitter to
applaud after they had teased him.

"Wow," said Brockers. "Impressive, both of you. Now we still have time to do a
little more filming. Marina, do you have any other stereotypical 'guy'
talents?"

"Hmm...oh, throwing. I was the starting center fielder for my high school and
college softball teams, and I play in an adult coed fastpitch league now."

"Perfect!" said Brockers. "Annabelle has an amazing arm, and we've filmed some
videos of her throwing on her own, as well as playing catch with guys and
girls, but this is the first time we'll be able to film two girls as talented
as the two of you playing catch together." Meanwhile, Cyril was saying
"Perfect!" in his mind, as girls who could throw far were yet another of his
fetishes. Again, he was motivated schmoe-style by his own complete lack of
throwing ability.

"Marina, are you as good as Annabelle?" Roger asked. "I've seen her throw.
She's amazing." He gave Annabelle a smile and she smiled back.

"Oh, I'm not THAT good," said Marina. "But definitely good enough to keep up
with my male friends. I've never been the one in the group who has the
girliest throw. That's always been one or the other of the guys, and the rest
of us always tease whoever it is."

Brockers procured a football and Marina and Annabelle positioned themselves
about 40 yards apart from each other. "You sure you don't want to stand just a
little closer?" he asked.

"No, we'll be fine," said Annabelle and Marina at exactly the same time. They
both giggled when they realized what they had done.

"All right. I'll trust you girls on that." Brockers nodded to Roger, who had
his video camera ready.

The girls began throwing the ball back and forth while Roger filmed them. Each
girl made the long throws easily, and each girl made a perfect catch each
time. From his position in the bushes, Cyril knew he was going to have a lot
of material to rub one out to tonight alone in his shitty studio apartment.

After the young women had made a dozen throws back and forth, Brockers said,
"I think that's a wrap. Great job, ladies."

"Damn, Marina," said Roger. "I never thought a girl as petite as you could
throw like that. I don't think I could throw as far as you."

"Want to find out?" asked Marina playfully. "I don't think I've ever actually
tested throwing my farthest with a football, so I'm curious too."

Taking advantage of distance markers on the field, they tested themselves.
Marina made a throw of 43 yards, while Roger's best throw of 40 yards wasn't
able to match hers, but was still respectable. Mr. Brockers tried it and tied
Marina's score.

"How about you, Ana?" Marina asked her friend. "You'll kick all our asses."

"Don't mind if I do." Annabelle picked up the football and launched an
amazingly hard and powerful throw with a perfect spiral.

"Holy shit, Annabelle. 51 yards. I knew you were good, but I never knew you
were THAT good," said Roger. She simply grinned, confident and knowing what
she could do.

"How about you, Cyril?" asked Annabelle, suddenly turning to him with a smirk.
"Want to try to redeem yourself after your epic fail with the gun?" Roger
snickered loudly, while Marina giggled. Cyril turned red with shame.

"Yeah. We'll make it fair," said Roger. "I threw it 40 yards. If he can throw
it 35 we'll consider him redeemed."

"Bet you a hundred bucks he can't even make half that distance," Marina said
to Annabelle.

Annabelle laughed. "I wouldn't bet against that!"

"How about you?" Marina turned to Mr. Brockers. "Want to try getting a hundred
bucks back from what you're going to pay me for the gig?"

"No thanks. I'm a businessman and I have no desire to pay an extra hundred
bucks for no good reason." Everyone laughed at that, while Cyril hung his head
like a sad dog.

"Well, Cyril, we're waiting," said Annabelle. "Don't you want to show that
you're an actual man and not a sissy?"

A sudden rush of anger flowed through him. "Why should I have to..." he began.

"Just do it, okay?" Mr. Brockers snapped. He was usually a laid-back boss, but
Cyril was pretty much just begging to be put in line.

Shaking in fear, Cyril obeyed. He could feel everyone's eyes on him as he
picked up the football, and he could hear their giggles. He threw the ball as
hard as he could...

"Holy fuck! Only 16 yards!" reported Roger. "What a wimp!"

"You were right, Rina!" laughed Annabelle. "You would have won that bet!"

