Never Kick a Woman: Uncut
By Madison Marbury madisonmarbury@hotmail.com 
The abandoned first draft of the famous Popeye cartoon

“AAAAIIIIIIIEEEEE!”
Olive’s body was pulled taught from the force of the 
blow.  Her head was snapped back, and pushed a full foot 
above her normal height.  Her neck was stretched, her knees 
buckled and flapped uselessly, as if the thunderous punch 
brought with it a gale-force wind.  As the momentum 
subsided, she slowly collapsed onto herself, and formed a 
heap on the floor.

April, the buxom boxing instructor who’d started the 
fight, smirked.  Without a word, she reared back, and 
delivered the same blow again.  The brunette howled as she 
was stretched out again.  She had been defeated, now she 
was being punished.  Her mind was a swimming thing, unable 
to focus on anything, not even her broken nose, her aching 
ribs, her burning stomach, or any of the other countless 
injuries the hussy had inflicted on her in just one minute 
of ring time.  But the tiniest, infinitesimal part of her 
was asking herself, how could this be happening?  Five 
minutes ago it was a normal day, I was walking down the 
street with my boyfriend of six years, taking in the sun 
and maybe getting a soda.  Then, out of the blue, he sees 
this tramp in the window of the sporting goods store, 
working the punching bag like a machine.  He stops in his 
tracks and hauls ME into the store, saying HE’S going to 
teach ME to box.  Only now was it clear to Olive, he just 
wanted to show off for HER.  He wanted HER to see his 
strength, his fighting skills, his muscle, and he wanted 
her to want him.  And she wanted him, all right.

But that wasn’t enough, oh no.  Next he had to show 
this hussy how pathetic SHE, his girlfriend, was.  Parade 
it right under her face, as if to say, “Please, doll, 
rescue me from this disgusting, wimpy sting bean, and let’s 
start our own personal training regimen.”  Oh, god.  And it 
worked.  Olive saw the flirting, like he knew she would, 
got mad like he knew she would, and snapped at that 
professional pain machine, like he knew she would. 
As the beanpole collapsed to the floor for the last 
time, that tiny whisper continued in her mind.  Your 
boyfriend didn’t just break up with you.  He shopped for 
your replacement right in front of you, then had her send 
you to the hospital.
The instructor, satisfied, sashayed slowly back to her 
new beau.  “How’d ya like the show, kid?” she purred, 
rubbing the three hairs left on his bald head.  “Not bad, 
ay?”
The sailor was flush with shyness, and could barely 
speak.  He just stammered and cooed affectionately, and 
avoided looking at her.  It was so darling for someone so 
strong to be so shy, April thought, cuddling him.  “You 
liked watching me knockin’ her brainbox around, di’ntcha 
baby?” she said.  “Well that was nothing.  I can knock 
around most men just as easy.”
Now the instructor put her arm under the sailor’s 
nose, and flexed her gloved hand upward.  The bicep rose as 
if a slide whistle were played in the background, and 
tweaked the sailor’s nose.  He giggled in embarrassment.  
The instructor smiled.  “Feel that, baby,” she prodded, and 
he gently, admiringly, ran his hands along the muscle, the 
size of a tomato can and twice as hard.  “That’s what a 
woman’s work does,” she cooed.  “Long hours of lonely, 
lonely work.”  She turned to face him, and draped her arms 
around his neck.  “It takes one hell of a man to walk next 
to me, baby.”
She kissed him.  And he kissed back.
The kiss became hungrier.  She leaped up and straddled 
his midsection, and he held her confidently.   Chuckling, 
just to show off, he grabbed her butt and slowly raised her 
over his head.  She laughed in surprise.  She was heavy 
with muscle, few men had been able to handle her like this.  
She tore off her sweatshirt.  This was going to be good.
Across the gym the sweatshirt flew, and landed in a 
random puddle of flannel next to the unconscious Olive.  
Two seconds later, a black sailor’s shirt flew in and 
landed next to it.  
Soon articles of clothing were flying in every which 
way.  Sneakers, socks, sweatpants came flying willy-nilly.  
