Ursula Parkheart, P.I. : The Flexing Detective
by Forrest Curran
The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723
(c) WIG, LTD 1993 all rights reserved
Ursula Parkheart: P.I.:
The
Flexing Detective
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
by
Forrest Curran
Chapter Seven: (Cont.'d.)
She licked me clean as a whistle; in two minutes, the
exhausted vacuum in my loins and the smile on my goofy face were
the only proof it had ever happened. I watched the topless sex-
tart taste her fingers and exhale with a huff, breasts heaving
upon a job well done; and she eyed my nearly-dead, deflated
jewels naughtily, as though she might want seconds--something
that I was sure just wasn't there..!
But she had swallowed all the cum I had produced for her as
I lay in Ursula's Corvette, groaning in delight; and she was
proud of it, too. There had been something almost supernatural
in her performance, as though she had finally decided to show me
who and what she was, after all these years of street-corner
flirting and harmless leering. And the secrets, now revealed,
had been beyond my wildest imaginings...
We sat quietly in the car's interior, recoiling and re-
collecting ourselves. The air was full of the salty and
slightly-stale scent of illicit sex...
I spent at least part of the time wondering where my body
had learned to manufacture semen at such a prodigious rate! I was
sure that Raye-Anne Hallison had drained me for days; but the
wanton loveliness of this other, smaller but no-less beautiful
woman had charged my seminal batteries, and her carnal cavalry
charge upon me--in my boss's front seat, yet!--had discharged
them just as quickly...
"I know lots of neat tricks," the sex-wizardess stated at
last, matter-of-factly; as though she had read my mind. She gave
the big bold hooters a proud little pat, as though they were
dependable weapons that needed tending and rewarding for a job
well done. They were gorgeous...
"But where?," I queried, stunned. "How...?"
Maria closed her eyes, leaned close and gave me a friendly,
powerful hug, proud of her abilities to conquer and amaze at the
same time.
"Vice Squad, my little stud-puppet," she replied. "I met
lots of very talented ladies who taught me how to do a thing or
two while they were in the lock-up. You know, for when the right
man came along...?"
She burped daintily. The scent of semen was on her breath.
Her hand went to cover her mouth, and she issued an
embarrassed little squeal. It seemed a bit unnecessary, in light
of her early-morning liquid breakfast, and a performance upon my
loins that would do credit to Vanessa del Rio herself...
Suddenly, (Speak-of-the-Devil!), a figure appeared in the
window of the passenger side. A waifish hooker stood near the
curb, dressed in a tiny sundress that ended somewhere on her
hips, and thin bare legs that tapered into frilly ankle-socks and
pink platform shoes. She looked tired and worn from a long night
of 'philosophical debating'...
"S'cuse me, folks," she said, nodding an apology.
"Lady," she said to Maria, humbled by the performance she
had watched silently from the shadows, "I've been suckin' cock
since I been in a training bra, and I just gotta tell ya, I ain't
never seen nothin' like that!," she exclaimed, whistling her
admiration for Maria's seek-and-swallow skills.
"How much you charge for that?," she asked, as politely as
she knew how to ask such a question of another woman.
Maria laughed; she never once tried to cover up her bare
breasts, playing along in the mistaken-identity role of a fellow-
hooker. For my part, my hands had chastely gone to form a
protective cup; although, the young lady had already seen it all,
hadn't she?
"For guys like this, you mean?," Maria intoned gravely,
swatting away my hands and opening the coat, to grab my limp
penis in a squeeze. She shook her head in regret before turning
up to the teenaged strumpet, saying, as business-like as she
could, "you just charge 'em by the inch, girlfriend!"
The tired hooker looked puzzled for a moment; then she
laughed before sauntering away to count her money and douche in
privacy.
I'm retiring in five years," she said, as we had at last
released each other, and sat looking into each other's eyes the
way new lovers do. She had pulled the tiny top back on, but left
it rolled high on her torso, baring her flat white tummy and
newly-narrow waistline. I had been allowed to pull the swimsuit
up from around my ankles only after some gentle insistence on my
part...
"I'll have my police pension, and a nice little IRA I can
cash in. My folks split years ago, and when my dad passed away,
he left us quite a nice little bundle. Darla and I split it. We
made out like a pair of bandits. Betcha didn't know that Office
Maria was loaded, didja, JT? Know what I want to do?"
I shook my head no, my hand going on hers, fingers
intermingled.
"My old man and me, well, we loved to sail. Sometimes I
think it was the only thing we had that we enjoyed together. God
knows, we didn't do that!," she clucked.
She made it clear what "that" was...
"So," she continued, brushing a long blonde tress out of her
eyes; the way she always did, when she was overdue for a
hairstyling. It was strange how well I already knew this woman;
but until today, I realized, I had never really known her at all!
"Know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna buy me a sailboat! Not
some dinky little thing like I have now, either. Uh-uh. It's
gonna be a forty footer, maybe forty-five. I already have all
the brochures and everything. It's gonna have a computer onboard
that will help me run the sails, and an auto-pilot and
everything. I'm gonna sail the seas, and get a nice dark suntan,
instead of this city-girl pallor..."
I listened to her talk about something that she had great
enthusiasm for. She had dropped the cynical edge she sometimes
showed; she was a simple girl after all; for all her iron-lady
talk, and the expert cum-swallowing of a seasoned whore...
She shook her hand free from mine now, and began to REALLY
talk...
"But one thing's gonna be missing, JT. Y'know what?"
She slid close to me again; her light indigo eyes alit with
the promise of sex...
"A cabin boy. I'm gonna need a cabin boy. 'Cause remember,
I'm gonna be this pumped-up, hot mass of female hormones. And
I'm gonna start showing these off every chance I get," she said,
glancing down at her large bosom and giving them another friendly
pat. They bounced like relentlessly friendly puppies on her
chest...
"Men are gonna follow me everywhere I go. I'll be a busy
woman, with a very full dance card, if you know what I mean. So
it'll be good to get out on the ocean where things are quiet, and
all you hear is the wind in the sails, and the surf pounding
against the boat. I'll need somebody to take care of me and all
my big attributes, won't I? Just like you and Ursula? And if I
have a cabin boy, I'll have everything..."
A what?
"I'm glad you asked, JT," she cooed, knowing I had taken the
bait; namely, hot ladymuscle beneath a bursting bosom.
"A cabin boy's job will be to serve his LadyCaptain and be
at her side. I'll be in charge, you know. At sea, the captain
runs everything. If the great big LadyCaptain tells you to do
something, you have to do it, you know. No matter what it is,"
she asserted, making four-letter promises with her half-closed
eyes as she slid an arm across my shoulders.
"So my cabin boy will be kept plenty busy. What I'll make
him do is cook and clean for the big captain. A ship has to be
kept neat; ship-shape, right? He'll have to do that, too; and if
he doesn't, well, then, he'll have to be disciplined by his
LadyCaptain," she warned me. She lifted a finger as though to
warn me, and tensed the muscle in her arm. I realized that that
limb could be as dangerous as it was lovely, but I did not think
I would need to worry...
How wrong I was!
She then continued her delightfully filthy scenario of sex
and sailing...
"I'll just have to flex my big hot arms," she cooed, making
a Jurassic Arm spring to life beneath her skin, as throbbing she-
muscle sprang to hard-mountained attention, "and spank his bare
little ass in the open air, until he learns to respect the laws
of the sea," she stated, nodding her determination, as though
regretting the foolishness of her faceless (as yet) servant.
"I won't stop, either. Not even if he cries," she asserted
with authority, a bit of mock sadness in her dulcet tones.
"Then, when he understands that he must be good and
obedient, and promises to be a good little cabin boy, I'll tell
him to go aft, and tan his bare little ass all brown in the sun.
That way the bruises won't show so much...
'Oh, did I forget to tell you?," she asked, feigning
innocence, knowing full well the effect she was having upon me.
"Captain Maria will make her little cabin boy run around her
beautiful ship all naked. All he's gonna need the day he comes
on board will be a tooth brush and a tube of K-Y. Clothes are
for officers, not cabin boys. And you know, JT, I'm already an
officer!"
Her hand reached around to my cheek, brushed against it
playfully; but with affection and intention that was
unmistakable.
She lifted a finger to her Grand Canyon Cleavage, bared by
the wisp-of-a-blouse, and absently pushed a finger deep within;
it disappeared in the rolling hills of flesh, as though trying to
get at a deep-seated itch...
She leaned very close, almost whispering now...
"Then, when my little cabinboy is all tan and brown and
sweaty and needing to get fucked hard by his LadyCaptain, I'll
come up on deck in a tiny little bikini; my body will be all hot
and hungry for some loving worship. My big breasts will need
sucking," she reminded me, taking the finger that was still at
work between them, and wedging one beautiful mammary out of the
elastic bindings of the blouse's neck.
It tumbled out, and she presented it to me, complete with a
puckered nipple in bloom; but making it clear that this was a
look-but-don't-touch situation...
"And I'll see the desire in his eyes," she continued, a
flush coming to her fair cheeks, "and his need to be taken in
hand by a big-breasted, muscle-packed, statuesque woman. So I'll
just sweep him right off his feet with the sight of me; and I'll
take the little cabinboy by the hand. Below deck," she lilted
with a tilt of her head.
She played with the freed nipple, tweaking it gently between
two fingers as she cupped the massive hooter in her palm. The
nipple responded to the pleasure by engorging into a two-inch
erection...
And she went on...
"I'll be so big he won't be able to believe it, 'cause I'll
have just finished workin' out below deck; I'll be burning hot
and horny. We'll go below to the captain's cabin, and he'll help
me take off my itty-bitty bikini in the dark. His little dick
will be so hard for his flexing LadyCaptain...
'Then I'll show my little boy how much I appreciate him.
I'll lift him up and he'll run his hands on my big bad bod, and
he'll get all gushy and needy; so I'll fuck the daylights out of
him, and when he cums, he'll call out my name; but it'll be hard
to hear because he'll have his mouth on my huge bicep, sucking
flesh...
'Yup, that's what I'll be doing, alright," she contended,
nodding, her sweet voice now burning huskily...
She slowly began tucking the tit back into it's pen...
"Sailing the world and fucking my little cabin boy, letting
him play with my big tits and watch me pump-up when it's quiet
and the seas are calm. Yeah, that's for me, JT," she confessed,
lost in a dirty daydream I wanted to jump into...
Where do you go to join Madame Maria's One-Man Navy?
She went on, seductively turning those expressive eyes onto
me with a girlish sweetness that persevered amidst her muscle...
"At sea, you know, you can scream all you want to when
you're fucking, JT. It'll carry, but who cares?," she shrugged.
'Yeah, JT," she sighed, almost nostalgically. "I'm gonna get
really big. And I'll show the right little man an awful lot of
steaming TLC," she promised.
"What do you say to that, my little pussycat?"
I purred into her shoulder, and we stayed like that for a
long time. I kissed her neck, tasted strands of blonde hair; and
her mouth came down hard upon mine, her tongue ready to
terrorize; and as I ran a hand over her hard abs I wondered what
she would be like in a real bed...
A bed at sea, perhaps?
But even as I closed my eyes, I saw my Bosslady, the one-
and-only Ursula Parkheart; the world's first Amazonian
Bodybuilder-Consulting Private Detective (try fitting that on a
business card!) as she crossed her carved 'n muscle-packed legs
at her desk, and bade me to come into her so thick, so dominating
arms...
There was silence in the car for some time. I tried to
weigh my options once again; I wasn't used to having choices when
it came to women...!
Finally Maria broke the ice.
"So what do you say, JT? Can I call you?"
I sat there for five minutes. Maria wasn't budging. She
was waiting for an answer. She blew me a theatrical kiss, flexed
the beginnings of a great physique, and once even cupped her big
white breasts and gave them a shake, as though trying to entice
me to answer. She stretched, she winked, she ran the back of her
hand across my face again, slowly. And once, just once, she
stuck out her wonderfully large and obscene tongue, and flicked
it at me like an evil snake...
Finally, I thought of the only way I could manage this; I
had to know about Ursula first, didn't I? If she really loved
me, if yesterday had meant anything at all...
"Um, Maria," I stammered cautiously, "ah, can I get back to
you on this?"
It wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.
An angry looked came over her pretty face, and I knew that I
was in trouble...
"Get back to me?," she yelled, as though she had been
trying, very successfully, to maintain her temper all this time
and had now lost it.
"You have to get back to me? Why? So you can see if your
boss wants you? How pathetic can you get, JT? You're her fucking
secretary, you little asshole. You get her coffee. She fucks
guys twice your size and spits the pieces out!"
She was mad; anger and resentment flushed her cheeks. I
didn't want to hear any more, and jumped out, to see for myself
which one of us was right; a date with destiny, so to speak...
I slammed the door and turned, clad in the heavy coat and
glad to have it.
The horn honked and I jumped with surprise.
Maria leapt out of the car, her big-boned body now full of
new-won muscle at the ready...
Muscle she intended to use upon me, right now.
I resolved to stand my ground, and explain things to her.
Surely, she would understand, wouldn't she?
Before I could say a word, another buxom blonde was
preparing to punish me; she stalked over in black tights, her big
breasts abobbing with each long step, and looking wicked and big
in her leather boots. The painted-on blouse--now a rolled-up
halter--showing her firm, rocky little abs, it's short sleeves
baring the solid ladyrock arms. She grabbed my wrists and pulled
me down with her, plunking herself down on the hood of the hot
little red sports car, and got ready to teach me a quick course
in Respect for MuscleGirls 101.
We were sitting on the fender. More correctly, she was
sitting on it; I was pushed by her powerful arm, flat across her
lap. With anger boiling in the strong limbs, she went to work.
"Screw around with me, huh?," she asked, the fury of a woman
in full bloom now, overpowering me easily.
I tried to resist as she pulled the swimsuit down my body,
once again. But this time it was not to administer pleasure but
to deliver pain upon a straying ladymuscle-lover...
Maria was too strong for me.
What else was new?
The small garb locked up in a knot between my knees,
banished from my bottom by an angry ladycop with discipline on
her mind.
All I wore was her over-sized leather coat; my bare behind
protruded from beneath it like a pink and perfect target for her
handslaps.
"Try to get cute 'n flirty with me, Skinny? We'll just see
about that, won't we?," she demanded, with a wounded angry sneer.
With a furious volley, Officer Maria corrected my behavior
on the fender of Ursula's Corvette; her strong hand smacked and
cracked upon my forcibly-bared buttocks repeatedly, and I could
feel the flesh redden and pound as she took out her anger upon me
with her firm chastising hand; the sharply stinging slaps piled
up and made their point at my expense. I could hear the sounds
of my punishment as the fleshcracks echoed upon the soot-covered
walls of the buildings all about us; across the street, they were
still in shadows and shielded from the early-morning sun as it
began it's rise from the horizon, but they were not shielded from
the sound or the sight of my embarrassment on another amazonian
knee; my third in two days, I realized...
I hoped that the commotion my bared butt was making as it
met her enraged hand would not awaken any sleeping neighbors...
My bottom had been turned into a play-toy once again, by yet
another big-built babe; was it now to be an alarm-clock for half
the neighborhood, too...?
I feared that someone might produce a video camera from
behind a window-shade, and I would end up immortalized on the six
o'clock news!
At any rate, it would be hard to sit down for awhile...
All gentleness was gone from her now, as she humiliated me
on her lap, in the open morning air. I was glad that there
were no people around. I had that much to be thankful for, didn't
I?
Presently, as though on cue, a pair of college girls turned
the corner, and hustled down the street as they hurried to an
early class. They wore skin-tight jeans and flimsy tops, and
their teased hair bounced with their scampered steps. I could
hear their shocked girlish cries of surprise and, I thought, some
small delight, as they saw the powerful blonde woman spanking a
diminutive, errant man viciously over the hood of the red-hot
sports car. I looked up just in time to see them sashay directly
past us, in fuck-me heels...
"That'll teach him to stay out all night, right, lady?," the
redhead affirmed, loving every minute of it.
The brunette kept giggling and chewed her bubblegum.
My behind throbbed. Life around Lady Bodybuilders was
causing me to carefully consider my behavior, and I noted to
think before I spoke for now on...
I looked up, wincing with each additional application of
Maria's Muscles; and watched the amused teens wiggle away,
anxious to tell their new gossip in the college tavern.
And maybe, just maybe, hit the gym afterwards?
She released me, finally, and pushed me off her lap. I
nearly fell to the ground; and struggled for my footing,
drunkenly numbed with the pain and the surprise of it all.
I reached for the tangled briefs and pulled them to some
semblance of order on my tired body, but not before receiving one
more swift and parting crack upon my behind as I bent over.
One for the road, as it were...
The cool breeze of the early morning fell across
red-scourged and pain-pulsing buttocks enflamed courtesy of six-
feet-plus of lawful discipline, Officer Maria dell'Avita and her
mighty muscles.
She produced a cigarette from inside her boot; lit it and
puffed, suddenly cool and non-chalant as she stood, nearly a head
taller than me. In her high-heels that difference was accentuated
all the more; and in my humiliated state, I felt as though I
barely reached her knees...
"No, JT," she said, as she took a long drag, and pushed a
stray tress back from her face. "On second thought, you can't get
back to me. Understand,?" she asked, anti-climactically; her eyes
had gone very cold and locked onto me like tractor-beams as she
exhaled. The smoke ran out her nose like an angry blonde dragon.
I nodded my affirmation to her Declaration of Independence
From Short Guys In Speedos, as I tried to hold the back of the
tight-fitting swimsuit away from contact with my seared behind.
"For now on, wimp, I'm "Ma'am" to you, get me? No more
'Maria.' Just 'ma'am,' understand?," she asked, as she looked
away from me to ogle another early-morning jogger; a male who
smiled at her as he passed, in pleased surprise at the well-
developed musculature of this law-and-order lady.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, dazed. I watched her as she stood
over me, hands on hips, her short blonde hair shining in the sun,
the sinews of her new body evident and alive as she turned back
and glowered at me from above. In that proud stance, her broad
shoulders were accentuated, delts armed and ready to fire again
upon some unfortunate part of my anatomy; they looked wide enough
to stack books upon...
She was in command...
I guessed I had had it coming. I had gotten what I'd
deserved...
"I'll take that coat back right now, Sissy-Boy...."
I took off the aromatic, evil-looking coat and handed it to
the hefty blonde with blazing blue fire in her once-soft eyes.
She took it roughly out of my hands, the leather making
those scrunchy-leather sounds as she yanked it away with an
ironwoman's thickly-muscled arms.
She slid it back on, and produced a pair of sunglasses from
the pocket, perching them on her forehead.
I immediately felt all-but-invisible, insignificant in bare
skin and a bikini-sized swimsuit that still clung tightly to my
slender frame; and I shivered in my speedo in the early morning
breeze, shamed; awaiting her next pronouncement.