"Not only that, but he couldn't even throw one-third as far as you, Ana!"
Marina shook her head as if she had just seen a train wreck.

"Damn," said Mr. Brockers. "My daughter is only 9, and she's much more into
Barbie dolls than sports, but even she can throw farther than that."
Surrounded by four taunting, smirking faces, Cyril burst into tears and ran
away across the field as fast as his short little legs would carry him.

"Want me to grab him?" Annabelle asked. "I could probably catch up with him
just by doing back handsprings."

"Nah, let him go," Brockers replied. "He'll come back."

Sure enough, about twenty minutes later, Cyril returned, shamefully, like a
little boy who had defiantly told his parents he was running away and never
coming back, but returned a short time later with his tail tucked in between
his legs.

"Cyril, I think you're through with this company," said Mr. Brockers sternly.
"We've all had enough of your bad attitude. Just because you're bad at
everything doesn't mean you have to take it out on the world. And running away
from your work just now was the last straw. Roger and I had to do the packing
up. I'll let you ride back to the office with us so you can pick up your
stuff. You can pick up your back pay too, but I'm not paying you for today
because you ran off."

"Yes, sir," said Cyril sadly and submissively. He felt like crying again. When
he had woken up this morning, he had been looking forward to spending the day
with Annabelle and another hot model. But instead, the girls had humiliated
him and to top it off, he had gotten fired.

Annabelle looked at her watch, a man's Rolex similar to Marina's. "I'd better
get going. I promised my friends May and Cassie I'd meet them for dinner.
Rina, I'll see you when you get back from your trip."

"Right, Ana. Thanks for getting me this gig."

"No prob." Annabelle hugged all the others goodbye (except for Cyril, of
course, whom she smirked at as she pointedly skipped). She then disappeared
along the trail leading out of the park.

"Where are you going, Marina?" Brockers asked curiously.

"Oh, I have a week-long modeling assignment in Miami. I leave tomorrow."

"Damn, I wish I was going," said Roger.

As they walked back to the parking lot, Marina, Roger, and Brockers held an
animated conversation about traveling, and beaches, and swimming, and boating,
and girlfriends and boyfriends. Cyril trailed behind the others as he listened
to it all, wishing he could join in. But he had nothing to contribute, as he
was a kissless virgin who spent all his time alone in his shitty apartment,
playing video games and watching porn.

When they reached the vehicles, Brockers handed Marina a wad of $100 bills.
"Here's your pay for today, two thousand bucks cash under the table. A
thousand like we agreed on for the shooting, plus five hundred extra for the
back flips, and five hundred extra for the throwing. Not bad for a day's work,
huh?"

"Not bad at all. Thank you." She gave him a hug, then hugged Roger. Just like
Annabelle had, Marina smirked at Cyril as she pointedly skipped him.

As he watched Marina drive away in her white Mercedes, Cyril felt a flood of
emotions rush through him. He was attracted to her, of course, she was a
beautiful woman, but there was more than that. She was younger than him and
she was a GIRL, but she was so much more accomplished than him in every way -
career-wise, physically, and socially. Here he was, past 30, and he had never
had any job better than internships or temp assignments. And he had just
gotten fired. And she was this twentysomething chick who was a successful real
estate agent AND a successful model? And she could outshoot, outthrow, and
out-tumble him? And she could even make guy talk, like she had just done with
Roger and Brockers, better than him?

He was so envious and jealous of her life. It seemed so perfect. He just
wanted to be around her.

As Cyril sat glumly in the back of the company van with the equipment,
listening to Brockers and Roger chat happily in the front, he was reminded
once again that he had just been fired. Then he suddenly perked up. That meant
that he had no obligations. He was free to go where he wanted now. He could
follow Marina to Miami...

* * *

"The last-minute one-way fare to Miami is $1199, sir."

"What?! I..." Cyril was already questioning whether this was a good idea. The 
majority of the savings in his bank account would be wiped out by this alone. 
And then there was the hotel, taxis, food, all the other expenses he would need
for his trip...His jobs had always paid minimum wage, and by the standards of a 
man in his 30s he was quite close to a broke-ass loser. And he had just gotten
fired.