One sneaker knocked Olive squarely in the puss, knocking 
her head back with a thunk.  This brought her round, and 
she shook her head clear just in time for a bra to land on 
her nose.  She barely had time to snarl when the sailor’s 
pants shot in hard and smacked her chin with a metallic 
clank.  She winced in pain, as the pants fell down, and 
spinning out came an improbably large and inexplicably open 
32-ounce can of spinach.
Trumpets blared, and Olive’s face lit up.  She opened 
her mouth wide as she could, and poured the contents in.  
Greedily she chewed thrice and swallowed.  The huge mass 
plunged down her throat, hit her stomach, then rumble its 
way back up her pipe cleaner body.  Her chest and shoulders 
pushed out to a deep V taper.  Her lower arms bulged, then 
her forearms grew to rival her sailor friend’s frightening 
dimensions.  She gritted her teeth and flexed.  Her biceps 
rose up in a huge, dangerous coil with the head of an 
angry, hissing snake, with this message emblazoned on it: 
“THROBBING PYTHON OF DEATH!”.
Her revelry was interrupted by the horrible sound of a 
graveled, staccato moan.   Normally that moan meant her 
sailor was getting the snot kicked out of him, but this 
time, she knew better.  Her blood boiled as she ran to find 
them at a pair of uneven parallel bars.  Against the 
upright support stood her man, bald head leaning back, eyes 
closed, cock fully erect, his feet straddling the base.  
Holding the bar above his head was that hussy, in complete 
undress, her muscles rippling as she swung powerfully with 
her legs spread wide, swinging back and forth into him with 
desperate grunts.  She slammed into his body with so much 
force the bars shuddered.  Then she’s swing back a little 
and do it again, and again, and again.  “You like that, 
baby?”  she grunted as she swung.  “Oo, I like it hard.”
“Then you’ll love this,”  Olive said as she charged.  
“WHAM!”
Just as the hussy swung into the sailor, Olive 
unleashed her fist into the back of the pole, with such a 
devastating blow the metal bent into the shape of her fist.  
With a yelp, both the sailor and the hussy went flying into 
the other pole, crushing their bodies together just before 
they fell on top of each other on the mat, disheveled.  The 
hussy raised her spinning head up, and Olive pounced on it.  
“If you’re going to use the equipment, use it properly,” 
she said, rearing her fist back for an uppercut.  “UNGH!”
The hussy was shot smack against the lower parallel 
bar with such inconceivable force, it bent back six feet.  
It shot her like a slingshot back to the higher bar just 
below her stomach, causing her to spin like an out-of-
control party favor.  She moaned in fear and dread, as 
Olive simply stuck her fist out and let it whack her on the 
nose every time around with catastrophic force.  She 
started to slow down, and finally came to a stop, a barely 
conscious bloody mess draped over the bar.  “I’ll help you 
stick the dismount!” Olive called, bringing her fist back 
for one final punch.  “WHAM!”  The hussy shot all the way 
across the gym, head-first into her punching bag in the 
store window, where she collapsed in a beaten heap.
Just when Olive was sure the other woman was not 
getting up, someone grabbed her hand and started shaking 
it.  She looked with repulsion at the naked sailor.
“That was magnikent, Olive!” he said with a glowing 
smile.  “I was pulling for you all the-“
He could not finish the sentence as Olive scowled, and 
rained blows down to his mouth, head and body came to fast 
for him to differentiate between them.  He tried to protect 
himself, but every time he moved his hands, a dozen blows 
landed in the area they just left.  All he could do was 
move with their momentum, and their momentum took him back 
to that storefront window.  With a final blow, Olive 
knocked him into a chair, where he lolled, black and blue 
and bleeding.  
In a fluid motion, Olive picked up a pair of ten-pound 
dumbbells, balancing them delicately on a finger of each 
hand.  She let them fall back between her thumb and 
pointer, and with a slight grimace and grunt, bent the 
thick steel into crescents with just her fingers.  She 
flipped the curved metal onto the thin part of the sailor’s 
arms, then taking them in each hand, bent them further.  