The fair-skinned lady-flexer stood over me, her broadness
amplified by her tiny waist, the ominous and over-sized ebony
jacket full of shiny metallic zippers and heavy buckles, and the
black, spiked-heeled ankleboots that propelled her skywards.
The cigarette hanging from her lips, she looked like the
epitome of the tough biker-chick, all softness gone from her
demeanor now; and she stared down at me with that same look of
annoyed disgust I mentioned before--the one I had learned to get
accustomed to, as the average response from big women everywhere
to my faint-hearted amorous overtures...
Zipping the jacket half-way up, ensuring that the bulk of
her creamy, nearly-naked jugs spilled out the front of her
blouse, in plain sight of anyone interested--and who wouldn't
be?--she shook her head at me...
I saw the tell-tale crust of my seminal gushings that had
formed on her soft skin, deep in the sweet cleavage.
Either she hadn't noticed, or she just didn't give a damn...
She turned, bent low; down into the sports car through the
open passenger window, showing her weight-trained rear to best
advantage. It was to die for, round and lush and perfect. I began
to realize that I would never get to see it naked, now...
In a moment she was back in my face again; she produced my
treadworn white sneakers that she had removed from my feet and
thrown to the floor earlier, as she prepared to jump my slender
bones on the narrow front seat. It seemed a lift-time ago...
She held them straight out at my eye's level, and then
dropped them at my bare feet as though anxious to be rid of
them---or anything else associated with me.
Presently, she blew a noxious cloud of smoke down into my
face and bade her goodbyes.
"Well, Mr. Barefoot 'n Bottom-Sore," she sighed,
sarcastically, while grinding the cigarette beneath a spiked
heel, her hands on her curvy hips.
"Now that we got that straight, and I've put you in your
place, why don't you go back to your boss, little man, and dream
your little wimpy dreams?," she sneered, amidst her heavy wicked
leather and black tights.
"You blew it--big time--Skinny Boy,!" she warned me, pulling
the deeply-scooped elastic neckline down low, nearly to her
trim waist; and flashing those suddenly-free love-jugs for just a
second. The full ripe bosom was warm and inviting as it tumbled
out, totally exposed; and made my eyes want to water with it's
sheer beauty. The long nipples seemed alive as they pointed down
at me, each centered perfectly on the lush flesh; and they
invited a suckle as they promised succor in their mistress' bed.
She let go of the cloth now; it snapped back into place in
the blink of an eye, re-capturing the breasts, and denying me any
further viewings of the spectacular sight, like a curtain she had
brought down--permanently...
For me anyway...
The irony of her words had hit me head-on. That had been
what Raye-Anne had called me, amongst other things. But then
again, wasn't it an accurate sobriquet?
Maria heaved that creamy deep bosom, level with my bulging
eyes and close enough to almost let me smell her warm sex-stained
flesh as it mixed with the Opium perfume; the breasts, like two
breathing mountains, rose and fell in a long slow motion that
made my penis pulse with insistent life, regardless of exhaustion
and the contempt that the bosom's owner now had for me.
And she made her pronouncement...
"So long, pencil-dick," she said, flexing under her leather.
"I'm goin' over to the gym, and pump a little iron with the
other big girls. Then I'm gonna go out tonight in my minnie-est
micro-mini and get laid with a real man who knows what he wants.
As for you," she diagnosed, nearly laughing in my face, "you
better stay home tonight, and soak your little bottom in cold
water. If you don't mind my saying, it looks like it needs it,"
the leather-jacketed toughie confirmed, with a knowing glance
downwards at my enflamed hind-quarters. She hiked a shoulder at
me in dismissal, as though defying me to find fault with her
corrective measures, so rudely administered; and she slid the
sunglasses down onto her face.
I could feel the distaste in the azure eyes behind the
polished dark lenses. I saw my own battered, dizzy face staring
back at me, humiliated, in the tiny twin mirrors...
"Y'know, JT, back there in Raye-Anne's house, when I
pretended to be your wife, I almost kidded myself," she said, so
chagrined with herself that she almost laughed again, "into
thinkin' that it'd be nice to really be hitched to you...'
'Ha! You. That's a laugh!," she spat, and went on...
"You're nothin' but a skinny little pussy-boy droolin' over
women who out-muscle you. Raye-Anne Hallison was right about you
back there--gettin' put in your place by a babe with big arms
really is your life's ambition, ain't it? Maybe me 'n your boss
shoulda left you with her," she concluded, with disdain for the
small guy below her, who only could look down at his own dirty
feet and cower. He had been discovered, and revealed...
Hey, it wasn't my fault...
It had all started when I was twelve, the incident in the
supermarket still fresh in my mind. My very tall older sister
stole my prized Christmas present: a pair of dumbbells I had
hoped would put some bulk on my little frame, the better to catch
the eye of a big lady like the one in the Safeway...
But Leila had confiscated them; within weeks she outgrew
them, and was moving up to the big weights, putting on pounds of
quick and shapely muscle that stunned people everywhere she went.
She wasn't much for covering it up, either, and went about
in halters and tube tops that made the locals blush!
Grandpa came into town for a visit, took one look at the
teenaged Bev Francis who used to be his curtsying, ribbons-and-
bows grand-daughter and keeled over!
As if that wasn't enough, right around that time her tiny
bosom erupted into a pair of twin dirigibles that were so big
they should have had 'Goodyear' written on them. Within months,
my sweet-sixteen sister was Ms. Teen-Flex America, and all her
Amazonian Girlfriends would congregate at the house, showing up
in short skirts and high heels, looking for training tips and
working out, wearing only their little push-up bras and big,
pumped-up biceps.
They'd taunt and tease me, before pulling down my pants,
laughing at my still-dormant hairless genitals, and throwing me
in the pool!
After that, they'd just ignore the dripping-wet kid
completely, as he followed them around like a half-naked jester;
a lady-muscle puppy even then.
They'd even refuse to give him back his underwear, too!
One of the girls, a big mean red-head who always wore g-
string bikinis, even started a collection, and she...
But that was another story, wasn't it...?
Maria continued my no-holds-barred dressing-down between
puffs of another Pall Mall...
"Maybe she coulda made you a happy little sex slave after
all, brandings or not. Well," she dismissed me, with a sneer and
a wave of her hand, "I don't need that shit. I'm gonna be gettin'
plenty big in the next few months, and you can just eat your
little wimpy heart out as I walk past you in my spikes, 'n tank
tops 'n tight little short-shorts that let my butt cheeks peek
out from underneath. And I won't have to worry about getting
harassed by construction workers, or wolf-whistled at by horny
guys like you, either, because I'll be on the arm of a guy three
times your size. Like I said before, JT," she emphasized,
patting her hairdo as though to re-assure it's neatness while
it's owner thought such exciting thoughts...
"A real man," she said, raising a coy eyebrow, and stating
it as though it was a question, and an unfamiliar animal to me.
"With big muscles, and lotsa dark hair on his big balls,"
she huffed, spitting her words down at my pre-puberic pouch.
"With a real cock, too," she added. "A big, hard, no-
nonsense cock that can't get enough of a lady's pussy, and won't
stop fucking her senseless until she cries, "Uncle!," she purred,
looking skyward and dreaming of the day...
"Not that shaven little toy of a meat-whistle you pack in
your bikini panties," she belittled with a glance below...
Boy, I had crossed the wrong woman...
"And if I ever tell him what you did to me today, you'll get
pounded," she threatened...
"And I'll watch the whole thing and cheer and laugh while
you get your legs twisted around your own scrawny neck like a
pretzel, and your teeth get punched right down your throat.
You'll probably cry," she taunted.
"Then, when it's over? While you're laying there, bloody and
dazed and spitting out your own teeth while you cry for your
mother, I'll step right over you in my spiked heels. I'll crush
your broken molars under 'em as they lay on the cement, and I'll
wiggle my little bare-cheeked behind over to my guy, and tongue
him and dry-hump him with all I got. I'll show my guy how much
fun I had just bein' there, 'n how grateful I am for lettin' me
see it all happen in living color. 'Course, the color's gonna be
red. Blood red," she concluded. "Yours."
Boy, had I ever...!
"And how will I show my man how much I appreciate his
defending my honor? Why, by goin' with him to the gym and
pumpin' up my body for-his-eyes-only; then I'll go home with him
and ask him to pretty-please-sir-pull-off-my-panties and
FUCK...me...GOOD..and...HARD...and...LONG!," she spat, thrusting
her hips about, this way and that, with each piquant adjective,
just for effect.
"But don't worry, JT, that's something you need never
concern yourself with," she said, like a tired grand dame of
deltoid as she stood with hands on her hips, widening her broad
shoulders with an intimidating lat-spread as she did.
"'Cause you're never gonna get to do that with me. Not that
you'd be able to even if I let you. All you'll ever do is dream
about me 'n my sweet pussy while you jerk-off, little boy, and
pray for some cock-hair to start growin' on your skinny bod.
When you recover, we'll have you over to the house, to show there
are no hard feelings, and you can watch me 'n my man fuck up a
storm. Oh, and don't worry," she soothed, as she took my hand
and patted it gently, as one would a dying patient, or a small
child.
"I'll send you some pretty flowers in the hospital," she
added, in mock-condescension.
What was it about me that made Amazonian Lady Bodybuilders
want to tell me their X-rated little scenarios, anyway?
First it was Raye-Anne Hallison's...
"Tales from the Amazon's Boudoir.."
Now, it was...
"The Revenge of the Flexing LadyCop!"
Could it have been that, with me around, these domineering
she-hulks knew that those cum-stained story-lines might very well
come to fruition?
"And to think," she snarled suddenly, pushing my shaking
hand away as quickly as she'd taken it, all-the-more menacing
behind the coolly sinister Ray-Bans; her voice just a bit hoarse
as she leaned in very close now...
"The next time I take a piss, somewhere in it will be your
filthy little cum-load leaking out of me. I'm glad I ate it, and
that it's in my belly right now, 'n all you're stupid little
swimmers are getting fried in my stomach acids. I'm doin' the
world a big favor, Putz-Boy, killin' your freaks before they're
ever born!" she declared, full of hot-blooded hatred for me now;
every bit the vengeful, scorned woman, striking back at the fool
who'd turned her away...
By necessity, her job had forced her to learn to be hard and
tough when the situation called for it; to switch off her
emotions when she felt is was called for---however strong they
might be--for her own good. This is what she was doing now; this
is what she would continue to do, whenever I was around, for a
long time...
And through it all, I was forced to watch my own blushing,
red-cheeked humiliation peer back at me in her reflective lenses.
The red on my face was a perfect match for my chastised bottom;
both stained a sanguine-fed crimson.
Maria wasn't done yet; she had just paused to re-load her
vocabulary; a linguistic lashing that matched the pain of the
spank-session blow-for-blow...
"And I thought I wanted your limp little cock and it's
mutant-makin' cum up my cunt someday," she cringed, disgusted
with us both, backing away and looking me up and down with
horror, as though I had suddenly turned into a monster...
"I musta dropped a dumbbell on my head to have ever wanted
that--or you...!!"
I wanted to say something to her, but the leather-clad
musclefox pivoted on a spiked heel, turning her broad back to me;
then, her hips rolling, cat-like, she quickly walked over to
the driver's door. She paused there for just a second, as though
debating something with herself, her eyes a mystery behind
their dark shields, and getting ready to cut me in half...
Almost as an afterthought, she called back to me, much
louder than she needed to...
"Oh, by the way, JT, I almost forgot to remind you," she
called back to me, raising a hand to her face coquettishly, as
though shocked by her own failing memory...
"There's something I've been meaning to mention," she said,
off-handedly, still in a stage-voice that could be heard clearly
in the next neighborhood---
She cupped a hand around her mouth like a town crier in
leather and chains...
"You've got butter all over your asshole!," she declared, in
mock-amazement. "What the hell happened to you, little man? Did
that big mean Lady Bodybuilder fuck you up the ass last night?"
She let out a roar of derisive laughter, her huge all-but-
bare breasts shaking wildly, mightily; eyes tearing up behind the
dark shades as the lewdly-large mouth opened all the way,
enjoying a good laugh at my expense, her long tongue wagging...
Her chesty laughter was still echoing off the disinterested
brick-fronts around us as she re-entered the car.
She slammed the door firmly and decisively, as though she
was anxious to put some miles between us as quickly as she could.
Seconds later, the engine came to life with a low, sexy
purr. And she was gone amid the smoke of burning rubber;
never once looking back at me again; the V-8 roar fading fast.
Hell really did have no fury like a woman scorned, unless
she was a really big woman, I noted. Then it was worse!, I said
to myself, nearly aloud and nodding to myself, rubbing my
tortured bare backside as I stood on the sidewalk and sighed.
It all seemed apropos. She had burned rubber, and I had
burned my bridges--twice...
The street was just beginning to come to life as I watched
the car speed around the corner and disappear. I turned, and got
a strange look from the local spinster librarian as she passed me
on her early-morning constitutional. The men she knew did not
appear in public in emerald-green bikini-swimsuits at any time of
day, especially when sporting a pert posterior spanked a bright
red with a well-muscled woman's angry and vengeful handprints!
I was sure that, in her wildest dreams, she had no idea what
I had been through in the last twelve hours...
I picked up my sneakers, and stumbled down the dark alley,
where I coaxed the service-entrance door open. I slid in past
it, dazed and defeated by words and deeds perpetrated upon my
bikinied-body and my all-but-shattered ego. My bottom was
sore, but as I grew nearer the heartlessly, stone-cold gorgeous
Ursula Parkheart, my heart, as though fed be an amorous radar,
grew hopeful.
I rode the slow and shaky freight elevator to the office,
listening to the creaks of the pulleys while I winced and
rehearsed my speech.
Note: For those of you who enjoy catfights, please watch
for Ursula 9A & Ursula 9B, coming soon...
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.:
The Flexing Detective
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
by
Forrest Curran
(c) WIG, LTD 1994
Chapter Eight:
Prelude to a Flex
Okay, so I wasn't exactly the most faithful guy in the
world. It wasn't my fault--prior to the last two days I had had
no experience in being so popular! And after all, wasn't it my
job to spend the night with The Great Big Ms. Hallison, and revel
in her big-breasted, bold-muscled splendor, I reasoned?
A guilty smile played on my face for just a moment.
For the most part, the night I had spent with her had been
the most exciting night of my mundane life. There had been sex,
danger, intrigue, and a last-minute rescue, just like in an old-
time B-movie. Maybe it wasn't a story I could tell my
grandchildren about, but it was one that would bring a toothless
grin to an old man someday...
If I lived that long, I noted; a small man in a world
increasingly populated by robustly-built musclebabes might be
faced with extinction sooner than he wants to admit. So why not
strike while the pumped iron, and the resulting mountains of
ladymuscle, is hot?
Besides, too; hadn't I owed Maria something in the way of
gratitude after she single-handedly saved me from having a
permanent monogram burned into my derriere? She had been the
aggressor, in more ways than one, I acknowledged silently, as I
rubbed the enflamed flesh of my behind. I turned my head around
as far as it would go, to inspect, as well as I could, the
handiwork (pardon the pun) of the angry LadyCop, who had taken
her revenge on a small and fickle man while young girls watched,
amused.
My buttocks were a collage of red and white, the outlines of
her intersecting handslaps making my misbehavior, and my
embarrassment, all-too-visible.
And besides, I nodded, as I tried to fan the hot tortured
flesh with my hand, it stung like hell, too...
At least it, unlike Raye-Anne's brand, wasn't going to be
permanent. But I knew that I'd have to be careful to avoid
crossing the path of that angry LadyBadge-with-A-Bulge for some
time, or I might have to start sitting on a pillow permanently!
The elevator didn't so much stop as run out of gas, as it
bounced once or twice in the ancient shaft. But the less-than-
modern ride wasn't what had my heart racing; it was the moment of
truth that was coming, with the big Ursula Parkheart, whose
hardbodied delights made my mouth water in anticipation...
From down the hall, I could see that both of the office
doors were open, in an attempt to head off the summer heat that
would be coming later in the day. It had not yet achieved it's
oppressive status, but it was building up slowly; the halls were
full of stale air that would feel like steam in just a few
hours...
I was almost glad I was dressed so briefly, despite my
discipline-display on my hind quarters; there hadn't been a
breath in the building, windows and vents closed as they were on
the weekend. It made the office seem positively balmy as I
crossed the threshold, and I felt a breeze strike my flesh; I was
already covered in a thin pool of sweat.
As for me, I guess I was still sort of proud of myself,
despite my embarrassment on Maria's knee, and the ensuing
throbbings that followed. I had gone from a guy who couldn't get
a date for Saturday night to a guy fielding (and in at least one
case, catching) the advances of three different awesome women in
twenty-four hours!
But this was the one that I really cared about; Ursula's
interest was like a sweet prize that had been dangled before my
eyes, and while I may have bounced and bounded and sucked and
fucked with other women like her in the last twelve hours, there
really was nobody like my MuscleBossLady...
I paused in the doorway. Surely, there were better
circumstances imaginable to present myself, and my love, to her?
She was all-too-aware of what I had been doing upstairs in the
oversize bed of Raye-Anne Hallison; it did not exactly speak
volumes on my faithfulness, or my worthiness, did it?
Ursula was sitting at her desk as I came in, all cool calm
and casual muscle. She was wearing, sort of, a strapless green
stretch dress, off the shoulder--two bands of the double-knit
cloth encuffed her immense upper arms, so as to relieve her
mountainous trapezoids of the necessity of being touched by
anything other than her black hair as it flowed, perfect and long
and dark and shining, past her wide-wide shoulders.
She had propped one foot up on the desk, and the sharp
silver spike of the matching-green high-heeled shoe was digging
yet another hole in the mahogany-and-oak desktop. She frequently
did this, and I, just as frequently, would stay late after work--
after she'd gone across the street to pump-up, in prelude to a
night of similar pumpings in her man's bed. I would spent the
time alone, filling in the round little holes with wood filler;
her devoted assistant...
I didn't know if she ever noticed such things. But I did
them for her. And I was glad to.
She was spinning the cylinder of her revolver, bullets
laying in a neat row in front of her, like steel soldiers. She
looked like some latter-day, lusty Lady Sheriff as she studied
the pistol in her hand, her rolling chair squeaking with each
tiny variation in her posture.
I made a note to oil it; and immediately went into a brief
but wild daydream about doing the same to her.
Preferably on a nude beach, as perspiration collected in the
vertical muscle-zipper between her pectorals, and glistened all
over her hard bare flesh...