"Do you want to buy the ticket or not, sir?" The gruff voice of the agent jolted
him back to reality.

"Y...yes. I'll take it." He handed over his credit card.

* * *

Cyril fidgeted nervously as he lined up to board the plane. All the time while 
waiting for the flight, he had been worried that Marina would see him. He'd 
spent most of the time away from the gate, and had bought a magazine to
cover his face. Marina had boarded earlier - she was in first class - and he knew
he'd have to walk past her when boarding. He made sure to have his magazine
ready to hide himself.

The pretty air hostess bringing pre-departure beverages to the first-class 
passengers gave him a strange look as she saw him. He quickly lowered his
magazine and tried to smile at her, but that only caused her expression to
change to one of disgust as she saw how homely his face was. He sighed to
himself. He was used to air hostesses behaving this way because of his status
as an ugly omega male. But that wasn't important now. Marina was who was
important now.

Sure enough, Marina was there, in a window seat in first class. He quickly raised
his magazine to re-cover his face, but he shouldn't have worried, Cyril thought 
to himself. Marina was busy on her iPhone, making a post to Instagram about 
how glamorous and awesome her life was. He breathed a sigh of relief as he 
made his way towards his assigned seat - a middle seat near the very back of 
the plane. But he didn't care. He was stalking an incredibly hot model, and 
maybe he could get a nice vacation out of this to boot.

After the plane took off and leveled off at cruising altitude, Cyril perked up
when he saw a very attractive air hostess, even prettier than the one in first
class, pass by. Her long blonde hair contrasted sharply with her darkly tanned
brown skin, and her short skirt showed off her muscular, pantyhose-clad legs.

He watched as she and her companion, a male flight attendant, start the
beverage cart service at the front of the economy class section, alternating
between rows. He hoped that his row would be lucky enough to get the girl.
He somehow seemed to get stuck with a disproportionate percentage of male
attendants on his trips, despite the fact that 75% of flight attendants in the
U.S. were female. And when he did get a female, they were usually grumpy
and bitchy. But maybe this time would be different. Maybe it would be a good
omen for his pursuit of Marina...

Cyril waited impatiently as the cart slowly drew closer and closer. It was a 
50/50 shot, and 50/50 shots never seemed to go his way in his unlucky life.
But as the attendants neared the back of the plane, he counted off the rows
and felt his heart do a little leap. It seemed like his row was actually going to
get the girl!

When she got to his row, she started with the passengers on the other side of
the aisle. Cyril tapped his foot and drummed his fingers as she gave them their
little packages of peanuts and requested drinks one by one. Then she turned
to the guy sitting next to him in the aisle seat, an average-looking young man.
The pretty blonde air hostess smiled at the guy warmly as she asked him what
he wanted. As she handed him his Diet Coke and peanuts, Cyril saw that her 
darkly tanned forearm, adorned with a shiny silver man's watch, was 
impressively thick and muscular for a woman of her slender build, the large-
faced man's watch not looking out of place on her wrist at all. He knew it
would look hopelessly out of place on his.

Finally, it was his turn. Cyril took a deep breath. For most guys, this would be
such a mundane thing that it would be forgotten a few minutes after it
happened. But for him, the smallest positive or even neutral interaction with
an attractive female was so rare that it would be a cherished memory. Maybe
he could even take the opportunity to compliment her on the size of her arm,
although he knew he would never have the balls to do it in front of the other
passengers.

"What would you like to drink, sir?"

Wait a minute. Something was wrong. The stewardess wasn't talking to him
at all! She was talking to the man in the window seat next to him, an alpha-
looking older gentleman in a suit. Cyril froze in shock as the blonde air hostess
poured the guy his requested Sprite and handed him his peanuts. Why had she
skipped him?

He raised his hand, but she seemed to ignore it. He opened his mouth, but only
a faint croaking sound came out. Then she was gone, pulling the beverage cart
after her, disappearing in a flash of navy blue miniskirt and white blouse.

Cyril's mouth was still open as the other flight attendant, the male, passed by.
He looked at Cyril. "Oh, did she not get you? Can I get you something?"