The sailor struggled, as he started to come to, but he 
could not budge.  The dumbbells were now bent full circle, 
acting as manacles, imprisoning him to the arms of the 
chair.  He gave up, and looked pathetically up to the face 
of his betrayed love.  
She towered over him, just as she always did.  But he 
had never felt threatened by that height until now.  The 
sailor knew full well the catastrophic damage that spinach 
and anger could wreak.  Yet as he looked in her eyes, 
something was wrong.  It looked like all the anger was 
gone.  Instead, the gangly woman was crying, looking 
straight in to his soul, and weeping for it.
“Why’d you have to do that, Popeye?” she bawled at 
him.  “All I ever did was love you, and you repaid me by 
fucking the first stacked blonde whore with a right hook!” 
The sailor looked away from her.  Even if he could 
think of something to say, his jaw was broken in three 
places.  Olive couldn’t stand the silence.  “You didn’t 
even have basic human decency to dump me,” she cried.  “You 
had to get your new bitch to beat me til I was bleeding on 
the floor not twenty feet from you!  God, she was playing 
with me, Popeye!  She was sadistic, she tortured me and 
broke me up inside, and you just stood there and watched!”
Popeye refused to meet her eyes.  She grabbed his head 
and made him.  “How can you have such cruelty in you?” She 
begged for an answer as his eyes bulged from the pain of 
her uncontrollable strength squishing his already burised 
and broken head.  “Why did you have to be so cruel?”
The sailor tried to apologize, but could only howl in 
pain.
Tearfully, Olive let go, and walked toward the still 
unconscious hussy.  “There’s only one way to teach you how 
your cruelty hurt me,” she said, choking back her sobs.  
“And that’s to show you what real cruelty is.”
The sailor stared in horror, as his former girlfriend 
picked the 200-lb bully up off her feet.  “You watch this,” 
she ordered her man, trying to compose herself.  “You watch 
this, or by god I will punch your head so hard it’ll burst 
apart like a melon.  Do you understand me?”
He sat up straight in his chair, his eyes fixed open.  
He understood.  She let out one final sigh of sadness 
before resolving herself to her work. “Why?” she thought as 
she worked her hand up the hussy’s sweatshirt.  “Why did 
you make me do this?”
The lanky woman grabbed the lolling hussy’s left 
nipple, and pinched.  With a piercing screech, the hussy 
shot back to life, flailing her arms uselessly against the 
iron frame of Olive.  “Shhhhhhh!” Olive scolded her 
quietly, clamping her mouth shut and pressing her finger 
less than gently against the hussy’s lips.  “Big girls 
don’t cry, honey.  Shush shush.  It’s OK.”
The gym teacher was terrified, as her nude and 
battered body was completely at the mercy of this 
turbocharged pipsqueak.  But the look in Olive’s eyes was 
different than before.  The furious drive for vengeance 
seemed to be gone.  Now there was something tender about 
her- disconcertingly tender.  Olive gave a pouty little 
frown.  “I made you feel real bad, didn’t I?” she said.  
“You wanna feel better?”
Still disoriented, the hussy vaguely shook her head 
yes.  
“OK,” Olive said through pursed lips.  “Olive make it 
better.”
And with that, Olive grabbed the hussy between her 
legs, and grunting, hoisted her up in one arm, and held her 
about three feet off the floor.  “You’re gonna like this,” 
Olive said, and with that, she began sucking the hussy’s 
right teat.
The hussy gasped in shock.  She reflexively grabbed 
hold of live’s head to push her away, but a moment later, 
she began to feel ripples of muscle pulsate along Olive’s 
tongue, and it playfully glided around the bulky woman’s 
nipple.  The hussy caught her breath, stunned as the 
tickling sensations caused pleasure to rush through her as 
she’d never felt before.  And the feeling of knowing that 
arm, so strong and solid it could support her full weight 
without struggle, that arm that was between her thighs 
right now, belonged to a woman… it drove her a little wild.  