As I got closer, I could see that she had pulled up, or
perhaps simply allowed, the hem of the skintight stretchy little
dress to rise on her wide showgirl hips; in her casual position--
--legs splayed and strewn---I could plainly see the pinkpanty; a
g-string really, as it shielded her pubes (and little else) from
view. It disappeared in the crevice of her buttocks, slightly
visible as she sat low and deep upon the seat.
Her sculpted naked thighs made me catch my breath; they had
all the natural shapeliness of Mary Hart's own gorgeous gams; but
with each movement, the vital difference was reinforced, as thick
bands of quadriceps slowly cruised like sleepy rivers beneath her
tanned skin as she sat at rest.
She flicked the cylinder shut on the revolver, and lined up
it's sights as she held it in front of her face. She pointed it
at an imaginary target high on the ceiling, and let the hammer
click with a metallic little sound.
CLICK!!
The sound made me jump just a little bit...
Upon seeing this elemental woman, comfortable amidst her
massive muscular armor, I immediately felt even smaller than I
had been designed by cruel nature. As I ogled a himalayan bicep
on her arm, my hand went, quite unconsciously, to my own slender
limb, as though to reassure myself that it was there. The gesture
caught her eye, and she suppressed a knowing chuckle and shook
her head wisely, like a Queen amused by a devoted subject...
"So," she said, arching a brow, her attention back again to
the gun, "you had quite a night last night, young man, unless my
ears deceived me. Do you have any idea what time it is?," she
inquired, coyly.
I didn't want to tell her what had happened, almost, in
Raye-Anne's living room; how a night of simple, if rough-limbed
passion had almost killed me!
Besides, Maria would probably tell her anyway...
"We're suddenly very popular, JT. Crime is back and your big
bad bosslady's more than ready to tackle some cases. I took three
calls this morning--you weren't at your desk, you little rascal.
Starting Tuesday, we're gonna be real busy, so I want you to get
your rest this weekend; no running around with Raye-Anne
Hallison," she teased. "'Sides, after what I saw and heard last
night you oughta be able to abstain for quite a while, my little
secretary--you're positively aglow!," she stated, looking me up
and down as though I ought to be ashamed of myself.
She was wired, excited about something. There was an extra
bit of vibrance in her expression, of the sort I hadn't seen in
weeks. Maybe it was the post-case high; but it wasn't...
"Maria just called me again. She said you were coming up.
Sounded a little upset, too. You wouldn't know anything about
that, would you, JT?"
I denied everything and feigned innocence with just one
guilty word, "No."
She was reloading the gun now, slipping the small .22's into
the chamber. Obviously, she hadn't seen or heard anything of the
brutal spanking that had been administered to my backside,
moments ago, by her blonde friend...!
"You two were parked down there for quite a little while. I
thought maybe being rescued by that cute 'n husky little filly
might give you a few ideas, JT. It would do you good to get out
a bit and date. A real date, JT, not sex in some woman's bed
with not so much as a dinner date, like some little tramp," she
admonished, haughtily teasing, with a glance at my briefs.
I could've told her about the dinner, and the butter-massage
that had gone with it, but...
"Maria told me just now that she thought you looked so
adorable in your swimsuit that I oughta make it office policy to
keep you in short pants year 'round. I don't know, JT, what do
you think? I've been thinking that we'd start catering our
business exclusively at women; you know, specialize? That's what
you need these days! Woman are more likely to come to another
woman, don't you think? And I think ladies like to look at a
guy's nice pair of legs as much as you men like to look at
woman's. Especially all clean-shaven like yours are now," she
winked, licking her lips at my hairless legs.
"Keep 'em that way," she commanded, running a finger along
the equally-smooth barrel of the gun. She knew that I would
meekly submit to almost anything if it would please her, even if
it was not the sort of thing that fit my job description.
Like sleeping with Amazonian Muscle-Goddesses...
Now I understood the price that I would pay for my night of
ecstacy with the Pumped-Up Princess from Pennsylvania.
I hadn't been ordered to bed the humongous country-girl, and
be ridden like a small pony by an oversized Cowgirl. My arm had
needed no twisting, my loyalty demanded no coaxing...
I had not objected to the prospect or possibility of being
woman-handled; stripped, spanked, ridiculed; fucked senseless,
humiliated; made a short-order cook, lap-dog, bare-cheeked
bikini-clad decoy; sex-puppet, slave...
About the only things missing were doctor, lawyer, and
Indian Chief!
In fact, hadn't I volunteered for the mission?
Now I realized how it had cheapened me in her eyes, and why
she now felt the right to order me to dress like a small male
bimbo, to please the eyes of the female cross-currents who would
step over our little office threshold and lick their painted lips
upon seeing me...
I had become an undersized Sex Object!
But I would not refuse a request from her...
"Yeah, JT, Maria told me she thought we should start showing
you off better. You know, a little skin for the ladies?," she
winked.
"So that rather settles it. For now on, my lad, you're my
hot-pants-wearin' Guy Friday, 'kay,?" she leered playfully, as
she polished the gun barrel on the cloth that covered her full
warm breasts. I watched the flowing fleshglands beneath it object
to the pressure of the metal upon them, as it made momentary
depressions in her double-d's...
"After all, JT, if a lady can be six-foot-plus and full of
muscles like me, why then; why can't a cute fella like yourself
show off those adorable gams for the ladies to enjoy?," she
proposed.
"Especailly if a certain power-packed woman wants a
particular guy to dress that way, huh? It really wouldn't be his
place to question his better, would it?"
She was full of naughty looks of mock-disapproval today,
after listening to me sing a four-letter opera, like a foul-
mouthed Pagliacci, just last night, as Ms. Hallison conducted a
muscle-symphony amongst the satin sheets of her bed.
"Maybe we'll take you out Monday night and pick you out some
cute little tennis shorts? Oh, and some nice matching knee-socks,
JT. That'll be lovely, don't you think,?" she asked, as she dug a
finger beneath the waistband of her panty, to scratch an itch I
only dreamed on scratching myself...
"And we'll make 'em nice and tight, so the ladies will see
everything you have, such as it is," she sighed in resignation.
An evening out with Ursula, going anywhere, was heaven.
But who was 'we' ?
Then again, on the other hand, the thought of greeting women
clients in shirt, tie, small white shorts, and clean-shaven legs
was a little embarrassing, to say the least!
"Or maybe you can go with Maria; I'm sure she'd be glad to
help. She really has the hots for you, and she's a free agent
now. She told you, didn't she?"
She did. But she wasn't the one I wanted; not that that
option was still open, anyway. Besides, who wanted to wait for a
fine wine to mature when I had a '57 Cuban-English Bordeaux
sitting across the desk from me with her muscular legs open and
inviting, filling the stale room with the faint scent of musky
female genitalia?
Funny, it seemed a simple choice at the time.
Maria had known I was anxious to put on a pair of long pants
again. The compliment to my boss about my legs had been Maria's
final parting shot, as though to say, "You want to be with your
bosslady and be her little secretary? Fine. Dress the part."
An embarrassing image came to my mind, as I flash-forwarded
to the near future....
I saw myself seated upon her desk, legs bared by Lady Bic
and short-shorts, crossed at the ankle, obediently taking a
letter from my Bodybuildin' Gumshoe-Glamazon; taking dictation as
my eyes scanned her freshly-pumped delts; the gum-chewin' sexpot
secretary, gender-switched for the nineties, ego not included...
That was no way to win her heart, was it?
And all the while, my mega-muscled LadyBoss sat in her
chair; and inspected the body of her only employee from three
feet away, clucking her tongue facetiously.
"There it is," Ursula announced, holding several sheets of
legal documents held together with a paperclip.
"What all the fuss was about. We get paid on delivery,
which is gonna be in just a little while," she said, slipping the
papers into a drawer.
"You don't look any the worse for wear, 'cept your ass is a
little red," she acknowledge with a nod.
"Did that big bullygirl give you a spanking?," she play-
pouted, her voice full of mocking-motherly concern.
I shrugged; not anxious to let her know which bullygirl it
had been who had reddened my rear...
"Can't say I blame her--I've wanted to turn you over my knee
once or twice myself, my lad. Like yesterday?," she said,
arching a playfully-wicked eyebrow.
"That reminds me, I need that Gillmore report ready Monday,
JT. You know, the divorce case about the guy who liked to turn
his wife over his knee? Take care of that, won't you?"
That wasn't fair, I knew. I was already working a Saturday,
if this counted as work; and now she wanted me to come in
tomorrow? She had told me that that wasn't due 'til next
Friday...
"Sure, Sally...," I acceded, once again; able to refuse her
nothing, especially when she was dressed like that!
Hubba-hubba!
But finally, I had to give it my best shot. The heart has
it's own agenda, as my grandmother used to say. And mine, for
all my extra-curricular rolling-about, was Ursula's...
She knew I was going to bring up the subject of yesterday
afternoon, when I had sat on her lap and gone exploring the
glacial mountain range known as Ursula Parkheart's body.
"JT," she said, suddenly serious, as though reading my mind;
gently motioning to her desktop, "sit down"...
I did, anxious to discuss the subject of what had sprung to
life, to my delight and relief, between the musclewoman and me.
I already anticipated horizontal delight beneath her, and over
her, exploring Mount Ursula with delirious hands; a volcano of
female fleshy delight.
"Looks like we're a match," she joked, pointing to the
identically-colored dress she wore and the little briefs I still
sported like a uniform by now. She looked at me with affectionate
eyes; I tried my best to return her glances with ardor as she
slid the oiled black gun away into a desk drawer. Her hand went
to my knee and rested there lightly. I put both my own on hers,
pressing it down, wanting to feel her touch. I felt something
sharp and hard scratch my leg...
"Oh, sorry, JT," Ursula said, lifting her hand away. She
turned a plain thin gold band around on her finger, and revealed
a thumbnail's worth of diamond, catching the early morning sun as
it streamed in from the window behind her.
She seemed apologetic, then annoyed, and finally she spoke.
"I'm sorry, JT, I shouldn't have done that. I should've just
told you. I turned my beautiful ring around while I was handling
my gun. Didn't want to scratch the metal."
She held the sparkling gem out for me to inspect it. It had
a strangely exotic look on that limb almost as thick as the logs
cut down to make the desk she sat at. I'd seen the ring before,
and thought it had been buried in her desk for good.
Hoped...
She was being solemn, mindful of my feelings, but the news
was so good to her, she couldn't help smiling, just a bit, and
waving the huge rock at me, just a bit...
And tearing my heart out, just a bit...
"Steve and I talked last night," she trilled, giggling like
a schoolgirl in her seat just a bit. "I found a message on my
machine when I got back from the job last night. We decided to
resume our engagement. We're gonna get married, JT! Isn't it
great?"
That had been the 'we' she had meant...
"Isn't it weird how things work out, JT?," she asked,
smiling dreamily. "While you were screwing up a storm last night
with big Raye-Anne, your bosslady was giving a pretty good
imitation of a horny little harlot herself," she said, her hand
going to the back of her head in a reassuring pat, huge arm
flexing, as though even thinking of what she had done last night
might cause her hairstyle to suffer; and she would have to
straighten and re-assure her coiffure that the danger to it's
well-groomed condition was past. Her half-inch nipples got even
harder and more prominent now, poking persistently through the
flimsy stretch-cloth as she relived the amorous night in her
mind's eye for just a moment or two.
She gave a coy pout now, and winked.
"I just couldn't resist him when he showed up at my place in
a swimsuit just like yours, with a big hot cucumber in his briefs
all set for my hot little pussy, could I? I mean, after all, a
girl has limits, doesn't she?," she asked, a hand going to her
full breasts as she relived her ravaging of last night...
She beamed and talked with enthusiasm of the whole
experience; how great the sex had been; how she realized she had
been the one to blame; how she had let her jealousy ruin the
relationship; how she realized Steve would never cheat on her...
That's what she thought, I almost said aloud. Just a month
ago, the bum had made a pass at my younger sister. She had been
incensed, and had told me all about it. That is, when she
finally put on her sex-dampened panties and left his bed on sore
and wobbly legs---which was three days later...
She chatted on, her hands resting high on her bare legs, all
her raw muscular power at rest as she assumed the pose of a
starry-eyed teen; rubbing the thick pieces of mahogany sculpture
that were her thighs unconsciously as she talked, driving me
crazy; her words got blurred by the heartache and the arousal she
was managing to burden me with simultaneously. I looked down at
my knee; it was scratched by the big diamond, the skin lightly
broken and red...
Just like my heart.
"Ursula," I finally said, after listening to her tell me in
detail where the reception would be and chiding me to get a date;
she had teased me and said I could always bring Raye-Anne if we
were still speaking...
"Ursula," I repeated, feeling all-but-forgotten, "I thought
we were going to, you know, talk about, uh, yesterday..."
An uncomfortable look crossed her face, ruining her
enjoyment of the gorgeous day that was about to unfurl.
Or so she thought.
"C'mere, JT," she said softly, soothingly, as she opened the
thick bare arms for me, inviting their embrace.
How could I not?
In seconds, I was on her lap again, and felt instantly safe
and insecure and impossibly excited; breathless.
Okay, dear reader; sue me. I still had the hots for her,
and all I needed was to be in her reach, and feel her hard
ladyflesh beneath my hands...
But I could tell this was different. There were no
smoldering looks, no wicked hands, their now-vanished red talons
running their tips lightly over the bulge in my swimsuit.
No. There was to be no more of that...
She just held me.
"JT, listen to me," she said, "and please don't be upset."
I told her I wouldn't; I just wanted to know the truth,
that's all, Ursula...
I inhaled and smelled that undefinable scent that was hers
alone. I remembered once going to seven department stores trying
to find out what it was, and drove seven perfume clerks to
distraction when they failed identify it. Later, of course, I
found out; it wasn't perfume. It was just a hot hunk of a
gorgeous woman named Ursula, and the pheremones she exuded from
the small pores of her skin. Her eyes roaved up and down my body,
and seemed to weigh my worth on some private internal scale, as
though to re-check what she already knew, and had decided...
"JT," she said at last, "you're the best assistant I've ever
had. You know, I never could have solved the Sigerson forgery
case without you. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded, my hand finding her bared delt, following it's
thick, steeply-chiseled cut. I started to rub it, my hand small
on the wide muscle, but, though I was sure that she enjoyed my
muscleworship, she took it and held it firmly in my lap, as
though to make it clear the games were over now.
"You're invaluable to me, you really are."
"Thanks, bosslady, but what about..."
She closed and opened her eyes slowly, as if pausing to
gather her concentration...
"JT, I had to flirt with you yesterday. It was necessary.
For the case..."
She was looking straight at me, calmly; her voice was level
and clear and soft and determined.
But her face was stern, the royal eyes somber.
"Why? I wouldn't have..."
"Wouldn't have what, JT?," she asked suddenly, a touch of
exasperation creeping, despite her affectionate tone.
"Fallen for that Hallison woman? Yes, you would have.
You'd have been so busy with her upstairs, getting womanhandled,
and God only knows what else, that you would've forgotten all
about me, and the papers. I had to give you something to hang
your heart on just to keep you with me; on my side. You forget,
JT, I was there last night," she declared, matter-of-factly.
I gulped hard, embarrassed at her candor.
But I couldn't turn away. I just nodded, and blushed, in
silent confession to the woman I loved, who I hoped would forgive
me for enjoying myself with another woman quite so much...
"And I was trying to concentrate on my job---crackin' open a
safe is delicate work. And I kept hearing your tortured little
animal screams of delight. Yeah, JT, I was listening, alright..."
I looked away now, ashamed. She had me there.
But what did she expect me to do? Raye-Anne Hallison was so
damned gorgeous, and big, and buxom, and...
I felt another hopeless erection expanding in my briefs.
Okay, so maybe I was a LITTLE bit fickle, but didn't I have
feelings, too?
She reached for my chin, and pointed it at her; held it
there.
"Don't be ashamed, JT. You didn't do anything wrong. In
fact, you helped me immeasurably; I want to split the fee with
you fifty-fifty. That's alot of money, JT," she offered, as
though that would make up for what she was saying.
"Yes, I know," I said. "But, gosh, Ursula, can't we..."
I couldn't find the words.
"Can't we what, angel?," she asked, gently...
She let my hand run free now, and it honed in for her
shoulder again. I really liked Ursula's muscles better, didn't
I, after all?
I hugged the hot, brown, thick delt with my hand,
desperately. Boy, it was hard; it had tensed with the emotion of
the moment...
"Can't we...c-can't we try to love each other? I can be so
good for you, Sally. I really can," I promised, urgently and
hopefully.
"And I'll worship you like a goddess...," I added, lowering
my head and kissing the friendly Amazon's iron-clad arm.
I could feel a soft warm sigh escape her; Ursula loved being
worshipped for her size, her splendor, her rock-hard body and her
great big breasts.
But it wasn't gonna work. Not this time.
She inhaled, to find her resolution once again...
"JT, look at me," she said, as though trying with great
effort to retain her patience, "JT?"
The blue pools called; wouldn't let me go.
With the sun streaming in on her like this, she looked like
a young Sophia Loren, hardened only slightly around the edges by
the nature of her business.
I always thought so; I wanted to tell her now...
Ursula pursed her red-painted lips...
"Listen, my little Spank-Bottomed Boy, in the world of
women's bodybuilding, there's a name for guys like you. Y'know
what it is?"
I shook my head. Her bicep was swelling by the second; the
rest of the arm, as though answering a muscle-challenge, inflated
with it. I thought she was flexing it even as we spoke, peaking;
a call for someone to come to worship it again for no other
reason than it existed, and she wanted it. I told myself that
maybe she was torn, and only saying what she thought she ought
to; not what she wanted to. Maybe she really did want full-time
worship...
"You, my dear little secretary-slash-assistant-slash-would-
be-lover, are a schmo..."
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.:
The Flexing Detective
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
by
Forrest Curran
(c) WIG, LTD 1994
Chapter Eight: (Cont.'d)
She had gotten to me. My heart dropped like a barbell after
a clean-and-jerk, and I sat, mute and hurt by that one little
name she had called me.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but....
'Schmo?'...
That can hurt me...
The sleepy streets outside were shaken by a blaring car
stereo as it shot down the avenue.
Life had it's ironies, and this was one of them; because the
song that ricocheted off the walls and through the early morning
air was a moldy-oldy; an easy-listening tune played way too
loudly; no doubt by a hard-of-hearing senior citizen on his
breakfast run...
The song was an obscurity, and deservedly so...
It was Marie Osmond, singing "Go Away, Little Boy."
How apropos, right?
Ursula even seemed to notice it, and grinned as the words
hung heavy in the still morning air before fading into the maze
of city blocks that lay before it...
A Schmo?
Oh, I knew what it meant, alright. It was a term invented by
the late and oh!-so-muscular Kay Baxter, to describe guys who,
well!...