"N...no, thanks." Cyril muttered the words, then put his face down on his 
opened tray table. The cart squeaked off down the aisle.

"Yeah, she didn't get him," came a low, snickering voice from the guy in the
aisle seat. "Couldn't even get the time of day or a drink from her! What a 
loser."

"Yeah. He had to get the guy to ask him," added the equally snickering voice
from the guy in the window seat. Cyril heard a high-five behind him and buried
his face down deeper, trying not to cry. This was a bad omen for his project
with Marina...

* * *

Cyril sat in his hotel room, looking at the view of the parking lot and the 
dumpsters. After spending so much money on the plane ticket, it was best that
he didn't splurge on an ocean view. But that wasn't what was important now.
He had done it. After successfully following Marina to the airport and getting 
on the same plane as her without being detected, he had gotten a taxi to 
follow the limo that had picked her up in Miami, and then gotten a room at 
this hotel where she was staying. He took a deep breath as he prepared for the 
next part of his plan, trying to forget about the bad omen with the air hostess.

He exited his room and took the elevator two floors up, then headed down the
hall to where Marina's room was. He knew she was out, on her modeling
assignment, most likely, and the maids were cleaning this area.

Looking in the open door to Marina's suite, he saw a maid cleaning the
bathroom, her back to him. Gulping nervously, he slipped inside and hid under
the bed. Fifteen minutes later, he heard footsteps retreat and the door close.

Cyril waited five more minutes just to be sure before climbing out from under
the bed. All clear. He looked around, trying to decide what exactly he wanted to 
do in here. Seeing Marina's clothes strewn around, he finally decided to steal a 
pair of her panties and jack off in his own room with them. He picked out a lacy 
red pair and was about to leave when he heard bootsteps approaching. Marina 
was coming back!

Still clutching the panties, Cyril quickly hid himself back under the bed. The
door to the suite was opened and closed and when the person entered the
bedroom, he recognized the black leather boots Marina had been wearing.

Her cell phone rang. "Hello?" came her voice. Suddenly, the phone was dropped
to the carpet...right by the bed. Cyril began to shake with fear, praying that
she wouldn't see him. If she caught him in here, there was no telling what she
would do to him - and she was physically capable of doing whatever she wanted
with him. That fact about his own physical inadequacy sent a massive amount of 
insecurity through him, as well as turning him on schmoe-style.

Marina's slender but muscular wrist, adorned with a thick white beaded
bracelet that covered up the thinnest part of her wrist and made her forearm
look bigger, appeared as she reached down to pick her phone up. Cyril knew
that even the slim female model's wrist was bigger than his pathetically tiny
one, sending another wave of insecurity through him. To his enormous relief, 
she didn't look under the bed. He lay as still as he could, hardly daring to 
breathe, as she began talking again.

"Yeah, everything's okay. Silly me, I just dropped my phone."

"Sure, a match right now sounds great. Let me just change and I'll meet you at
the tennis court. Then tomorrow, how about golf in the morning before the
afternoon photoshoot we have scheduled?"

"Okay, cool. See you in a bit!"

As the call ended, he heard her take off her boots. She tossed them under the
bed, one after the other, the second one almost striking Cyril in the face. He
couldn't help grinning at this new gift. Marina's actual knee-high black
leather boots. He breathed in their scent deeply as he looked at the sole a
few inches from his eyes. She wore a size 7 and a half, he saw.

Marina rummaged around for a few more minutes, then he heard her go into the
bathroom and close the door behind her. He slid out from under the bed, still
holding the red panties. He considered taking the boots too, but decided
against it. Those would be missed too easily.

He slipped out, opening and closing the front door as quietly as he could.
When he was out in the hallway, he ran towards the stairs as fast as he could,
shoving the panties into his pocket as he ran. He hurried down the two flights
to his floor, re-entered his room, and deadbolted the door behind him. He let
out a huge sigh of relief. He had gotten away with it.

Cyril took off his clothes, then examined the red panties. They were lacy and
feminine and expensive-looking. Victoria's Secret. He sniffed them, like a
primitive animal. There was a faint scent of sweat, as if Marina had been
doing some kind of strenuous physical activity while she had been wearing
them. Not surprising, for an athletic girl like her.