She moaned.  Olive’s tongue picked up the pace, and 
frequency.  Short nibbles of teeth became involved, giving 
little bits of pain the hussy howled happily at.  She let 
out three short breathless gasps, each louder than the 
first, and seemed to be read to emit a long, pure shriek of 
orgasm, when suddenly, WHAM!  
Olive shot her free hand up in a granite fist, a 
lightning shot right to the hussy’s nose.   It exploded in 
a spray of blood, and the big girls’ shriek immediately 
warped into a howl of pain.  “Shhhhhh!” Olive said calmly, 
using the same hand to gently cover the woman’s screams.  
She continued suckling the breast with increased fervor, 
and with such skill that despite the traumatic pain, the 
hussy quickly seemed to let that fact slip from her mind, 
as the waves of pleasure started washing through her again.  
Another series of longing gasps built up in her throat.  As 
she let them out, Olive promptly reared her fist back, and 
let another titanic blow shoot across her already swollen 
nose.  
The sailor had stopped struggling in his bonds, 
transfixed in horror by the scene.  The pattern of pleasure 
and pain repeated, faster and faster, until basically Olive 
was simultaneously sucking the gym instructor’s tit while 
throwing megaton jabs to her face, pounding it into red, 
dripping jelly.  With each blow came quivering moans from 
the victim, but it was getting harder and harder to tell 
which emotion lie behind them.  
Tenderly, Olive began to ease up the assault, and 
slowly lowered her somehow still conscious partner to the 
mat on the floor. April’s face was a terrifying clump of 
meat with blond hair and black eyes.  She lay on her back, 
and continued to moan helplessly.  “It’s OK,” Olive cooed, 
running her hand slowly through the woman’s hair.  “That’s 
a good girl.  Didn’t I tell you you’d like that?  And now 
you’re ready for Phase Two.  Watch.”
And with a flourish, Olive held out her left fist.  
Slowly, almost hypnotically, she began twisting and 
flicking her fist.  With each rotation, the fist picked up 
speed, until it was a blur of pulsating, vibrating flesh.  
Olive smiled, as she straddled the hussy’s thigh and 
held that pulsating arm up for one last second.  “This is 
gonna hurt you so good,” she crowed.  And with that, she 
brought the fist down on the gym teacher’s clit.
The sailor’s pipe popped and twirled out of his mouth.  
The hussy’s reaction was immediate.  It was like someone 
was stroking her favorite place with a combination feather 
and cattle prod.  She arched her head back, and clenched 
the mat beneath her desperately, screaming with every ounce 
of passion in her lungs.  Her head reeled- was she dying, 
or more alive than ever?  Was she in paradise, or hell?
Olive moved her vibrating fist expertly, up and over 
in lazy circles around the rim of her pussy.  The 
vibrations were so powerful that the hussy’s whole body 
shook like a jackhammer.  Thankfully the mat absorbed a lot 
of the energy.  If Olive had propped her against the 
cinderblock wall, she’d probably be pounded through.
“Isn’t that good?” Olive cooed.  “Isn’t that better 
than any man could do you?” The hussy could not respond, as 
she thrashed her head about, pounded the mat desperately, 
and let out short, gasping, shrieks.  “But it gets better,’ 
Olive said.  “Phase Three!  WHAM!”
And with that, Olive reared her pulsating fist back, 
and plunged it deep into April’s hungry, wet pussy.  
April’s back arched to its fullest.  Oh, god.  Olive’s fist 
was not only bigger than any dick, but its vibration made 
her want to explode from the inside.  “You like that?” 
Olive asked, as she brought her right fist up high over her 
victim’s abdomen.  “Then try this!” she said as she 
vindictively drove the blow deep into the hussy’s stomach.  
All the bliss and air shot out of the former bully, 
and she sat up so quickly that her already pummeled face 
rammed full force into Olive’s rock-hard striated triceps.  
Olive’s other fist drove right back into her vagina even 
deeper than before.  “Left!” Olive said, as she 
straightened her partner back out and bringing the pleasure 
back.  “Right!”, she said, as the mighty right descended 
again, the bully sat up again and crunched against the 
brick wall that was the back of Olive’s arm.