Guys who found muscular women like her irresistible. Guys
who, for whatever rhyme or reason nature has deigned, could not
stop hovering about and ogling a well-built 'n buxom bodybuilding
babe whenever or wherever she'd appear in their otherwise mundane
lives, lighting it up like a Roman Candle with their bold, here-
I-am-in-your-face-take-it-or-leave-it-'cause-this-is-me attitude.
The word was apt and accurate and painted me to a T.
She saw the injured look on my face. She had broken my
heart as easily as she could break a too-small t-shirt on her
massively-muscular frame; splitting it to pieces with a mighty
flexing ripple of her heavenly body. That was all I meant to her?
Was I really nothing more to her than one of her fans; the guys
who used to send her damp, admiring letters asking for pictures,
and offering their backstage services in rubbing down her hard
voluptousness with posing oil before she took the stage at a
bodybuilding show?
No, Ursula, it isn't like that, I wanted to say; but didn't.
No...
I had been blown-off, big-time. Scraped from her spike-
heeled shoe like a bug that had crossed her muscular path.
"Some woman," she explained, not unkindly, "with a muscle-
packed build like your boss's, takes off her blouse or rolls up
her sleeves, or walks past you on a beach in a little string
bikini, and you melt, your knees give out; you turn into an
orgasm waiting to happen; a puddle of watery warm semen looking
for a place to land. Your lip starts quivering and your little
heart starts beating faster than a Salsa band hoping she'll take
you and flex her big arms and ravage the shit out of you. Maybe
even put you over her knee, my little secretary, and tan your
little bottom red, like it is now, for all the world to see.
C'mon, JT; on some level, that poundin' posterior hurts soooo
good, doesn't it?," she encouraged.
"You're all hot and breathless for any babe with a
musclebod," she pronounced, almost defying me to disagree, as she
shook her head and shrunk me to insignificance.
"I'm sorry, JT, but that's the truth. That's the way it is,
and if you're gonna go on working for me, you're just gonna have
to learn to get over it, especially if we're gonna be operating
in the circles where we'll be meeting women like me..."
She wasn't done yet. She had been saving this up, I guess,
and was letting me have it with both barrels, albeit gently. I
suddenly felt small and ridiculous in her muscle-packed presence.
"...and don't think I don't know what you have been doing in
the bathroom, especially on Monday mornings after you've spent a
weekend watching the MuscleBabes working out down at the outdoor
gym and...getting...all...excited," she declared, as she made the
big biceps deeply pulse with each of those last three words, and
making my breath catch excitedly in my throat in the process.
Maybe she did want worship, but I guessed it wasn't from me.
She belonged to another; and her choice of companion made me look
like nothing more than a pre-pubescent grade-schooler with a
crush on teacher...
By now I could deny nothing. She had my number and was
reading it off to me crisp and clear, with nothing left unsaid.
She was like a stern aunt bringing a wayward orphaned nephew to
bear, just before ice cream and a bed-time tale.
"Remember, I'm a private investigator, and a pretty good
one. I know what the score is. And I know what you like to do in
your free time. Maybe I should keep you busier. Besides, every
time you shoot a load into my toilet you moan my name out
loud...," she added, gently.
"Don't be hurt," she chuckled, amused at my injured pout as
I pulled my face away from her hand.
"It's not all that bad, really it isn't," she assured me,
trying to repress a smile. I didn't have much chance at dignity;
sitting there in my swimsuit, smaller by far than the woman I
loved and only now seeing how ridiculous we would look together.
I sat, arms folded across my chest, sitting on her lap, legs
dangling, and realizing that women like Ursula were a superior
species that I could not hope to amuse or entertain with my own
slight abilities, sexual or otherwise.
And so the woman who knew me like a book was reading off
chapter and verse to me, like a reviewer unhappy with the prose.
"Listen, my darling boy, let's be honest with each other,
shall we?," she announced, condescension gone from her tone now,
cutting to the chase.
"You love the way I look, don't you? These too-hot-tits-and-
ten-tons-of-muscle, huh?," she queried, giving each attribute a
shake 'n flex.
What an understatement.
She lifted me to my feet so quickly that I nearly fell over.
As per her instructions, I moved over to the desk's edge,
and sat down upon it, my feet dangling again; a small man in a
big woman's office...
She pushed back her rolling chair with the stretch of a leg;
and rolled backwards about three feet.
She crossed her power-packed legs again, calves like
baseballs sewn somehow under the skin; the non-existent hemline
of the little would-be dress riding to her waist, baring the
heart-stopping legs; the pink panties winking up at me. But, for
all their loveliness, they were almost overwhelmed by nearly two
hundred and fifty pounds of hard, cut, muscle, and breasts whose
nipples were sticking through the sheer green cloth like
insistent, accusatory fingers...
And she decided to give them their freedom...
She stood up and pulled the ridiculous imitation of a dress
up and off her wide thick body in one quick movement.
Her stacked assets poured out like a Dark and Hard Niagara
Falls; the big breasts tumbled free, followed by the long dark
mane of black hair...
She got up, and up, and up; until she stood before me in
nothing but a pair of green spiked heels and a g-string. Her
physique, so lushly voluptuous and yet so elementally powerful
and muscular, overcame me at once; the bare flesh of the most
beautiful woman on earth beckoned...
And I sighed like Susan Sarandon again.
And she laughed, daintily, holding it in for just a second
before the sight of my reverent golly-gee-lady gaze got the
better of her.
She had been unclothed around me before; not just yesterday,
when she didn't know what she was doing; but on cases, when a
quick-change had been necessary and I had helped her dress and
undress in vans, motels, back alleys....
And I would spend a week recovering each time from the
avalanche of hot sex and muscle that would spill into my hands
each time she did; her casual and distracted indifference to my
presence making me want her all the more..
Notice me, Ursula, I would think, beseechingly...
She turned around now, perfect round buttocks tensing as she
commanded her muscle to jump and dance and flex and tense. The
wide back came to life, almost frightening in it's detail; it's
sinew looking almost like some strange creature trying to climb
out of it's prison somewhere deep inside her body, and burst out
of my Bosslady's skin. I wanted her again. I imagined my arms and
hands trying to wrap themselves around the wide back as I lay
beneath her each night, sexual exclamations escaping my mouth,
and my soul, as she took her pleasure, at will, upon me in ways
that defied even the wild appetites of her blonde counterpart.
Her big body-so-muscular entertained my hungry eyes, yet at
the same time made her point; I was out of my league completely,
and consigned to the minors, i.e., to the banal boudoirs of
blushing little underfed salesgirls, and timid twittering
librarians, built like birds and just as brainless...
It just wasn't fair.
"You know I love you, Ursula," I offered, gazing in
permanent awe; my voice hoarse with desire. The words, as fervent
and sincere as I would ever mean them, brought the muscle-show to
a premature conclusion.
She said nothing at first, but cut short her display and sat
down in her rolling chair, and propelled herself to her desk. A
high-heeled foot braked her momentum, and the shiny little spike
went back into the neat little groove it had dug in the desktop.
She seemed chastened just a bit at the depth of her assistant's
passion for her. Now, at least, she was going to have to take me
seriously; she wasn't going to be able to dismiss the topic and
change the subject, not even with a display of her Lady-Be-Big
Bod, thick carved muscles rippling.
As for me, well; I was still trying but it wasn't gonna
work...
"No, you don't JT. You like me," she responded at last.
"You love my body. Not that I blame you, of course...," she
added, full of feminine satisfaction.
Every woman loves an audience, right? And my big bad
bosslady was all woman, alright...
There was a long pause. I watched a large vein pulse with
her essence as it rushed a flow of blood to a bulging muscle I
could live on for a month with just a straw...
Nearly naked, and sitting upon her desk like a child brought
to work by his pumped-up step-sister, I imagined that many guys
would envy my position just now, as my wistful and shaking hand
tentatively felt her softball calve-muscle as it presented itself
to me upon the desktop.
But this was hard on me. We were both all-but-naked for each
other's eyes. Shouldn't we, then, as a man and a woman, be in each
other's arms, too?. Wasn't that what nature intended?.
But nature had told Ursula Parkheart that women weren't
supposed to be six-foot-three and full of muscles, either; I
don't think she paid much attention to nature, one way or the
other...
"You got a MuscleCrush, JT. That's all," she said slowly,
as though she were explaining something elementary and simple to
her, but which she doubted I would ever comprehend.
"It's something that comes with the trade," she expounded,
with just a slight trace of haughty resignation in her voice.
"At the Madame-So-Muscular Show in Cleveland a coupla years ago,
I had little groupie-guys by the handful, hovering like flies
outside my dressing room. Of course, I just hadda step out into
the hall after the show and give my faithful fans an eyeful of
what makes me so hot..."
She bit her lip, nodded at her huge right arm, and made it
come to life in angry, hot-blooded definition.
"Give 'em what they came for, right, JT?"
I nodded slowly, before we both fell into a brief silence.
She couldn't possibly know how crazy she was making me, did
she?
I licked my lips as my gaze fell from the stony calf to her
crotch, covered only by the tiny triangle of pink cloth. She put
a hand over that golden groin, but held it there for only a
second. She liked to be looked at, alright...
"And you felt the same way about Raye-Anne, didn't you...?"
"No, Sally, it's not like that...it's not...," I beseeched.
She closed her eyes again and nodded wisely. I got down off
the desk and scrambled to her side, knelt down beneath her, and
placed my palm on the mountain of bicep at rest on the arm of the
luxurious black leather chair. Another muscle to feel beneath my
hands, hard and unforgiving as my hand rested upon it like a sun-
bleached turtle resting upon a stony island.
"Yes, JT, it is," she declared, fixing the blue orbs on me
again.
In emotional moments like this, a very slight Latin accent
crept into her voice, and it did so now.
"But Sally," I offered plaintively, "I did all this for
you."
She jerked her head down at me quickly, as though about to
say something, then thought better of it. Half her mouth curved
into a sardonic smile and her thick arms folded across the naked
chest. Her lips curled into a tight-lipped smile of knowing
chagrin. She wasn't buying it...
"That, my faithful little assistant, is bullshit."
The word came out like 'bullsheet'....
"JT, be honest. You loved the whole sordid leettle
esperience, din you?"
I smiled slightly, naughtily, and then I blushed. There was
no use lying, and she knew it. Besides, her accent was sexy as
hell; as though she needed anything else to increase her
heartless desirability; it was like giving Marilyn Monroe a shot
of Spanish Fly and a Ph.d...
"Look at it this way, JT. You made seventy-five grand last
night for getting fucked senseless by a woman who'll haunt your
dreams for the rest of your life," she said, putting her hands
behind her head, and striking a coolly-confident pose of grandeur
above me. Her lats spread wide, like thick wings unfurling
before my eyes. Her bare breasts stood at attention, held
rigidly upright by the solid pounds of proud pectoral underneath.
Her nipples pointed at me like the barrels of two guns ready
to shoot. And she crossed the legs I'd kill for, an expanse of
buttock matter-of-factly revealed as the fuck-me heels rested
upon the battered, heel-marked mahogany.
The body language spoke of casual command; reclining and at
ease and wearing nothing but spiked heels, a g-string, and a
satisfied grin, majestically-muscled; while a small guy--her
acknowledged subordinate-- hungered for her like a maddened
slave.
Keep your eyes up, boy, I commanded myself; don't make
everything she was saying be proven by roving eyes and panting
breath...
"Nice work if you can get it, my lad. You never turned down
a good-looking girl of any kind in your life, have you?"
I had her there, or so I thought.
"Yes, I have so. I just turned...."
Oops..
"What was that, JT?"
I shook my head, looked away. Her eyes drifted about my
face and neck and her red painted lips pursed triumphantly, as
though she knew she had me now...
She swung her feet around, and leaned down to me, taking my
head in her hands, and kissed my forehead affectionately. As I
knelt upon the floor at her feet, every bit the servant-boy of
his muscular mistress, I could see in the mirror on the far wall
I saw that she had planted a perfect impression of her lips upon
me, red and blatant.
"Now you've got the lipstick of three different women on
you," she said with finality. It was as though that was the
definitive description of who and what I was to her.
And that wasn't fair.
"Yes," I offered weakly, "but I like having yours the
best..."
She was playing dirty. How could I give her an argument when
she was sitting there like that; her big-girl's broad build, with
it's molten muscle and big bared breast, competing with her
chiseled beauty for my attention...?
She put a finger to her open lips, tapping the shorn-and-
filed fingernail against a perfect row of dazzling white teeth.
She crossed her legs again, the folded leg kicking the air
lightly and repeatedly, as though keeping time as it's owner
pondered a predicament.
She was thinking, like a power-packed judge deciding the
fate of an underfed wrong-doer.
And thinking.
Minutes passed...
If only she would sentence me to six months in her bread,
dining on bread, water, and her...
I was transfixed by a power-packed calf until she had seen
the futility of thinking clearly with me so close to her bare
flesh; she ordered me back to the desk, and I sat on it's edge
again, like that afore-mentioned banished schoolboy with a crush
on Teacher.
God, how I wanted to suckle at her breast, tasting the
exotic forbidden flesh of her nipples, hold the grand glands in
my hands, before feeling her descend her excruciatingly-lovely
body down upon me, to take me and do with me as she damn well
pleased.
The street gave signs of reviving for another day; engines
grumbled, busses sang their diesel-fumed dirges; here and there a
voice was raised in greeting or complaint.
But up here in Ursula office, all was silent; except my
heart, that was beating hopeful and loud.
What did she have in mind?
After some little time, full of far-away glances and soul-
searching thought, she spoke...
"You've really been a good boy, though, haven't you, JT? I
mean it could have been dangerous for you, if I had fucked up
back at that Hallison woman's place, huh?"
"Yes, Sally, it could have. But that's what I was getting
paid for, right?," I asked.
"Yup," she said, cupping the hands behind her head again and
flexing her upper torso again; her big breasts did a little
jerking dance, as though an electric current was being turned on
and off, and they flopped and wiggled, rose and fell. Finally,
she held them in their place for a full half-minute; high on her
chest. This was something that both Raye-Anne and Maria had done
for me; I wondered if they had all taken the same class or
something!
"I'm really wicked, aren't I, JT?," she asked guiltily,
glancing down at the suspended bosom; her powerful pectorals held
them high on her chest all the while, commanded to defy gravity
by their owner's super-structure, in stark relief on her flex-
frozen frame.
Not even Raye-Anne could do that...!
"Here I give you this big shithouse speech about behaving
yourself and all, and then I go and give you a muscle-tease, just
like I did to the boys back in Cleveland. I'm just terrible,
huh?," she inquired, with a leer.
"Uh-uh, Sally. You're the best."
She beamed, almost nostalgic as she shook her head at my
comment made without hesitation, and she let the brown bosom
relax.
Her devoted assistant.
She seemed to weigh something in her mind again, measuring
the pros and cons of what she was debating within herself. She
swiveled in the squeaky leather chair, from side to side, again
tapping the white porcelain of her teeth.
There was a wicked smile growing and blooming on her long,
exotic face. I had seen this particular smile only seldom--
mostly when she was recovering from a particularly wild night
with Steve, her mind full of dirty little replays as her eyes
glazed over.
The only other time I'd seen it was a lifetime ago, or so it
seemed; it was when she greeted me back from my rainy trip to the
store by stretching out in the nude on my desk.
"Y'know, JT, that my benefits package isn't all that
great.."
She didn't have to tell me. I had this toothache...
"What I mean is, maybe there's something I could do for you.
Every once in awhile, of course--we wouldn't want to make a habit
of it. But it would go a long way to making you a better and
more clear-minded worker."
She brushed a still-erect nipple with her fingertips,
massaging it slowly and lightly.
"Like what?," I inquired, pulse quickening, but still unsure
of what she was driving at.
"Well, like for instance...You know what muscleworship is,
right?," she asked, laughing, before adding, "of course you do!"
"Yeah, sure Sally, but..."
What was going on?
She got up and began a sensual little walk over to me, the
way a Playboy Bunny is taught to walk, hips wiggling emphatically
with each slow, sensual, long-legged step.
God help me...
"Maybe I was too hard on you just now, JT," she said, as she
stood behind me now. I glanced to the mirror, where we stared at
each other's reflections.
The MuscleBossLady and her faithful, lipstick-stained,
spank-marked assistant, overwhelmed by her every move and
breathless with her every massive flex.
I saw her breasts lean into my back; I knew they were
coming, and so when the nipples made soft stabs into my flesh,
the breasts flattening themselves against me, I sighed and
shivered in delight.
Her hands massaged my narrow shoulders.
"I've been hard on you, JT. You're all tense. Naughty
Ursula, treating her faithful secretary so bad. If I'm not
careful, I'm gonna lose you..."
I swung around and looked up, and met the Pacific Basin
eyes, deep and almost-mystical with their vibrance.
"No, you won't Sally. I'm yours," I said, knowing that the
words I spoke meant two different things to each of us. For me
it was a declaration of devotion to her; my definitive woman, now
and always. But for the nearly-naked, pumped-up goddess above
me, it meant only that she'd never have to make her own coffee,
or learn to type.
My erection was at the ready, obvious and desperate for her
attention; unable to conceal it's owner's cravings for the
sculpture of flexing-female above him.
Her hands were on my thighs, and she pushed down so as to
make those muscular creatures under her skin come to life;
stretching the skin of her oaken arms.
"Yeah, JT," she said, looking down at me; she looked a
little sad.
"I guess you are, whether I like it or not. And maybe for
now on when you cum in my ladies' room, I'll watch and let you
get off real good..."
She locked her gaze on me, and reached for my hands with
hers.
She pulled me to my feet.
She bent down to me, her mouth open, painted, inviting, her
tongue at the ready; ready to scour my soul, just for fun.
And she kissed me hard and long.
My body shook with desire and excitement and I surrendered
to both her tongue as it voyaged through my mouth, licking and
exploring; and her arms as they hugged and pulled me close to her
naked flesh. I sighed and muffled a cry deep within my chest and
melted into her hard bare-skinned voluptuousness. Her breasts
were like illicit, thrilling pillows, and I wanted them near me
forever.
Her hands reached low, and I stood on tiptoe, the better to
aid her in her attempt to cup my battered behind in her hands.
The flesh was raw, still-stinging, but I didn't care. The feel of
her touch cured my punished flesh almost at once, as though by
magic; Ursula Parkheart, Muscular Magician and MiracleWorker.
Safe-cracking extra!
I felt my feet leave the floor, as the Amazonian
MuscleGoddess swept her diminutive assistant off his feet without
even realizing she was doing it. And I kissed her with all I had
to kiss with; and gave all I had left to give. My hands need not
be concerned with holding onto her; this powerful woman held me
securely, like a papoose in it's mother's sling. And so my hands
were free to go exploring, and ride the sharp, sexual slopes of
powerful ladymuscle, and feel the promise of puissance; her
might, her strength, her authority over her inferiors.