He tried them on. The panties were very tight on him, as they were designed
for Marina's wasp waist. Although he was small and scrawny, he had the
beginnings of a gut from eating lots of fast food and not getting any
exercise. He let the thrill of the fact that he was wearing a hot babe's
actual panties flow through his perverted mind for a few moments, then lay on
his back on the bed and pulled the panties down around his ankles, ready to
begin a masturbation session.

He talked to himself as he began choking his chicken, going through his
fetishes one by one. "Oh, Marina, everything about you is so hot. The way you
can throw so far and so hard while I throw like a wimpy girl. That is so
fucking sexy. The way you can elegantly backflip like a pro-gymnast, doing
moves I could never do. Your wrists and forearms being thicker than mine, even
though you're a skinny girl. You can rock a man's watch so much better than
me. If I wore that watch it'd just look awkward. You're more of a man than I
could ever be, while still remaining feminine. You can play sports with guys
and talk about guy stuff, all these things I can't do even though I'm supposed
to be a man. I get off on that, oh baby. I am such a cuck. I am such a
schmoe."

By now, Cyril's cock was rock hard, and he was close to the edge. "And your
weapons skills. That's my favorite fetish ever, and you're so perfect for it.
The way you worked every weapon you handled at the photoshoot like an expert,
while I wouldn't know how to do any of that. The way you shot those machine
guns, oh baby, so powerful and sexy. You're so talented. You can even shoot a
bow like Lara Croft. And the way you laughed at me when I failed so hard with
the gun...I get off on that too, because I'm such a schmoe. Oh man, I'm almost
there. I can't hold it back any longer. I'm gonna blow...I'm gonna shoot..."

With that, Cyril shot off a massive load of cum. It flew into the air and came
back down right on his face. Embarrassed that he had accidentally given
himself a facial, but thankful that he was alone, he waited for his breathing
to get back to normal.

Suddenly, the closet door, which had been ajar, flew all the way open,
revealing none other than Marina standing there! Her iPhone was in her
leather-gloved hand, and she was filming him!

Cyril froze in pure shock and fear. How was this even possible? She was
supposed to be back up in her room! And how did she even know...

"Oh my God," said Marina. She was shaking so hard with laughter that she could
barely hold her phone steady as she continued to video him. "If you could just
see the look on your face right now! Not to mention all the cum it's covered
with. Say hi to the camera for the 'money shot,' cumslut!"

"No...no...no...this can't be happening...how did you..." Cyril moaned
miserably.

Marina put her phone away and crossed her slender but muscular arms in front
of her. "Did you really think I didn't know? Did you think I'm dumb because
I'm a model? Well, guess again, wanker. I've been one step ahead of you this
whole time. I saw the way you were looking at me back at the Triumphant
photoshoot and I knew you were one of those creepy schmoes who gets off on
women who are better than him at guy stuff. I saw you at the airport before I
even got on the plane and guessed what you were up to. I was quietly giggling to
myself all those times you made a pathetic attempt to hide yourself behind that
magazine. I played along, let you follow me, lured you in. I was hiding right 
around the corner when you snuck into my room and you didn't even notice. Oh, 
and did you like it when I dropped my phone by the bed, and tossed my boots 
under there? You must have had two or three heart attacks."

Cyril tried to take it all in of how badly he had been pwn3d. "But...but...how
did you get in here..." he finally managed to stammer.

Marina snickered. "What, complaining that I snuck into your room after you
snuck into mine? That's kind of hypocritical, don't you think? But I don't
mind telling you and rubbing it in about how much smarter I am than your dumb
ass. When I closed the bathroom door loudly, you just assumed I'd gone in
there. I opened and closed the front door quietly and slipped out. I got to
your room ahead of you, hacked the lock, and hid in the closet. I filmed your
entire faggy-ass jerk-off session from the beginning. I'm going to post the
video on the Internet. The whole world will see what a sissy-ass literal
wanker you are." She laughed as she mocked his words. "I am such a cuck! I am
such a schmoe! You sure are, and everybody on the planet is going to know it.
You won't be able to go anywhere without being recognized and laughed at." At
that, Cyril began to cry as he realized how over for him it was.