The blows speeded up, the cries of “Left!” and 
“Right!” came faster and faster.  Popeye could have sworn 
he was envisioning Olive’s left arm as a piston, swinging 
in and out with powerful strokes, and her right arm as a 
piledriver, rising only to slam back down into the gut with 
devastating force.  He even thought he heard the mechanical 
sound of a piledriver battering away at its target, just 
below the cavalcade of April’s piteous, lustful moans.  His 
former object of fantasy had been made a collection of 
scars, not only outside, but inside.  By beating her while 
beating her off, Olive had completely twisted the girl’s 
sexual identity.  Extremes of pain and pleasure came so 
interchangeably that April now perceived them as the same.  
As if to confirm this, Olive had stopped playing with the 
hussy’s pussy and was simply engaging in blindingly fast 
two-fisted belly-punching, inflicting punishment way beyond 
what a human being could endure.  Yet even as her victim 
vomited blood, her eyes fluttered as if she were receiving 
the finest fucking she’d ever had.
“Yeah,” Olive said, hoisting the hussy up by her 
nipple and twisting.  The bully dangled, hollering in pain 
but happy and gasping.  “You like that now, don’t you?”  
Olive shook her by the teat, and the bully squealed.  “You 
hate yourself but you don’t care.  All you can think about 
is when can I beat you up again.”  
“Yes!” the bully stammered out.  
“Well listen up, bitch,” Olive said, twisting the 
nipples and lifting her squealing form to eye level.  “If I 
so much as hear a RUMOR that you were within ten blocks of 
my man, then you’ll get another beating, all right.  I’ll 
eat three cans of spinach and turn your brain to jelly with 
a single punch.  Before you even have time to hit the 
ground, I will rain down blows on you so fast from so many 
different directions it will feel like you’re in the fist 
of a giant, crushing you without an ounce of mercy.”  
The hussy felt sick to her stomach as she got wet at 
the thought of it, and let out a staccato moan. “Oh god!” 
she said, breathless in pleasure and horror.  “Oh god, no, 
I’m going to cum!”
“You’re going to what?” Olive said playfully.  She 
jerked the girl up violently by the tits, and whipped her 
around in a circle.  
“AAAUAGH!” cried the hussy, biting her lip.  Her most 
sensitive area was in more pain than she’d ever thought 
possible.  It was electrifying.  “You’re going to what?” 
Olive teased her again, spinning her harder.  It was like a 
wrestling spin invented by the Marquis de Sade.  The 
hussy’s tits started stretching and stretching.  She 
screamed exquisitely.  “AAAAUGH CUM!  I’M GONNA CUM!” she 
cried in desperation. 
“You’re not cumming, you’re going!” Olived crowed.  
“WHAM!”
And just when the hussy reached her climax, Olive 
whipped her like a demon discus through the plate glass 
window in front.  The hussy crashed into the fruit stand 
across the street, sending broken crates and their wares 
flying everywhere.  She lay there a naked bloody mess, 
sprawled on her back moaning, her  black and blue boobs 
hanging  lifeless like popped balloons, and three huge 
zucchini stuffed up her cunt.  One of the market’s signs 
fell into her lap: “SPINACH!  For the HEALTHY lifestyle!”
Shortly after, Olive left the gym, smiling 
triumphantly, lofting the chair that held Popeye high over 
her head, holding just the chair’s rear leg, as if he were 
as light as a balloon.  His head cracked against the gym’s 
sign as they passed it.
“Ouch!” he winced.  “Olive, puts me down already!”
Olive ignored him, and burst into song:
   “Don’t cheat on your girlfriend
    Or she’ll rock your world, friend
    Says Olive, the fighter girl!”
   Instead of tooting on her pipe, she slammed 
Popeye’s chair twice against a passing wall.  Stars flew 
around Popeye’s lolling head.  He had been beaten by his 
own vegetable.  “Et tu, spinach?” he thought to himself.  
“Et tu?”