Like me.
"You're so big, 'Sally," I confessed, when we had come up
for air for just a moment. I could taste her lipstick,
transplanted by fervent hot kisses onto my own mouth, which now
went to a big breast like a hungry man who finds a ten-course
meal.
"There's no woman on earth bigger than you," I added through
a mouthful of hot sweet mammary as I licked and sucked upon it;
speaking like a childish fan who meets his heroine in the flesh.
Now it was her breasts that were covered in the lipstick-
traces; the red-painted etchings sent back to their owner
courtesy of my worshipful kisses.
She smiled.
My weary loins had sprung to life again, and, finding my
footing, I dry-humped the steely thigh she offered me for that
purpose like a maddened dissolute sex-drunk. But I didn't care
what I seemed like.
I was in heaven with my towering MuscleBossLady, her tongue
jammed down my throat, taking me in tree-trunk arms, making me
her lady-muscle slave, whenever, wherever she might please,
forever...
And I was loving it.
Until we heard a voice...
"Well, well, aren't we fuckin' popular?"
Through the open door of the inner office, we could see a
jacketed Raye-Anne Hallison standing in the hall doorway, hands
on hips and throwing a giant shadow full of smoldering hatred and
coiled muscle.
And she was not smiling.
As I looked from Ursula, in whose sinewy arms I still
resided like a frightened sparrow, to the angry blonde at the
door, I realized I had mis-spoken.
There was a woman bigger than my Bosslady.
And she was standing twelve feet away, and showed every
intention of moving closer, and soon...
She had come to take back what she felt was hers, and, I was
sure, was ready to fight to get it.
I wondered if I was on that list...?
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.:
The
Flexing Detective
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
by
Forrest Curran
(C) WIG, LTD 1994
Chapter Nine:
LadyMuscle Thunderheads!
She was burning with an anger kept under control only by the
same steel-willed discipline that had created her astounding
physique that flexed threateningly now, bigger-than-big and
bursting the seams of her coat as she stood in the doorway.
She was wearing a knee-length denim jacket open and
unbuttoned; a stretchy tube top beneath it, barely containing the
full-moon raging breasts that rose and fell with each heavily-
pronounced breath like an ocean's waves in a storm; and white
stretch pants that might as well have been painted on to her
breakneck curves.
The white high heels were in evidence again, too.
I wondered if they were the same pair, or if she stocked her
wardrobe closet with identical sets...
Her country-girl face was a grim lip-sticked war-mask,
features tight, hair a careless, pinned-back afterthought; I
flashed on a mental image of a Nashville Songstress who is
suddenly told by Music City Management that her fledgling career
is over, her plans for stardom shattered...
And my Bosslady was the one calling a halt to the concert...
Ursula released me and stepped between her secretary and the
giant blonde interloper, placing her equally-huge female monument
to over-development in front of me.
"So," the blonde sneered, extending two arms on the
doorframe as her coat fell back and revealed the harsh relief of
her chiseled rungs of brown abdomen, "he's got himself a great
big girlfriend, huh? Step aside, sister. I have something to
discuss with this little runt...," she asserted, rolling up her
sleeves now and stepping across the threshold, and passing
through my outer office in three long strides and onto the second
threshold, that divided my office from Ursula's room. It did not
appear that she was a women who could be reasoned with.
I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck as she stood now,
almost inside Ursula's office; like an earthquake of estrogen
ready to rumble, or...
An invader ready to attack.
"No, you don't," my protector responded, hands on her hips;
my eyes took a ride on the Aspen slopes of her body, and I wished
I could keep skiing until I was far away from here.
"He works for me, and if you have anything to say, you'll
say it to me, Ms. Hallison. And I had better like what I hear..."
I could not see the look on 'Sally's face; all I could see
was her naked broad back ripple commandingly under flowing black
hair, as she defended her turf.
And her cowering secretary, as he crouched behind her...
I watched the tiny string of her panty disappear down deep
between her perfectly round and haughty buttocks, still full of a
teenager's ability to defy gravity at an age when such testaments
to youth begin to fall earthwards, full of jello-wobble.
Not on Ursula!
"So," the blonde surmised, "you found out about my tastes
for small-fry-guys. That little shit Angela, huh?"
Ursula nodded, a barely perceptible movement of hair.
"And you sent your little hairless guy here to catch my
attention by the pool. I shoulda known she'd try something," she
sniped with contempt for the skinny and spoiled rich-girl.
"She didn't try anything, Ms. Hallison. We did," Ursula
corrected her, proud of her small operative, giving me credit.
Not for anything, but I sort of wished that she'd leave the
'we' part out of it now...!
"Yeah, and you almost succeeded. You put 'tiny' here on a
hook, like a little pale worm; knowin' I'd bite at the sight of
him. And maybe I did," she admitted, not embarassed in the least
to admit her rough-house ransacking of Ursula's small assistant.
"But I caught on before it was too late," she reminded us.
A momentary silence descended on the room; a pregnant pause,
as though these women were collecting their strength, stealing
themselves for a bare-knuckled big-babe brawl.
I was scared for Ursula. Up until yesterday evening, she
hadn't really been herself, had she?
"Give me the paper," was all Raye-Anne finally said,
quietly; holding out her hand and maintaining an even tone, but a
tone that all-the-same was a dam that held back white-water fury
only with great effort.
Ursula shook her head. She was as defiant as she was naked;
only her g-string covered any of her thick mountainous flesh; the
early sunlight worshipped her, in a gold puddle at her feet.
She held her arms at her side now, away from her body, and
so accentuating the width of her shoulders, and her wonderful
back continued to tense; muscle rose up close to the surface of
her skin, as though swelling herself up to an even bigger, more
intimidating size. With an adversary like Raye-Anne
Hallison, she would need it...
"Uh-uh," she denied her. "You got that thing under false
circumstances. In this case, two wrongs do make a right," she
asserted gently, matching her visitor's even tone of voice.
"I was hired to retrieve it, and my assistant distracted you
just long enough to do it...", she proclaimed, with just a bit of
pride at the bed-sheet bait-and-switch we had pulled together.
Raye-Anne raised an eyebrow; shot me with an arrow from
hateful smoldering eyes.
"Illegal circumstances? That so? I don't agree. The stupid
bitch signed everything over to me, and it's mine. Plain and
simple," she shrugged, taking another step over the threshold of
the office now, and into Ursula's domain; less than eight feet
away...
"And let me tell you something else, lady," she said, her
voice rising now, "your little slut-mouse-of-an-assistant and me
have a few things to discuss. Nobody fucks with Raye-Raye
Hallison. Not nobody. Not ever," she pronounced, speaking those
words like a death sentence upon my spinning head.
She leaned sideways, to see me clearly as I stood behind
Ursula, shrinking nervously and shaking with fear, trying to back
up until I was out the window, and a thousand miles from town...
She gave me a tiny little wave with her taloned fingers,
very slowly, smiling grimly; letting me know that she planned to
deal with me later. She turned back to meet dark-skinned
defiance from the rock-of-a-woman who stood between us, and
inhaled very deeply.
A power was building, sinews fighting internal restraint as
our invader built up to a She-Hulk Overload; cloaked muscle ready
to make itself seen, and felt...
I swallowed hard, closed my eyes for a brief second.
Nothing happened. I opened them to see...
Her large hand rummaging in her pocket?
And she produced the small African-Art animal from the
interior of her coat; the one that had been the signal for
Ursula's successful completion of her job.
"You left my Harry-Hippo turned around," she growled,
glancing at it as she held it high.
"That was how I got suspicious. I may not look the part,
but I keep a neat house," she contended with a touch of pride,
"and I know that my little hippo was facing the other way when we
went upstairs," she asserted, her voice just for a second taking
on a little girl's pouting tones at the mention of one of her
toy-dolls...
But it was gone again, when next she spoke...
"A lady cop comes looking for her little husband whose head
got turned, huh? Bullshit!," she spat.
"I knew something was up. As soon as your little boy here
left with that 'cop' or whatever she was, I went to my safe.
Congratulations, lady. You did a good job. That's a tough safe
to find, let alone crack..."
Ursula nodded to her, and in the reflection of the marbled
glass I saw the bare bosom jiggling slightly with the movement.
"Thanks. I'm a pro, Ms. Hallison. When I get hired to do
something, I get it done. It's that simple."
Oh, yeah, I thought; Ursula was back...!
"And as far as finding your safe? I could see where it was
hiding the second I stepped inside your home. It's quite a common
choice, really. You'd be surprised how people think alike."
"Uh-huh," the blonde verified, resenting the implication
that her mind was any less a singularity than her body; but the
woman before her was proving things otherwise.
"I hopped in my car and followed your boy here. Don't look
now, lady, but he's two-timing both of us. I saw him all over
that blonde in the leather jacket who saved his ass from my
branding iron; they were gettin' along real nice 'n cozy. That
is, until he pissed her off," she said, wagging a disapproving
finger at me...
"She threw him out of the car, and over her knee, too.
Must've done something to tick her off. Boy, you sure have a way
of makin' ladies angry, churchmouse," she contended, leaning over
to get a clear look at me again, her voice full of foreboding.
Suddenly, my rear end, whose pain had dulled, perhaps in the
distraction of my encounter with Ursula, began a painful
pulsation; I could almost feel Maria's handprints burning deep in
my flesh, pounding. Maybe I was dreading and anticipating
more...
"When I saw him go in here, I realized what was going on.
That blonde wasn't your wife, was she, little man?" she asked me.
I pretended I didn't hear...
"You have a little reputation in the bodybuilding community,
lady, and I knew you kept an office here," Raye-Anne continued.
"Remember that piece they did on you in "Musclemag"? I can
put two and two together, just like you can. So here I am. And
I.. want...Those....DOCUMENTS.....BACK!," she bellowed, clenching
her teeth to spit out those last few words like hot poison...
"No," Ursula said, shaking her head and bracing for trouble.
I angled my way back to her desk; where she kept her gun.
"No way," came Raye-Anne's voice at me. She reached into
another pocket and produced a small gleaming pistol. In her
sturdy arm, it's power diminished just a bit; the gun looked too
small and lady-like for someone so large and over-the-top as she.
But it was deadly all the same.
"Freeze, pipsqueak," she ordered, turning it's nuzzle upon
me. I obeyed. Bullets can hurt even worse than bulging biceps.
"Get over here," she snarled at me, keeping her gaze steady
and hard on Ursula. She seemed be appraising her all-but-naked
body, as though trying to figure out if she could handle her
if things got physical, surveiling the Perfect Woman's physique
for any flaws or weaknesses.
She would not find any...
All the while, she kept a firm grip on her gun, her thick
forearm bared by the rolled-up sleeve..
I obeyed again, and walked over to her fearfully, dread
falling over me like a shroud.
"Still wearing that little speedo, huh, boy?," she sneered,
grabbing me by the arm and pulling me at her. I slammed, quite
involuntarily, into the Rocky Mountain that was her voluptuous
body; and lost my breath in the process.
She spun me around and, bending down, locked a tree trunk of
an arm around my neck, squeezing just hard enough to make me
understand that any attempt at resistance would mean my death.
My upper back was pressed hard against her breasts, but they
offered me no comfort.
Her flesh was cool and hard, and I could see the look of
concern in Ursula's eyes that met my own and tried to soothe me.
MuscleBossLady would handle this, wouldn't she?
I hoped, gulping audibly.
"Don't worry, JT. I'll protect you," she seemed to be
saying wordlessly, as she struck a powerful pose--hands at a
waist sculpted by thousands of slant-board crunches and whittled
to nothing; her hands reaching almost-clear around them; wide-
wide shoulders coming into play, mountains rising from under the
flesh, staying uncovered; bare molten boulders of flesh bared,
the better to impress her challenger...
"Okay, Lady Dick, hand over that paper or you can put an ad
in the papers tomorrow looking for a new assistant...."
The pressure of her arm around my neck increased, and I
began to redden and choke.
Ursula made a quick one-step move at Raye-Anne, but thought
better of it as I let out a small yelp as oxygen vanished from my
lungs and my windpipe began to collapse.
She froze in her high-heeled tracks.
Resigned, her beautiful face betraying defeat despite her
iron will to protect me, she reached into the desk.
Would she get the gun...?
"Hold it," Raye-Anne yelled, in anticipation of a trick.
Ursula froze again, under orders...
Raye-Anne cocked the gun and held it to my temple.
"Try anything funny, lady, and your little boyfriend's
history. I don't think you want to take that chance. Do you?"
Slowly, looking down, Ursula closed the drawer, opened
another; and, hesitantly, removed the papers. She placed them on
the desk, her Amazon's thick body suddenly impotent in the
gunsight of the little automatic.
"Push it to me on the floor," Raye-Anne growled, "then step
back to the window," she ordered.
The white sheets of legalese came across to us in a smooth
slide over the wood floor.
"Pick it up, littledick," she ordered me.
Another of her orders was carried out by Ursula & Co, Inc.
I was the "Inc."
Bare-skinned and beaten, Ursula had no choice but to obey.
My heart was beating a hard and fast marimba in my chest,
and blood rushed through my ears loud and clear, almost
deafening.
"Put these on, slaveboy," she ordered, producing a pair of
black metal handcuffs. "You're gonna get cuffed to me, just like
in the movies. I'm gonna take you someplace, and show you what
happens to little wimps who fuck around with big bad Raye-Anne,
get me? Oh, and by the way, my branding iron is out in my car,
and it's still hot. You're little ass is in for some treat,
Junior..."
As per her command, I locked my wrist with the cuffs, and
she did the same with the other end.
We were chained together; and I knew I was in hellish
trouble. I tried to avoid the stare of angry blue topaz that was
burning a hate-filled hole in my head; I kept my eyes downcast,
in defeat, helpless in the hands of a six-and-a-half-foot tall
steaming cauldron of sheer malevolence twice my weight, who
clasped her little hippo in her hand like a child with her
favorite toy; but who was full of electro-charged muscle and a
burning desire to make me suffer...
Ursula, powerless for the first time since I had known her,
stood with her huge arms folded in anger and frustration across
her bare chest, distorting her big breasts as they were pressed
flat under all that muscle; nipples peaking out the slits of her
fingers like a second set of prying red eyes trying to catch a
peak at the proceedings through fleshy venetian blinds.
"You're not leaving the building with him," she said
finally, emotion breaking into the cool river of her voice.
Raye-Anne cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, yeah, lady? Just watch me. Don't try to follow us...,"
she ordered, holding her gun high, right at Ursula's heart.
And we began backing out of the office. It was useless to
try to oppose her; she could carry me as easily as breathe...
I found myself wishing and hoping for a natural cataclysm to
strike, a tornado, an earthquake; anything but this stacked
hurricane of blonde muscle named Raye-Anne Hallison...
We stepped out into the dead-still tomb of the dark hallway,
and Raye-Anne shut the door. I watched my g-stringed
MuscleBossLady disappear behind it, like a curtain closing and
calling an end to that part of my life, for good.
The hard blue eyes of the Amazon turned upon me, and seemed
to lift me roughly yet easily, and pin me against the wall by
themselves, in the shadows of the deserted hallway. There was no
air to breathe.
But that may have been because I was too scared to inhale.
"You blew it, Skinny Boy," she pronounced, her hot breath
billowing in my pale-white frightened face as she held me aloft
with one hand grabbing my swimsuit by the top. I was pinned like
a helpless moth on a bug-nut's board, just like in that movie...
I started to wonder if the infamous Hannibal Lecter was any
relation to the Hallisons of Pennsylvania...
"Too bad, too. You coulda been around for awhile, if you'd a
just been a little bit smarter. I like havin' guys like you
hangin' on my bod 'n livin' to please me; the sex sucks, but the
worship's great; I think it's better than havin' a dog...," she
snarled, promising brutality from an unrelenting hand.
I was terrified; no way to talk my way out of it. My feet
dangled high off the floor, and the heat of her body was
palpable, like a demon again; maybe I was in hell for real this
time...
Holding me in place with her massive bodyweight, my arms and
legs gone limp, she produced the little animal again, holding it
up right in front of my face.
"Harry the Hippo thinks you did a real bad thing, mouse.
You made his friend Raye-Raye mad. You hurt her feelings, too.
And when Raye-Raye's feelin's are hurt, so are Harry's. So you
better apologize..."
I tried to make my brain and my mouth work together long
enough to form the words; I was fighting a fearfilled urge to
pass out.
Be strong, whatever happens, I told myself; for Ursula...
"I'm sorry, big Raye-Raye," I offered meekly, "I was only
doing my job. That big lady inside does...does bad things to me
if I don't do what she tells me to do," I melted, lying weakly;
choking softly, worshipfully, breathlessly, trying to sound
child-like but sexy at the same time, like some strange post-op
Jennifer Tilly sniffing back crocodile tears to get what she
wants.
Don't laugh, gentle reader. At that point I was so scared I
would've even worn the little red dress that the silly Ms. Tilly
bounced and bopped around in, attributes spilling out and never-
quite-wearing-it, in the movie "Let It Ride", if I thought it
might've helped save my mortally-endangered skin!
And I would have lowered my head and pouted with big-eyed
innocence, but I was too scared to move my head, and I didn't
think she'd buy it anyway...
She didn't...
"Bullshit!, she spat, "you're on salary, Bikini-Boy.
Besides, I don't want to hear your apology, you little asshole;
your'e gonna be doing penance to your goddess for a long time to
come, to show me how sorry you are for your sins. But right now,
I want you to apologize to Harry Hippo," she said, as though
disappointed that I didn't understand, but meaning every word.
And I did apologize to him, feeling more ridiculous
executing that simple order, however weird, than I had even in my
puppet-jiggle on her knee amidst the silk and the empty jaded
glares of her dolls.
She made the wooden replication of a roaring hippo do a
little dance of joy on my shoulder; satisfied at last, she
dropped it in her pocket again.
A girl-woman satisfied.
"There's a boat waiting at the dock. We're taking a ride,
and you're gonna learn how dangerous it can be to cross me.
You're gonna be my li'l slave, honey," she growled, all blue-
denimed business again...
I tried to guess at the possibility that the boat was
Maria's, and that I was in for some stereophonic abuse at the
hands of both women. No way, I knew; not even I was that unlucky,
was I?
"There's gonna be whippings and brandings and spankings, and
you're gonna thank me for every one of them, understand? And if
you do anything I don't approve of," she threatened, her large
hand reaching down inside the waistband of my briefs again,
finding my shrunken testicles and grabbing them tightly as she
continued to lean against me, "you can kiss these little cherries
g'bye. I'll rip 'em right off you, and make you eat 'em for lunch
with lots of ketchup. You wouldn't like that, wouldja?"
"N-No, Raye-Raye," I stammered, averting my eyes.