"Aww, poor widdle crybaby. Does he want his mommy? That's the only woman
who'll ever hug you."

"How far did you go?! Did you even arrange that thing with the air hostess?"

"Huh? What the fuck are you talking about, bitchboy?"

Cyril explained how the blonde air hostess had skipped him on the plane for
seemingly no reason. Marina laughed. "That? That wasn't me, although I wish
it had been. You're ugly and pathetically omega enough for women to do 
things like that to you entirely on their own initiative." At that, Cyril felt the
tears flow faster. To have that stewardess hate him that much all on her own
- that was even worse than a conspiracy arranged by the slim brunette model.

Marina, sneering at his tears, continued brutalizing him verbally. "And the
panties. Oh my God. Like, do you HAVE to be the most stereotypical basement-
dwelling virgin-ass loser ever? Stealing my panties and wearing them while you 
rub one out to me? You vile, disgusting creep."

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm sorry for everything!"

She shook her head. "No, you're just sorry you got caught."

He trembled. "What are you going to do to me?"

She smirked. "Whatever I want, because you're not man enough to stop me." With
that, she suddenly tumbled towards him in a blindingly fast tumbling pass of a
cartwheel followed by a series of back handsprings. She was so quick that he
had no time to react. Before he knew it, she had landed elegantly and was
right in his face. Her knee shot up and rammed hard into his stomach. He
doubled over, gasping for breath. She punched him in the face, the rough
leather of her glove opening up a nasty cut on his cheek.

"Night night," she cooed. With that, she performed a perfect standing layout
backflip kick, knocking him out.

* * *

Cyril opened his eyes. He was in a dark room, and he felt like he was moving.
Trying to stand, he discovered that his legs had been positioned apart from
each other, with each of his ankles securely tied to a post. His hands were
tied behind his back, and he had been stripped completely nude.

A light suddenly came on. He blinked at the sudden brightness, then saw Marina
standing over him. She had put her knee-high black leather boots back on. She
still wore her gold man's Rolex watch on her left wrist and her white beaded
bracelet on her right. Her ubiquitous black miniskirt, black leather gloves,
and long-sleeved white top completed her outfit.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," she greeted him. "Although it may
not be for long." He trembled in fear at that.

"What...Where..." he stammered, still dizzy and confused.

"Oh, we're on a boat. Way out in the Atlantic. No one to hear you scream for
miles. Just you and me." She smirked at the terrified expression on his face.
"What's the matter, baby? I thought a virgin loser like you would love
spending some time alone with a hot chick. I mean, it being a totally new
experience for you and all."

Despite the cold sweat that had overcome him, Cyril was such a natural
submissive that being tied up and completely at Marina's mercy, along with the
knowledge that she was so much better than him at every stereotypical "guy"
thing, caused him to rapidly become aroused. His cock grew hard, reaching its
shameful maximum length of three and a half inches. Marina stared at it in
disgust.

"Holy fuck, you sure are one perverted freak, getting off on being defeated
and dominated by a girl," she growled. "And of course you have a tiny, short,
little-boy cock. I had some mini-sausages at the dinner party I went to last
night. Your dick reminds me of those. Shit, now I won't be able to eat those
again because I'll think of your disgraceful pecker. That deserves some
punishment." She peformed a front tuck somersault towards him, punched him
hard in the face, breaking his nose, then did a pair of standing back
handsprings away from him.

She sneered cockily at him as the blood began to bubble. "Having a tiny little
penis is pretty much guaranteed with you virgin losers. And being
submissive-ass wimps is guaranteed with you people too. Women like guys who
are, you know, fucking MAN enough to actually earn the title of man."

Pushed too far, Cyril felt rage boil up inside him. Maybe this was what he
needed. Maybe if he stood up to her, she would respect him and maybe let him
go. "Fuck you, you small-titted cunt!" he shouted.