Her mid-section was pulsating with anger, as it pressed hard
against my own much-softer belly; as though her muscles had to
forcibly hold themselves back from erupting and taking out their
wrath upon me, right here, right now.
"Don't ever call me that again, slave. I will be addressed
as 'Ma'am' for now on..."
Just like Maria. The word was going to become part of my
vocabulary, if I lived through this morning! I was to learn that
this was something that muscular women loved to be called...
"This big bod's gonna keep you in a dirty little hell--
permanently. Just think how cute your ass-cheeks are gonna look
with your hot Aunt Raye-Raye's initials on 'em, nephew,!" she
continued, her stunning, heartlessly-big body backing up her
threats. Her stare was icy and molten all at the same time.
"We'll be takin' care of that real soon," she promised.
"That way if you ever get lost, why, they'll know just where to
return you, right, little man,?" she asked, derisively. Her anger
seemed ready to explode as she held her forearm across my chest,
keeping me pinned to the wall.
Before I could respond, she released me, and I dropped to a
pair of shaky feet. She took hold of my trembling arm, and
started moving faster than my feet could function; dragging me as
though I was a drunken doll, to the doorway that led to the
stairs. But the heavy metal door was locked!
Raye-Anne howled in fiery frustration, and sprinted with me
for the elevators.
My bare feet never touched the ground.
There was an "Out of Order" sign on the double doors.
"What's your bitch-of-a-boss trying to pull, Small Stuff?,"
the blonde giantess raged, breathing fire through clenched teeth.
A thick vein suddenly pulsed prominently in her temple; she shook
my hand-cuffed wrist high, tethered and locked to her own, and to
whatever hard-muscled fate awaited. My shoulder screamed a fiery
rebellion, and I winced with the pain as the sharp metal dug into
my wrist; bruises forming...
"I-I don't know, ma'am, I promise," I quaked, weakly.
I was shaking; swallowing panic, inhaling the scent of my
own fright, high and sharp, pungent on my skin; humbled by her
vast angry body as it towered above a frightened mannequin-man.
She was mad beyond all reason now, very possibly in more ways
than one.
I could only pray she would show me mercy if Ursula was
unable to extricate me from this dreadful circumstance...
Back to the office now, towing me all the way, my feet
dragging across the floor as their owner jerked me about, like a
puppet again in her powerful dominion; unable to find my balance
as the Blonde Hurricane raced along, infuriated now; grumbling
with anger and ready to explode as she devoured the floor before
her with each step.
Which was just what my Big Bosslady had bargained for...
Ursula was nowhere to be seen as Raye-Anne burst, no;
exploded into the office. Then I heard a familiar clicking
sound...
Ursula had always taught me that in a situation like this,
hit the deck; that way you denied your captor the easy target.
I did.
An exotic piece of womanhood appeared from behind us, with
the cocked gun right at the back of the blonde head. It was a
big black cannon of a .44 that looked powerful enough to stop a
battleship at full steam; I had never seen it before...
She had thrown on her trenchcoat and looked magnificent;
brown breast and hard washboard abs showed through the canvas
curtains of the coat.
"Drop it," Ursula demanded.
"I'll shoot him," Raye-Anne said, glancing down at me as she
threw that barricade of an arm across my neck.
"And then I'll shoot you, Ms. Hallison. Where will that
leave us? I'll need a new assistant, and Angela Sternwood will
need a new partner. What good is that?," she contended, a
soothing tone coming into her voice, trying to disarm the
blonde's volatile condition. The tone spoke of calm control, and
a sisterhood of the silken bicep; and I felt a sense of relief
and deliverance from my branded-behind future that had loomed so
clearly in my vision...
Raye-Anne surrendered the gun with a disgusted sigh, and
lowered her arm from my neck.
I dove to her feet and grabbed for the brilliant metal
death.
Emboldened, and under the unblinking eye of Ursula's rocket-
launcher of a weapon, I searched her coat pocket for the key to
give me my freedom from the fate that had been awaiting me; and
produced it, slipped it into the cuffs, ignoring the dead-meat
glare of those frozen-arctic eyes.
The metal bracelet fell away, and I sat on the floor,
rubbing my wrists between the two hard-bodied brooding
giantesses, full of pose-down fever in their faces.
I felt like a man repreived from death row.
"The documents," Ursula said, pointing the gun.
Frowning, Raye-Anne dug a clawed hand into the inner breast
pocket of her coat.
When she produced her hand again, it was a flying blur.
She hit Ursula hard and fast on the chin. A strange grunting
noise issued from deep in her stomach as the sound of bone
meeting bone made a sickening crunch, and sent her reeling; the
gun took flight, too, across the room, out of sight, to parts
unknown in the casual cluttered disarray of the Flexing
Detective's office.
I rolled and backed away, fumbling with the appropriated
pistol as I did. Raye-Anne would want it back, and I had to make
sure that she didn't get it.
Ursula leapt to her feet like an angry wildcat before Raye-
Anne could capitalize, and charged, her calves launching her like
a rocket; she locked her mighty arms around Raye-Anne Hallison
with murderous intent in her eyes; glittering diamonds afire.
The battle was on.
I stood and carefully took aim as the two huge ladies locked
themselves up in mortal combat. As they jockeyed for advantage,
trying to pivot their massive physiques, and so gain the
advantage of superior stance, Raye-Anne's jacket began to shred
in the struggle. The old denim long ago worn thin, seams
unravelling in Ursula's strong hands; it now fell, as though on
cue, from the blonde's huge brown body, a piece at a time at
first, until it was merely a patchwork collage of soft worn blue
amidst their shining high-heels as they danced in big-babe-
battle.
Harry the Hippo tumbled out, and spun his way to my feet, as
though seeking refuge from the coming she-muscle storm.
It was hard to get a bead on the ferocious brute-of-a-
blonde, in whose bed I had moaned and worshipped and passed out
just hours ago. It seemed wrong to shoot her now, but when I saw
my Bosslady in trouble...
It was a strange feeling; seeing the two powerfully-built
women fighting, femme a femme, while I stood on and watched, like
the flirt who starts a battle but whose hairdo stays neat..
Even though it was in the line of duty, (for a legal
document worth millions to Raye-Anne, and a healthy paycheck for
Ursula and me), it all seemed like some bizarre '90's twist---
I was being fought over.
Wasn't I?
They were both hugely-muscled, show-stopper showgirls; the
blonde behemoth and the raven-haired ravager of my heart, their
bold attributes spilling out, both combatants too angry to care.
The two lady goliaths careened towards me even as Ursula's
coat now fell loose from her body, and went the way of the denim
jacket of her opponent--Raye-Anne had demolished it with a pull
as they swore at one another, spitting threats; and it lay on the
floor in tatters, mingling with the destroyed denim.
The massive ladies were at it now, trying to get a grasping
hold of each other's scuffling superstructures, flesh crack-
slapping against flesh, echoing through the small room; and they
now stumbled in each other's arms in a simultaneous take-down,
overturning furniture in loud crashes, until they fell across the
room, and into me.
I went down quickly under their collosal-chick body-check,
the gun flying free, sailing across the room.
It vanished; falling out the window like a little silver
bird, to the ground below.
I heard it discharge as it hit the empty pavement.
I groaned in anguish, and rolled away again, quickly, to
avoid being crushed by over five hundred pounds of big angry
naked women as they reeled in each other's grasp on the floor.
Their long manes mixed, ebony and gold tresses intertwining;
their limbs locking and writhing, almost as if they had become
one muscular science experiment gone awry; at war with itself and
it's own thick pulsing flesh.
More groans and curses were exchanged, like an enemy's
ardent vow, a promise to hate forever.
The two muscleladies pushed against each other; one could
not overpower the other, and so, using each other's weight for
leverage, somehow fought their way to their feet, giant calves
bulging; and locked huge arms around each other again, sinews
flexing wickedly as each tried to establish a stranglehold.
Their faces contorted with the effort of battle; and as they
wrestled, steel snakes appeared and disappeared beneath the
browned skin of their forms; thick muscles coming into play as
though inhaling on their own, demanding the fuel to power this
Ultimate Catfight.
Ursula reached under Raye-Anne's chin and pushed her head
back hard; she stumbled backwards, and the blonde's skull slammed
against the dividing wall between our two offices.
The glass partition cracked sharply into a spiderweb...
Ursula pounced...
The tube top tore, clasped tightly in 'Sally's other hand;
Raye-Anne's huge boobs made their escape to freedom, and dark
soccer-balls fell heavily, magnificently, on her chest, exposed.
The big nipples were hard, jutting, purple-red with adrenal
rush...
Ursula grabbed one of the huge glands in her hand and
twisted, and the blonde's face contorted with pain.
In the quiet morning air, in an all-but-deserted building,
the She-Brawn Bout was now firing on all thrusters, burning
anything or anyone who stood too near to their hot-blooded rage.
I had to admit--it was magnificent. Hadn't my Bosslady been
offered a contract to be a pro wrestler? Boy, she would've been
great, too; unbeatable, hot, a dominion of daunting delt and
full-breasted female splendor.
And I would have had a front-row seat every night, to cheer
her on!
But suddenly, Ursula was doubling over in a mad swirl of her
own hair; Raye-Anne had sucker-punched her below the belt, and
now followed-up; incapacitating Bosslady with another shot to the
kidneys. Her hands went to her injury, exposing herself to more
attacks...
Sometimes a moment can last a long time...
Ursula's handprint was red and clear on the right breast of
the big bad blonde who now had her chance...
She grabbed her doubled-up dark-haired foe by her strong
chin with one hand, and maneuvered another under an arm-pit;
lifted her until she began, incredibly, to leave the floor; her
high heels dangled several inches off the hardwood, the shiny,
almost-lethal spikes of her shoes hovering impotently under the
diamond-hardness that was her heart-shaped calves...
The sun, momentarily blocked by a dark and angry cloud,
shone through now, throwing a sudden spotlight upon this
Hippolytian feat of strength, as though to call it, and the
battled that had produced it, to the attention of the natural
world.
There was a saying: Never fight with a crazy person; they
have strength that comes from places and parts unknown, as though
the same demon that drives them mad also fuels them with power
immeasurable. If Raye-Anne was indeed mad, Ursula was in trouble
now, and she might need help...
Raye-Anne was holding MuscleBossLady suspended in the air,
overhead; gold hair had fallen freely, wildly, from their captive
pins, and down about her tank-tough shoulders. The huge sinews
of her arms flexed and strained and shook with the effort, but
showed no signs of tiring, and her narrow waist trembled with
exertion, in a blur...
Still stunned by the vicious shot to her kidneys, Ursula
could not respond; her hair fell like a black shroud across her
pain-strickened face even as she struggled overhead.
For just a moment I stood in stark admiration for Raye-Anne
and her fantastically thick-muscled glory; every ounce of her
strength was at work now, as she sought to vanquish her opponent.
And my love.
The stretch pants could not stretch enough; the added weight
of the big lady detective on the blonde's quads forced the pants
to surrender; and they began splitting, tearing the white cloth
to tatters in a long, sick rrrriiiiipp!
Sun-browned sculpted oak became exposed as the torn material
fell from her legs in shreds, ignored as they joined the growing
pool of conquered garment on the office floor. She had neglected
to don panties when she had left her humble home, to do battle
with the lady-detective, and so now, hard round glutes popped
into view, as did the trim pubic bush that lightly camouflaged
the hot wet trap that was her vagina.
There was not a single tan line upon her body; not one. Her
naturally-fair Nordic skin was nearly as sun-darkened as my
boss's own.
And so she was naked, and, I had to admit, glorious; the
wild flying hair, flexing muscles, and ready-for-anything breasts
that never quit. Architectural splendor and sultry sex were
meeting and merging and challenging for dominion between the two
women.
It was as if they were both meant to be this way...
If only Ursula could get her second wind...!
I dove for the denim jacket and huddled in the corner with
it, taking the documents out of the pocket and folding them
carefully. I tucked them into the skimpy confines of my emerald
green swimsuit, enhancing an erection that was, I admit,
sprouting amidst the naked chaos of the swelling scene.
My eyes fell on Ursula's empty stretch-dress as it lay
across her seat. I hoped it's owner would live to don the clingy
outfit again. I had to do something!
Wasn't there another gun in her desk, somewhere? The
smallish .22 she had been cleaning and loading when I came in?
Raye-Anne's nipples were still hard with the excitement of
battle; they stood erect and red on the huge round breasts like
beacons sounding a battle alert. Buttocks tensed under the pussy-
payload she carried, and was about to launch...
To my horror, she began walking towards the window with My
Large Ladylove, who still could not muster a rally; she was
groaning and swinging at air, unable to overcome the crushing
kidney-blow or the deathgrip of the huge blonde woman who held
her overhead, with both arms...
Raye-Anne's stomach was a flat and unforgiving battleplate
of runged muscle that moved with each breath as though there was
a vicious little creature living inside.
"Hope you can fly, bitch," Raye-Anne grunted wickedly
through clenched teeth, "'cause you're goin' out this window in
just a sec. Then I'm taking your little boyfriend with me for a
long, long time. He's gonna be my shivering little slave for the
rest of his life, aren't you, mouse?"
She stood, with Ursula in her impossible arms, at the open
window; and got ready to heave her to her death.
I couldn't let it end like this, especially not now, when
the salvation of her hardbody had been, finally, minutes ago, in
my small hands. But I couldn't get near enough to her desk to
look for that firearm.
My eyes scoured the floor--
Where was that other gun; the black .44 that had been
knocked from her hand?
Desperation can give you courage that you didn't know you
had.
I was desperate, so I had courage...
I was an early cut from my high-school football team, and
spent most of my time managing the equipment for the girls'
basketball team. Even then, I wanted to be around Amazons...
But I remembered the one thing I did learn from my attempts
at athleticism. I knew how to throw my body as a human blockade,
and sacrifice a few minutes of steady breathing in exchange for
stopping a runner. It wasn't about size at all, you see.
It was about...
Knees, and the vulnerability thereof...
Steeling myself, I dove straight for Raye-Anne Hallison's
patellas with all the might that I could muster in my one-
hundred-and-forty-pounds.
For a moment, I thought I would bounce off the powerful legs
like so much flotsam, and I was almost right. For such was the
power of the massively-built blonde goddess that all my
bodyweight had managed to accomplish was to knock her momentarily
off-balance, and buy Ursula a few second's respite.
But it would be all she would need...
Her balance was upset; and I looked up, with cross-eyes from
the bludgeoned impact, to see Raye-Anne teetering and cursing in
anger. She lost her steady hold on my Bosslady overhead; she had
been ready to hurl her to her doom, but Ursula, now fully on top
of the situation, grabbed a hold of the window-frame with sure,
strong arms; her thick upper body going to work now, her brain
commanding stunning she-muscle to life, Gibraltar Biceps
inhaling, taking over, as her legs locked a scissor around the
blonde's thick neck.
She squeezed, her calves and quads pulsing, unforgiving and
unrelenting, and brought a purplish pallor to the sunbronzed
complexion of her opponent, who even now was beginning to buckle
at the knees, and sink to the floor; two giantesses, bare flesh
abounding, but not yet through with each other...
Ursula, who had only a second ago been mere inches from
terrible death, was in charge now, suspending herself from above,
her face a determined screw, her grip sure upon the window-frame
as her physique inflated majestically, prominent corded veins
rushing life-giving oxygen to meet the demands of muscle-
mountains as she continued a relentless attack with a pair of
deadly gams.
Sweat was pouring off their perfect, huge bodies in little
drops, running off breasts and down high-heeled legs to a growing
pool below them...
But such was the fearsome singularity of her grip that she
was unable to free herself from her own vise-like hold on the
blonde, who, moments later, found herself slipping in that same
puddle-pool; and after a moment's struggle with her own internal
equilibrium, they went down in a thudding crash...
I heard skulls hit the floor as I frantically scoured the
room for the other gun. What I didn't know was that Ursula was
out cold for the moment, and Raye-Anne's youth had given her the
upper hand. She was upright in seconds, and reached down for a
handful of dark hair.
Like a primal cavewoman in spiked heels, the naked lady
bodybuilder had grabbed a tangled clump of raven silk, tugged it
sharply as though to test it's tensile strength, and began
dragging it's owner towards the bathroom. Ursula, still stunned,
offered only lame little kicks in protest to this prehistoric
treatment.
Her perfect bottom dragged across the dirty floor, and it
picked up dust and scuffmarks as it skidded towards it's fate...
They were heading into the bathroom, alright.
But why?
I thought incongruously of the old joke about women never
going to the powder room alone, as I watched, through the open
doorway, a pair of green and struggling high heels disappear with
a groan, around the corner.
I ran to the desk, yanked and slammed drawers open and
closed in a frantic search for a glimpse of bright metal; I began
rummaging through a slum of torn paper and old bills; she had
always refused to let me clean the disastrous interior of the
desk; a fifty-car collison of refuse and stale perfume...
Dammit, 'Sally!
But wait...
What were they doing in there?
Raye-Anne's huge brown bulky arm would flex as she pushed
Ursula's head down; I couldn't see from where I was standing, but
very quickly I knew exactly what she was trying to do.
Ursula's half-conscious head had been dunked into the very
same toilet in which I had spasmed and shot my not-so-silent
Monday Morning Adoration to my bosslady. And Raye-Anne had
pinned her body down, arms behind her, so that she could not-so-
much as muster a rally; and so ensure a quick finish to the
Flexing Detective.
Raye-Raye, evil muscles grown to full size, throbbing
and stating their flesh-and-blood mastery of the situation,
pulled the handle and laughed a brutal laugh.
In the drawer I caught a glimpse of slim metal buried under
a vesuvius of old papers and fresh tampons; snatched the small
coolness up, ran to the bathroom doorway, and pointed it.
"Hold it, Ms. Hallison!," I ordered in a shaking voice, not
sure for a second what to call her...
She turned to regard me with eyes brimming with amusement,
even as she wrestled with Ursula's blindly-flailing wrist that
had, for a moment, broken free; she caught it, placed it in her
armpit and clamped down hard and tight.
Now she really laughed.
"Let Ursula go!," I commanded, trying to sound in charge,
and lowering my voice half-an-octave, "do you hear me?"
She laughed at my James-Earl-Jones impression, and lowered
her own voice to a gravelly mock-bass...
"Whatcha gonna do with that, Bikini Boy? Staple my tits
together?", she bellowed from an endless fathom.
She roared and went about the business of watery murder.
I looked down to my hand, and saw that, in my desperate
haste, what I had found was not a gun, but a Swingline Super-
Deluxe Stapler; the one I had given my boss for Christmas last
year, engraved with this message:
"To Ursula,
With All My Love Forever,
JT...
When her fiance had found out about it, he wanted to beat me
up, but Ursula had laughed it off; "He's just a cute kid with a
crush on me," she had soothed her stallion, oozing her open-
legged compliance to him on the telephone as I poured her
freshly-made protein drink and shrank into the floor.
Alot of good my love had done for her, anway...
I threw the thing down in frustration, made another abortive
attempt to find the fucking .22! And where-oh-where was that
missing .44? Unarmed in a room full of lost firepower, within a
second's grasp but a light-year from my hand, I started another
last-second herky-jerky search...
I heard the water churn loudly and rise high in the bowl,
and Ursula gurgled and spluttered desperately for air.
There was a foreign element to the sound she was making.
I had heard it once before in my life; it was a call of
death, approaching fast; merging with her struggle to live, and
beginning to overtake it...
Automatically, desperately, I made a start for the Amazons.
I had no idea what difference I would make by confronting
the towering blonde inferno bare-handed; she could swat me like a
fly and pluck my wings with her teeth, in leisure.
But at least I would be with Ursula, and meet death side-by-
side with my beautiful bosslady...
I watched as she called upon some final strength; her head
escaped and emerged just above the frigid water, dripping,
gasping; her effort falling short of what would be needed to
break free of the death-hold that was upon her. She turned her
water-logged gaze to the doorway for just a moment; her face a
canvas full of pained exhaustion, pleading for help with eyes
that were losing their light...
"Don't even think about it, Smallstuff. Don't even think
about it," Raye-Anne barked at one of us; her once-beautiful face
was now contorted to an ugly mask, full of rage and fury and
battle; perverted with hatred.
With that, she shoved the shivering mass of dark tangles
back into the toilet; a sick frantic splashing filling the room.
She pointed at me as I stood, very near the doorway again,
only a long, long yard from my Love and watching her ever-
weakening efforts to stay alive begin to ebb and die; but the
crazed abundance of the muscles in Raye-Anne's thick arm were
tensed and taut and terrifying; denying me access like a brown
barricade of solid, pulsing-veined flesh; and at that moment, I
was sure she was a supernatural creature after all, because my
feet froze to the floor like glue.
"As soon as I take care of this bitch, I'm gonna be takin'
you back with me to teach you a few things about the life of a
slave," she confirmed, above the sound of Ursula's watery groans.
"I own you, little man, and I intend to get some use out
of you," she promised, blowing me a cruel perversion of a kiss
with pink-painted lips, before turning back to her big victim for
just a second, to take stock of the progress of her dark-haired
counterpart's slow drowning...
She flexed the giant arm again, an arm whose bold size even
surpassed Ursula's. The bicep sprung to vulgar, omnivorous size,
and scared the hell out of me as much as it filled me with
confused lust...
"See this? This is gonna be your jailer for now on, buddy.
You're gonna worship me for a long, long time, Baby-Wimps..."
I wanted to say something; to beseech her to take me, but to
please spare Ursula! But I could not find the words, horror
overtaking my ability to talk, or think...
There was no mercy in Raye-Anne now. Not relinquishing her
unbreakable hold for a second, she leaned down to the g-string of
the dying woman, the cloth stained with water and soiled with
sweat; and tore it off with little sharp white teeth that would
leave a tell-tale bite-mark on the taut behind.
She stood up, spitting it at me.
I caught it, held the sweet damp thing close, smelled
Ursula; smelled death; prayed.
Raye-Anne had traveling orders for her beaten opponent...
"Meet Mr. Death naked, like the slut you are, bitch. Maybe
he'll like what he sees and fuck you with his big cock all the
way to hell!," she shrieked from a pit of madness.
She flushed again, Ursula gurgling frantically, choking, her
arm free again and flailing feebly at the dead dry air as water
poured over the porcelain rim and onto the floor, and the body of
the woman I loved. Her muscle was mere embroidery now, a pretty
suit of armor that could not protect her lungs from the assault;
the torment of the watery swirling toilet whose overflow now
formed a growing pool on the bathroom floor.
What a horrible fate!
Drowning in her own toilet at the hands of her flexing and
laughing enemy, while I stood idly by, staring at the hugely
roped arm that belonged to an evil, and quite possibly insane,
sun-browned blonde goddess; like a lovesick, weak-kneed flex-
loving fool.
I stood there; truly impotent, hating myself; as dark clouds
gathered over a city just waking up...
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723
Ursula Parkheart, P.I.:
The
Flexing Detective
"The Adventure of the Amorous Amazon"
by
Forrest Curran
(c) WIG, LTD 1994
Chapter Nine:
LadyMuscle Thunderheads! (Cont'd.)
NO!
I couldn't let it end this way. I may not have been blessed
with the bigness that would catch her eye, the muscularity that
would bring her pouting respect, and warm wet needful kisses from
her mouth; or the omnipotent penis that would make her pretty
pussy pulse as she spread her legs wide, revealing a dripping
hungry slit, pink lips wide open, agape as though in shock at
what I was going to slide into her body.
I didn't have any of that. And maybe the closest I would
ever get to her was sitting on the edge of her desk, in my
tailored shorts, merely inhaling her dark musky heaven and making
love to her musclebod with daydreaming eyes.
But I was going to do something to save her life, now!
For once I would be the do-er, instead of the done-to...
"JT!," I heard her sputter and gargle, helpless, naked; her
thick arms free again, and seeming to reach blindly into the room
and find the touch of her loyal secretary, and know safety and
deliverance from impending doom. I saw the bare buttocks, bite
mark plainly apparent on them, and the sculpted globes of flesh
tried to shake themselves free from under the blonde's bulk, and
failed.
I couldn't let her down...
I looked around the office, knowing that Ursula would die if
I didn't do something, and fast. My feet were heavy from fear,
ordered to frozen spectatorship by the cackling muscle-witch not
five feet away, in easy arm's reach; she could lunge, grab me,
strangle me with one hand and never miss a flush, or a dunk...
But I could never live with myself--whether free, or
enslaved by this cruel apparent-conqueror of Parkheart
Investigations--knowing that I had not taken action when my
hardbodied bosslady had needed me most. I closed my eyes; my
body still sore and numbed from my collision-course crash with a
pair of Amazonian knees, and fighting my own cowardice...
Somehow, I called again upon that new-found font of courage
I didn't know I had, until today; a bravery inspired by love, and
fueled by life-and-death necessity...
Moving as though in a mud-footed nightmare, I stumbled and
hopped after something broken and ruined, a casualty of the War
Between the Foxes...
Frantically, I grabbed the framed picture that had once hung
on the wall, and had fallen, shattered, onto the floor during
their battle. I didn't think about what I had to do, I only knew
that Ursula was in trouble. I couldn't see her face, hidden as
it was from my eyes, obscured from view by the narrow doorway and
her porcelain prison; but I clearly saw her strong legs beginning
to truly falter now, as they barely kicked a protest, muscles
growing enfeebled as they were gradually deprived of life-
sustaining oxygen, and Raye-Anne laughed long and hard...
"So long, Hunky-Bitch," a she-demon of naked muscle said in
a sing-song voice, giving her a little hand-wave and flushing the
handle again.
And laughing, again...
But it was a laugh that was to be interrupted by a flying
projectile of sharp metal and broken glass, as the framed picture
of Ursula winning The Ms. Muscular Contest won her one more
prize.
Life.
The picture was sharp and jagged-edged, and found it's mark,
catching Raye-Anne just above the eyebrow and opening a deep
gash. In an instant, blood began flowing wildly across her face,
blinding her. She was cut badly, and tried to wipe the red
current that was beginning to paint her face in a grotesque
smear.
Instantly, her hands were covered as well...
But I wasn't sorry...
For a moment, Ursula did not move at all, even after the
blonde let loose her grip. I thought that perhaps I had found my
courage and ingenuity too late, and that she might already be
dead. But in seconds, Ursula found her senses, and a groggy but
muscle-packed, chiseled leg shot upwards, catching the blonde in
the groin. The wind shot out of the succubus audibly, and,
without her sight, she fell to one side, out of the bathroom,
into the office; where she collapsed with a loud thunk!, nearly
at my feet, as I reeled backwards in rapid retreat.
As she made the ten-foot-voyage, she left a long trail of
blood behind her; a track that led back into the bathroom, and
around the corner, to my recovering love.
I looked down at the naked blonde she-hulk, writhing in pain
from the twin assaults, as an alarming stream of blood ran down
and across her spectacular torso. For a moment, and only a
moment now, she turned her remarkable eyes up to me, the hard
blue still shining strong even as she blinked red blood. There
was a tear of pain that flowed out of the corner of her eye, and
mixed with the sanguine ooze to form a strange testament of her
battle with my boss as it ran down her face.
I suddenly felt a bizarre pity for her, for this muscular,
big-bosomed bad-girl who was down for the count. The incongruity
of this scenario left me numb--barely two hours ago I had been
crawling atop her hard monument to New Womanhood, ready to
promise her anything, and now...
Full of wild anger at the sight of me and what I had done to
her, Raye-Anne came to life as though an electric charge had shot
through her Bronto-Babe Bod, fresh malice juvenating her
instantly. Her hatred hit me like steam heat rising from a
radiator in winter.
My bosslady was still wobbily finding her feet, and could
not save me as Raye-Anne leapt to action. She wrapped the
remnant of her torn tube top across her bleeding forehead with
the speed and grace of an Apache warrior; and just as quickly
grabbed me as I stood there, open-mouthed with shock; and she
lifted me like a toy, and threw me over her shoulder, like a hog
to be taken to slaughter.
So much for pity...!
She locked an arm around the backs of my legs, collected the
tattered remains of her jacket, and ran to the door, oblivious to
her own nudity. She did not know that the secrets that she
wanted--the legal documents that would make her wealthy--were not
inside the jacket, but were secured carefully in my briefs.
I prayed that she did not find them.
The blonde titaness was at her most dangerous now; naked,
adrenalin flowing through tree-trunk limbs hot to the touch,
dripping with an ebbing bloodflow, desperate, and full of sinewy
outrage at Ursula...
And me.
My naked bosslady lurched on unsteady feet and tumbled to
the floor, fighting for her own consciousness now against a
creeping blackness that told the toilet-dunked Dame of Deltoid to
sleep.
But she did not.
As Raye-Anne rounded the corner and ran out to the hallway
with me, I saw Ursula Parkheart pull herself to her spike-heeled
size tens.
And get ready to give chase. I hoped...
In a moment of danger they say that you are given almost
superhuman powers--your strength increasing incrementally, like a
mom who lifts a Buick off her small child--and Raye-Anne
Hallison, six-feet-six in her bare feet and over a hundred and
thirty pounds heavier than myself, now had just that kind of
strength. As we got to the locked steel door that had denied her
freedom before, she merely dropped me to the floor and tensed her
vast heaving bulk into a concentrated bulky singularity for just
a second; before charging like a mad bull.
The door shook; dented mental reflecting the inpact, solid
iron acquiescing, and loosening at it's hinges. On the second
try, it surrendered and fell aside with a crash that boomed
through the tensed silence, conceding superiority to this blonde
superwoman who was more animal that woman now, her thick
muscularity in command, every flexing sinew alive, letting loose
it's primal power upon anything--or anyone--that stood in her
way. It was who she was, and what made her so potent a package
of womanhood that even now, if only for a second, I imagined a
life spent in her cruel voluptuous captivity as something not so
terrible...
Her flesh looked hot; sweat sprang to visibilty in fine
beads on the naked flesh. I wondered what would really happen, if
I surrendered now, and I gave her the documents...
But no, I realized, my mind clearing; I couldn't do that to
Ursula. Or, for that matter, my savings account...!
The Pennsylvania Princess was determined to yet win the day
with her brute brawn if not by her brainpower...
I looked for some sign of Ursula in the hall; but she had
not yet exited her office to try to save her assistant, and her
fortune...
Hurry, Ursula...
Before I could find my own feet and make a get-away (to
where?, I wondered) Raye-Raye had grabbed me and thrown me across
her shoulders again, like a deer she had bagged and was now
carrying home to enjoy. One hand captured my wrists easily; the
other arm locked around my legs at the knee. Raye-Anne, naked
and angry, let out little animal grunts as she held the tattered
denim in her mouth, and carried me like so much sandbag as we
headed for the roof. Her high heels made sharp little
exclamations on the cold concrete steps; they echoed back with
hollow rejoinders.
Why she did not take me downstairs was a mystery for only a
moment.
That was when I remembered that there was an emergency fire
ladder on the side of the building that led down to the dark
alley where Officer Maria (Spanky) dell'Avita had enticed me only
yesterday afternoon. That entire incident now seemed as though
it had taken place in another lifetime...
Raye-Anne raced up the darkened stairway that smelled of old
cleaning fluid overtaken by shadowy neglect. When she got to the
door that led to the roof, she paused only for a moment, before
her powerful foot crashed the door open, and we were out in the
clammy late-morning air, under a gathering grey sky.
She deposited me on the tar roof that still radiated the
collected heat of the vanished sun; it burned, and I rolled
about, trying to prevent a scalding.
She straddled me, standing above; I was held in place by
merely the threat of her iron-clad authority, between her spike-
heeled feet, her legs make-shift prison bars from which there was
no escape. No bail, no pleas, only punishment, swift and sure.
She rummaged the denim fragments of her jacket frantically,
and found the pockets empty. She let out a roar that made my
internal organs vibrate with fear; it seemed to echo off the
concrete canyon of the surrounding buildings, and come back to
terrify me again.
And I looked up and saw that the torn stretch-top tied
around her forehead was sporting a dark red stain that seemed to
be growing...
"You're in a world of trouble, Mouse. I was gonna let you
go after all; once I was clear of that fuckin' slut boss of
yours. Frankly, you ain't worth the trouble," she sneered. "But
I'm not goin' anyplace without that paper."
She reached down for me, grabbing a shank of hair, and re-
hoisted me across her shoulder. I let out a shriek of pain as the
shorn follicles fell at her feet, uprooted by her harsh
treatment.
"Shut up, Skinny-Boy," she commanded me, looking over her
shoulder. "That's the least you're gettin' for that little
frisbee-toss you made downstairs," she related with a sneer.
"You'll pay big-time for that little stunt," she promised,
"maybe we'll just have to pick up some ketchup on the way to the
dock."
White terror clutched me like a vise. She couldn't mean it;
not even she would do that! What use would I be to her if...
Too horrible to continue the thought...
"But maybe your bosslady will think twice about holdin' onto
those papers if she hears your tortured little voice on the
telephone, huh? 'Save me, my great big musclegirlfriend; come
rescue your little boy from the mean lady!', while she hears the
flesh of your ass sizzling from a session with my brandin' iron,
huh?"
I looked back to the blackness of the empty doorway.
It was at that moment that I heard the sound of a high-
heeled one-woman Light Brigade coming to my rescue, her sharp
heels clicking surely, if unevenly, on the stairs, getting louder
and more distinct as her bulging calves propelled her, ever-
closer, to the roof.
"Hurry, Ursula," I silently urged again, as I realized that
if Raye-Anne found the documents that were even now tucked under
the waistband of my green briefs, and rubbing against the back of
her neck as she carried and held me all the while, that she would
have no further use for me. I pictured myself being tossed over
the side, clawing wildly at empty air, screaming a greeting to
death as I plummeted to the ground below.
Oblivious to her own nudity, or maybe just too proud of her
magnificent body to give a damn, Raye-Anne was making a run with
her hostage for the fire ladder, whose two rusted handles
extended up several feet up from the hot black-tar surface.
Carrying me as she descended would pose no problem for the mighty
strength of the blonde Herculess. I hoped...
Dark clouds convened in noisy conference overhead, and a low
rumble of thunder rang through the belligerent sky. I thought I
saw a brief flash of lightning streak over the city...
"Hold it, Ms. Hallison," came a familiar voice from behind
us. It was Ursula, with her bottom-bared and biceps-so-big; in
the excitement of the moment, her accent took over, and 'Ms.'
came out very much like 'Meez.'
She was standing in the doorway, and as she stepped out onto
the blacktop, she was met by waves of heat that rose from the
sun-baked surface like a dangerous skillet.
Raye-Anne spun around. We were standing very near the edge
of the old building, and for a second I could see all the way
down the moss-grown narrow canyon that separated the two
structures from each other. It was dark and cool; air rushed up
in a gentle current from between them, and even though I knew it
ended several floors down, it's floor seemed bottomless and
never-ending and yawned back at me, ready to pull me down to meet
hard unfeeling concrete death. I swallowed my horror like a
schoolboy, and forcibly restrained a whimper.
If I was going to die, at least it would be done as a man;
tight-lipped and in a good cause.
Ursula was on her feet, and held the retreived bazooka-
handgun in a wobbly, unsteady hand. Her hair was plastered down
around the crown of her head, where it had been submerged beneath
the waterline of the toilet. She bore the impression of the
porcelain rim on her chest, where she had been pushed hard
against it; it stood out in an wrathful red crescent across her
breasts.
Her pink-panty had vanished, and she only now took notice;
only tell-tale toothmarks on her behind could tell her how. She
was stark naked, just like the blonde lady-behemoth before her;
chiseled ladyflesh bare and coiled with layers of sculpted power,
mixing with her catlike grace to create an image of primitive
barbarian beauty.
And the two mega-muscle ladies stood there, in bare-assed
and spike-heeled confrontation on the hot sagging oven of a roof
atop the old building, unmoving; my fate was in their hands as I
lay like a stolen prize across the blonde's wide heaving
shoulders.
We stood in a strange, frozen tableau for some time, until a
third woman spoke up now, and made her presence known. Maybe the
natural world really had taken notice after all, when the
ultraviolet spotlight had been thrown upon the ladies downstairs;
because this voice that added itself to the fray now truly was
all-woman, the First Woman, and it was making itself apparent at
last, as though to raise the ante of the impending MuscleChick
Melee, upon which the curtain was rising, ever slowly, every
surely...
This woman contained more power, more muscle, and more size
than either of these two perfect Lady Warriors, and they almost
forgot each other for a second as they looked skyward as Mother
Nature made her statement.
The sky opened up. It began to rain in hard big droplets
that almost stung as they fell on your skin, and made little
popping sounds on the tar surface.
The rain was warm, as though it had been held high in the
clouds for a long time, warmed and released only now, to bath the
bodies of the terminally-big as they prepared to confront the
perpetually-pumped.
Steam began to rise from the rapidly-cooling tar-top surface
like an English Fog, other-worldly here, surreal.
Raye-Anne, fearless and with nothing to lose, picked me up
like a matchstick from her shoulders, and held me by the wrist.
She swung me over the edge, and suspended me far above the
ground. I groaned in horror and fear, and felt her grip on my
wrist slip as we were pelted by the stinging droplets of the
driving picnic-wrecker-rain.
I was afraid that her blood-loss, combined with the ever-
slickening rainfall, would make her grip unsure, and...