Marina broke into loud laughter. "That's the best you got?! That's what you
think is a strong, tough, manly insult? Boy, your brain must be as small as
your dick." She removed her long-sleeved white top. She wasn't wearing a bra
and her small, firm, round, perky 32B tits with pointy nipples stood proudly
on her chest. "Men drool over a rack like this. There are millions of men who
would give their entire paychecks just to spend a night with these babies.
I've slept with hundreds of guys, and a couple dozen women as well, and they'd
all happily come back to me if I called them. And what do you have? NOTHING.
Literally zero percent of women like short cocks. Zero. Get that into your pea
brain. No woman in this whole world will ever want to fuck you."

Cyril burst into tears as the words echoed through his brain, ringing true.
"No woman in this whole world will ever want to fuck you."

Marina snickered. "See, that's how to pwn someone verbally. What I say about
you is real and you know it. The truth hurts, doesn't it, cocksucker?" She
kicked him in the face with her big black boot. There was a sharp CRACK as a
facial bone somewhere broke. She snickered again as he cried out in pain. "And
that's how to pwn someone physically."

She walked over to a bag of golf clubs leaning against the wall. Selecting
one, she remarked, "Did you know I love to play golf? I like competing against
guys, and beating them, which happens often. But what I especially like is
when the balls I have to hit are attached to a guy's cock." She looked
pointedly at his exposed, vulnerable manhood, then took a couple of practice
swings.

Cyril felt pure fear fill his body. How could it have come to this? Back in
the hotel room, when she had first surprised him, he had thought that the
worst she would give him was a minor beating and then she would let him go.
But things had escalated so fast. Seeing the strength and perfect form of her
practice swings, he knew that his testicles wouldn't survive the impact. He
was about to be castrated with a golf club by a girl, and there was nothing he
could do about it. The only thing he could do was beg.

"No...no...no...please don't...I'll do anything you want!" he pleaded. "Just
don't hit me with your golf club, please, Mistress Marina!"

She stared at him. "Mistress?! What, just because I'm athletic and assertive
and good at guy stuff, you think I'm some sort of domme to play a role in your
sick, perverted fantasies? That just makes me hate you even more. I'm going to
enjoy this." With that, Marina positioned herself close to her helpless male
victim, laughing as he fruitlessly struggled against his bonds. She savored
the look of terror on his face as she drew the club back, the muscles in her
slender but well-developed forearms standing out as she gripped the club
tightly. Still topless, her nipples were fully erect with excitement at the
thought of what she was about to do.

Then she swung the club down, her years of practice allowing her to make the
attack with impressive power and perfect accuracy. The club smashed into his
left testicle with devastating force, savagely rupturing it. A soulless howl
of pure agony erupted from Cyril's lips.

"Now say bye-bye to your right nut." Marina again took aim with her club. The
second impact was as brutal and effective as the first, annihilating his right
testicle. She looked dominantly down at the newly castrated male. Blood flowed
from his crotch, and his scrotum was now a deep, dark purple. "No loss, it's
not like you were much of a man beforehand."

"Oh, shut up," she said as Cyril continued to howl. She backhanded him across
the face with the club, breaking his jaw. She nodded as he was temporarily
quieted.

"Now it's time for the next phase of your punishment for the crimes of
stalking me, sneaking into my hotel room, stealing my underwear, and rubbing
one out to me," she announced. "We're going to play a game called Pegging
Roulette." Cyril quivered. He definitely didn't like the sound of that. He had
already been brutally neutered, but he had a deep fear that it was about to
get even worse.

Marina tossed the golf club aside and lifted her black miniskirt, revealing a
.44 magnum revolver strapped to her thigh. Unholstering it, she loaded a
single bullet, spun the cylinder, clicked it back into place, and cocked the
large, shiny, intimidating-looking gun. "I borrowed this from one of my fuck
buddies here," she remarked. "It's just like the one that you humiliated
yourself with at the photoshoot. Anyway, here are the rules of the game. I'm
going to peg you up the ass with this gun. When it's time for me to 'shoot my
load,' I'll pull the trigger. If you're lucky, you'll be put out of your
misery. If not...there are more games I can play with you."

Cyril began sobbing again. He had been right. It was going to get worse. He
began begging again.

Marina rammed her knee into his face, releasing a spray of blood. "What's the
matter, baby? Not into girls with guns anymore? You sure seemed to like us
when you were beating off to that in the hotel."

Cyril, realizing that his begging and his earlier attempt to insult her back
had both failed, tried a new strategy. Trying to appeal to reason, he said,
"Lots of guys are attracted to girls with guns. It's perfectly mainstream and
normal."

Marina's elegant face never changed expression. "A normal man, a REAL man,
likes girls with guns because he's actually competent with weapons himself and
it's something they can enjoy together. Being a wimpy-ass cuck, like you,
who's totally inept with guns and gets off on a woman being more skilled than
him, definitely isn't normal. It's creepy, it's pathetic, and it deserves
something like this." With that, she smashed her elbow down onto the top of
his head.

While he was dizzy from the force of her brutal strike, Cyril heard Marina's
bootsteps move around behind him. He heard her faint but excited breathing as
she anticipated the moment, standing there, in total control, the massive gun
close to his naked, vulnerable, pale, flabby ass.

Cyril, on the other hand, was waiting with pure terror and dread. He struggled
wildly against his ropes, but they were far too tight and expertly tied.

Nothing happened for an agonizingly long time. Then, suddenly, he felt the
cold steel of the gun barrel being rammed up his asshole. His shrieks of pain
echoed repeatedly throughout the room.

Marina, ignoring her helpless victim's cries, began taunting him as she pegged
him. "That's it, cocksucker. Take it up the ass like the pathetic little bitch
you are. Hmm, you're pretty loose. Have you done this before? Do you like
being the catcher? Do you like being a good, obedient little cumslut?"

She grunted with excitement as she continued buttfucking him. "I love
large-caliber guns," she remarked. "I love being athletic and having strong
wrists and being able to shoot them even one-handed. Plus, the fact that
they're bigger and wider makes for a tighter experience for pegging." She
giggled.

"But what I like best about them is the massive firepower," she continued. "I
tested this baby on a 2000-pound steer at my uncle's ranch once. Went right
through that big boy, put it down right away. You should have seen the size of
the exit wound. Imagine what it'll do to your scrawny ass. We might be finding
out right now."

She rammed the barrel in and out faster, simulating nearing climax. For Cyril,
even worse than the excruciating pain she was putting him through was his
cold, pure fear of what was going to happen next. And the worst part was that
he couldn't even decide which outcome was preferable. He was terrified of
death, but he also knew that as long as he was alive, this cold-blooded,
dominant bitch would show him no mercy.

"Oh my God!" Marina shrieked. "I just can't hold it back any longer! I'm going
to cum! I'm going to shoot!"

Cyril tensed, not even daring to breathe.

Marina pulled the trigger.

Click.

"Well, looks like you win," she said. "Or lose, depending on how you look at
it." As she spoke, she yanked the gun barrel out of his ass roughly, eliciting
an agonized howl from him as the metal ripped open the inner walls of his
rectum. She walked back around in front of him, wiped off the blood and shit
from the gun, wrinkling her nose as she did so, and unloaded the single
bullet. Putting it back into its ammunition pouch, she re-holstered the
revolver underneath her miniskirt. She looked at the male she had victimized
so cruelly and laughed right in his face. "So was it good for you too, baby?"

Marina looked at her shiny gold Rolex, the watch sliding slightly down her
slender forearm as she moved it. "I had an excellent dinner of steak and
lobster while you were unconscious, but now I think it's time for dessert. I'm
going to go up on deck and have some wine and cheese while I think about what
to do with you next. Maybe we'll play another round of Pegging Roulette. Maybe
I'll share you like the used-up cumrag you are, and my friends Annabelle,
Karima, Erin, May, and Cassie can all take their turns pegging you. Or maybe
I'll decide I'm bored of you and just shoot you and dump your corpse
overboard."

She gave him one long last look, staring into his sad, devastated brown eyes
with her piercing blue ones, letting him feel the complete and utter contempt
and disgust she had towards him. Then she turned and walked away, not
bothering to put on her top, her small firm 32B tits bouncing slightly as she
walked, the sound of her heavy boots gradually fading into the distance.

Cyril sat helplessly in his restraints, softly whimpering.

THE END...for now

Contact me at silverstar222b@yahoo.com if you liked this story!