"Get back or your little lover-boy goes over the side, "
Raye-Anne ordered the approaching detective.
Ursula obeyed, moving backwards to the door in long careful
steps, her senses alive now, as she glanced to the left and right
for a possible aid to her predicament. And mine...
"I want that paper, you muscle-bound bitch," the blonde
pronounced, above the battering downpour.
"I want it, or he sprouts wings," she repeated, swinging me
just a bit to make her point and prove she was not kidding.
My feet swung like a rag-doll's; I looked down at the rain-
slicked pavement and felt white cemetery-fear shoot through me
every bit as hard as the two spankings I had received in the last
two days, or the brutal Cowgirl ride I had taken on her knee.
I felt an ill wind whip up, sending a chill through my
saturated skin that set my teeth to chatter...
I knew I had to take the chance.
"I h-have it, ma'am, " I admitted, with a choking voice full
of dread, spitting out the insistent rain that poured into my
open mouth. I swallowed a mouthful without realizing...
Raye-Anne's head spun, and her ice-blue gaze went to the
fear-shrunkened crotch of my briefs. The folded paper's outlines
were visible now, the camouflage of my erection now vanished. Her
eyes went wide, and she grinned like a hungry she-wolf again, her
hair, too, now soaked and plastered to her skull; droplets
running off her nose like a leaky faucet, dripping steadily.
The blood was careening down her skin, too; cleansed by the
heavy downpour, and ran down her sun-browned hard and harsh flesh
like a thousand wandering streams across a rocky river basin,
little freeways of sanguinity entwining her long legs; and
collected in a puddle around her feet. She swung me back,
letting me fall before her on the still-misting surface, never
taking her eyes off Ursula, who, though she held a gun, did not
hold the cards...
I was placed between her thighs as she crouched low, a small
waterfall careening down onto my shaking body from the ultra-
sized blonde above me as we hunkered in the rain; she ran her
hand under the waistband of my brief swimsuit and rummaged with
an angry hand, like someone ransacking a dresser drawer for a
pair of socks.
She grabbed a hold of my limp penis, pushing it out of the
way as though it was an annoyance, and little else, as her hands
searched for her ticket to riches.
The document was there, alright, but the driving rain had
reduced it to a sopping sheet that was starting to come apart
even as she pulled it out.
With the speed of a cobra, she pushed my head neatly between
the two huge thighs and began to squeeze.
"Look, Ursula," she taunted, as the sound of a subway train
rattled in my brain, "I can crack open his head like a watermelon
if I want to. They say that some secretaries are brainless; try
me and we can see if he has anything between those jug-ears of
his. I'll split open his skull, and it'll probably be empty,
won't it,?" she conjectured, increasing the pressure.
"But I'm bettin' you don't want to find out, do ya? Put
down the gun and back away, slutcakes. Now!," she ordered. As
though to help convince her opponent, she began squeezing all the
more now, harder and harder, her legs like the jaws of a great
white shark; my brain shrieked and I was surrounded by darkness
as my vision clouded, both with her thick flesh, and the pain
caused by the hard, unforgiving bear-trap thighs. Rain fell
again into my open mouth as I mutely screamed.
I felt my consciousness ebbing away, my limbs numbing,
refusing the messages my brain was sending them as they lay
motionless.
I knew all-too-well the scent of her oh-so-deadly vagina; a
weapon of love and death as it dripped with the heavy rainfall.
It was a powerful scent, but one that held nothing but musky fear
for me, now...
I heard the rain pounding upon the blacktop; it reminded me
of the sound of bacon frying in a pan...
That was when I remembered once again what Ursula had taught
me.
I went limp as a piece of that fatty pork, again; as though
I had died, or collapsed; passed-out form the massive pressure
upon my cranium.
And Raye-Anne loosened her vise-like grip.
Through the brown thighs, and the slits of my all-but-closed
eyes, I saw Ursula standing naked in the doorway, her huge
shoulders filling the portal as she backed through it, framed in
black shadow. Wind-swept rain was dripping along it's course on
steeply-sculpted muscle, down from the big breasts onto the wet
black surface; and her hair was a flat black coil of snakes
wrapped around her neck and torso. Her eyes were alert and sharp
and she seemed ready to spring into action at the first chance.
Her softball-bicep was twitching involuntarily, springing to life
every other second; the way it always did when she was tense...
Laying in a misty puddle of new rainfall, some thirty feet
away, and separated from me by the two Lady-Behemoths, was the
big cannon-gun; a simple answer to all our problems, if only I
could get to it...
Thinking I was unconscious, Raye-Anne grabbed me and pulled
me up to a sitting position, prepared to heave me over her
shoulder, and use me to cover her get-away, as the onerous rain
came down in sheets...
"Don't worry, Gumshoe Gal," Raye-Anne taunted her. "I won't
take away your little lover here, not permanently," she assured
her. "I'll leave him somewhere safe where you can pick him up in
an hour or so. Oh, sure; I'll fuck him once or twice, just to
ruin him for you. But you can have him back. Personally, I
wouldn't let this guy wash my panties for me, but what the hell?
Anyway, by the time you get him back, he'll be too exhausted to
do anything but whimper my name; and by then I'll be sure this
document is in the right hands...for good!," she declared.
She waved the soggy sheet just inches over my head.
There was a loud rumble of thunder; the kind that makes you
jump just a bit until you remember what it is; and the rain
hissed it's anger upon us, unrelenting...
That's when I took my chance. I sprung to life, and grabbed
at it with a weak hand amidst a flash of jagged lightning.
The sheet tore neatly in two, soundlessly, the water-soaked
fibers giving way easily, to a soundtrack-score of thundercrash.
One-half of the document fell soggily to the surface with a wet
plop!. I grabbed it as it landed with a speed I did not know I
had, and tossed it with all my might at Ursula before rolling
quickly away from the blonde behemoth.
I did not doubt that if she had the chance, she would have
killed me then and there.
But she didn't have the chance, and she looked up to see
Ursula coming for her like a pouncing tigress, in the driving
rain.
The two naked and muscular giantesses locked arms in spike-
heeled big-muscled battle once again, as Raye-Anne tried
desperately to hold onto her half of the torn sheet and fight
Ursula at the same time. Their huge arms grabbed at each other's
naked flesh, as though trying to tear their respective muscles--
the very essence of their bodies--away from it's bone and
cartilage; but the rain had reduced traction to nothing, and
their grips kept slipping away. The super-sized ladies grunted
and cursed and began exchanging crunching blows in the warm rain,
sending fine spray flying as the fist hit home...
And the two She-Beasts, their shapely bodies full of
mounding lady-muscle and without an ounce of fat, kept pummeling
away at each other in a battle that seemed transported from
another time. I had all the tapes; Karla Nelsen facing off
against Thea Bennington, Nicole Bass clashing with a taut-muscled
Dorothy Herndon.
I watched them all, loved them; with one hand on the remote,
and the other, well...
But they weren't real.
Real was dangerous.
Real was deadly.
Real was now...
"Just wait," the flaxen one threatened, when they had pushed
each other off for a moment, to circle like hungry tigresses
before closing for the kill, "when I'm finished with you, you'll
be nothing but an old cripple. I'll shave your head and brand
you, too, lady. I'll carve the muscle right off your ass and feed
it to your little boy over there," she sneered, aiming a thumb at
me...
"And I'll buy the whole fucking building and take your
office over, and use it to slap your little boyfriend around,
just for laughs. Or maybe I'll throw him out the window, instead
of you."
"Talk's cheap, blondie," Ursula reminded her, her voice a
rough crashing sea full oc challenge, and slapping the thick meat
of her upper arms with her hands as the warm water ran off her
hard nipples, like leaky faucets...
They continued to pace, heaving hard bulk above the carved
nothingness of their waists--those tiny canals that transported
power up and down, to thick hemispheres, through highways of
raging vein, super-conductors of female power-paths, endless in
flow. Round and round in the warm rain they went, seeking
vulnerability; predatory creatures both, with much to fight for,
much to defend. There would be no rain-outs today. Ballgames
might be canceled, and picnics put off 'til tomorrow, but this
fight was going to go on until one of them couldn't walk.
Or breathe.
"...Muscle talks. Bullsheet walks. Don' you agreee?,"
Ursula asked her, her voice full of latin toughness.
She was really something...
"Fuck you," came the response.
The country-girl charged like a magnificent blonde cavalry
unto herself...
I thought for just a second of the wild catfights depicted
in L-H Art; these women could match the size and fury of the
biggest of his eye-popping creations. The scene was in every way
reminiscent of Elie Xyr's infamous "Mareva" colliding head-on
with the perpetually-pumped "Ms. Fancy Bigthighs"; for such was
the stunning musculature voluptousness displayed here.
Perhaps, millennia ago, two such women faced each other in
deadly combat. Not for money, or possession of several sheets of
legalese that many people considered to be the same thing; but
for food, or a campfire, a warm place to sleep.
Or for a man whom they both desired to keep as their own, to
tend their offspring in accordance to their Well-Muscled
Matriarchy.
I wondered now if I would be going home with the winner
after all; if there would be anything left of either, victor or
vanquished...
A sudden rush of wind-squall lifted hair made heavy with
rain, snapping it back for seconds at a time, making me shiver.
But the ladies, their blood heated by rage, their flesh
warmed by Amazonian ire, did not feel it...
Raye-Anne swooped low and grabbed a discarded metal stick,
long-gone red-brown with rust, and sharp-pointed where a joining
piece of metal had been torn away. She wielded it wildly as she
charged at Ursula, swinging it in long horizontal lunges that
made my Bosslady jump back quickly, this way and that, the knife-
edge barely missing the bouncing blurs that were her breasts;
which flung about as though made of rubber, always half-a-second
behind their owner, flapping into odd configurations before they
caught up with the desperate dance and assumed their rightful
place on her chest; only to begin their frantic chase again...
Raye-Anne lunged unexpectedly, coming within a millimeter of
severing one of the hard fingerish nipples that stood like
beacons on the jiggling chest.
How these two women maintained their balance in their
punishing, mile-high heels was beyond me...
Ursula timed the stick-wielding lunges with a musician's
rhythm and a careful eye; dove for the blonde when she saw the
chance, pouncing like a cat; and she knocked the stick out of
enemy hands with a hard karate-kick, nearly losing her shoe--her
only covering--in the process. I watched it roll away, clanking
along, down the gently-pitched decline of the roof.
Breast collided and compressed against breast; nipples poked
and stabbed their counter-part's own; thuds could be heard as the
quarter-ton of Muscle-Women took out it's rage upon itself.
Their skins were uniformly sun-browned, uniformly developed
into mega-muscled womanhood; several times, as they tussled,
limbs again intertwined and intersected, and again, only their
contrasting hair-coloring allowed me to differentiate between
them, as the muscle contorted and merged into one writhing ball
of wet feline fury.
The massively-muscled ladies duked it out; persistent proud
muscle fueling their frantic punches, enabling their rage;
counterparts in a counter-culture revolution that was coming,
just around the corner of an unsuspecting world.
Larger than most men, and more muscular, as well; these two
women nevertheless were no less female than at this moment. It
was as if they had taken that internal strength for which their
sex was so famous--the vitality of a woman as she braves her pain
to give birth, or a mother as she fights ferociously for her
cubs--and had applied it to their outsides; wearing their
strength and vigor as a brawny badge for all the world to see.
Water ran in little falls off their respective bodies; I
wondered if it could be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac for
guys like me...
I stood on the sidelines, numb to the stinging rain as it
pelted my bare skin; watching like Lois Lane always would when
the inevitable rumble would take place on the last two pages of
the comic strip. I knew it was a sad commentary on my manhood,
what little of it remained. But muscle ruled this day, and it
belonged to the women...
They were exchanging awesome blows that sent deep grunts
from the pits of their stomachs; lady-like it wasn't...
Awesome it was...
The only thing most women ever exchanged were catty words,
unkindly spoken behind someone's back; or an outfit bought on
sale, two sizes two small, that had defeated their binge-and-
purge fitness-routine attempts to cram their sagging assets into
it; the thought of weight-lifting, for them, was excruciatingly
dull and mundane..
What fools those women be!
But these two red-hot hunks of fiery female flexin' were
slugging it out wildly; circling and darting and springing like
coiled Queen-Cobra-snakes before connecting at 14,400 with a wet
sloppy crunch, sending spray flying off their bodies. In between
their mad-bull charges, they cursed at each other; Ursula
responded to the chest-heaving charges of "Bitch!" and "Whore!"
and "Cunt-Rag!" with curses of her own; sultry guttural
condemnations in hot-blooded Spanish, full of sensual hatred,
from deep wells of bruising enmity, blue eyes at full blast.
She had never spoken Spanish before now; at least, not
around me. It was a side of her I had not yet seen, 'til now; it
was as though, as she dug deep into her very essence to find the
strength to continue the battle, her past, her childhood, her
proud heritage, came to the forefront; rushing supplementary
power to the sinewy engine of her body, to fuel truck-stopping
punches that were being shaken off by her awesome counterpart,
who just kept coming...
I shrunk in fear, but rooted with all I had for my bosslady,
who was drawing on those batteries now, primal pathways of her
inmost self, to fight a foe every bit her equal. For every moment
in her life when she had pumped a barbell, and felt a lava-rush
of blood to aid the straining swollen sinews, and stood posing in
frank admiration for herself after, enjoying her own immense
reflection; there was now a moment of truth.
It was here.
I heard a crunching sound, as Ursula swung a roundhouse
punch and connected with Raye-Anne's perfect little upturned
nose; the cartilage all-but-collapsed from the ferocity of the
blow, skewering the neat nostrils until they were turned at a
sickening angle. Blood poured out in a visible burst; but Raye-
Anne, who had no time to bleed, merely ripped a small piece of
her bandanna off, and stuck it up the mutilated orifice. She let
out a wincing little cry of pain as she touched the crushed
flesh; but it did not slow her down. Even as the telltale
bloodflow dripped off her forearms, she charged her foe again,
letting an Amazon-Rebel Yell burst forth from her guts.
Ursula had been standing aside during the patch-up, her
hands on her knees, breathing hard, breasts hanging tired,
exhaustion creeping in, and grateful for a cessation to the
hostilities, however temporary.
Now, as the raging-bull of a country-gal came for her yet
again, there was a look of vague astonishment clouding her strong
features as they ran with the afterflow of the Baptist Downpour.
I think that she had expected the cowgirl to beg off after that
crushing shot, and head for an emergency room and a plastic
surgeon, in that order.
But mad-women don't play by the rules.
Ursula straightened, prepared to receive the shrieking
ladyhulk assault. I moved, to stand directly behind her; mindful
of the low-ledged roof, worried...
I watched her mile-wide back tense again, the preserve of
animal muscle rising to the skin, as it had downstairs.
She was prepared to receive the charge...
It's true that Ursula Parkheart was every bit as developed
as Raye-Anne Hallison.
Where a bicep bulged on one, so it did on the other. Where
a delt showed itself huge and carved on one lady, or a slab of
abdominal showed it's rock-ridged elegance for all the world to
see on the first, so was it met by it's counter-part; the blonde
and the brunette, buxom, big and deadly, in a winner-take-all
battle on the blacktopped-roof in a driving downpour.
In fact, I could not help picturing in my mind's eye, the
ultimate pose-down routine between the two super-statuesque she-
brutes as they went one-on-one before a wildly approving crowd,
their sinews popping almost as much as their bountiful breasts,
as their tops fell away and men caught their awed breath...
But the fact was, the bandanna-wearing blonde had several
inches and perhaps two dozen pounds on my bosslady. Sure, it was
like complaining that Niagara Falls isn't as spectacular as
Victoria Falls is; and that, therefore, the force of it's white-
water rapids was superior, one over the other; but the small
difference in the size of these women, coupled with their nearly
ten years difference in age, slowly took it's toll on The Flexing
Detective.
Youth, and perhaps madness, was prevailing...
A flash of lightning caught a moment, when Raye-Anne
connected savagely with Ursula's chin; her face was frozen in the
white light as a grotesque and painful mask that vanished as
quickly as did the lightning.
But it stayed on my mind, burned into my retinas as a sight
of horror. Had Ursula met her match? And if she had, what would
happen to me? Would I be stolen away, to a life of slavery under
the sharply spike-heeled feet of the Heartlessly Hard-Muscled Ms.
Hallison?
Spanked, branded, caged; and at night, fucked in ferocious
ways I did not want to recall; fed to a she-wolf...
Their bodies were obeying elemental commands, instinct
really, to continue fighting in the Noah's Ark-Rain when common
sense said to take flight. Their breasts no longer sat proud and
erect upon on their pectorals; now they flopped wildly, this way
and that, recipients of neutron-busting blows that made the
glands wobble and shake like a boxer's punching bag, and I
wondered what would happen if one of those beautiful testaments
to womanhood would burst...
On and on, the two pumped-up predators fought to the death.
Hair had gone heavy with the downpour, and fell over rain-blurred
eyes, blinding them for seconds at a time, even as they kept on
swinging jackhammer fists. The blonde's long fingernails raked
across Ursula's abdomen, and left four parallel nail-tracks, red
and stark against Ursula's brown skin.
How the sinews displayed themselves on their bodies! But
with each body-blow, Ursula seemed to recover just a little bit
slower. Raye-Anne, for her part, did not slow down a tick,
despite her shattered probiscus. Yet because of the slippery
conditions created by the deluge, neither had struck the telling
blow, the one that would dictate the flow of the fight, until...
I saw the tattered remains of the document; shards really,
nothing more, as she held them in a tightly-clenched fist.
It was held in a fist that came down hard now, very hard,
upon the side of Ursula's head.
And she went down quickly, in a small avalanche of dark-
haired, hard-bodied exhaustion.
She landed in a puddle, face-down and unmoving, accompanied
by a clasp of exploding thunder.
Defeated.
But her opponent wasn't in the mood for drownings now.
Instead, a white flash of lightning shot down from a black
hopeless sky, and showed the blonde standing over the Insensate
Vanquished in mad, laughing victory; her hair a water-plastered
helmet whose long trailing ends wrapped around her thick neck and
kitchen-table shoulders like a steroidal Medusa. Now the sheet
of blonde glory was caught up, for all it's water-logged
weightiness, in the wind that blustered across the city skyline;
as though that howling gale meant to level whatever chose to
oppose it's resolution, and try to remain standing.
The conqueror ignored nature, bent low, and slid a hand full
of battle-broken fingernails beneath the bared buttocks of the
downed opponent. Her fingers fished around in Ursula's nether
regions as casually as she had in mine, just hours ago.
Presently, she began to raise the stunned detective off the
blacktop. At first, I did not understand how she accomplished
this. But then, I recalled Raye-Anne's love of raunchy jokes;
the one about why women have vaginas located so close to their
assholes...
I had never cared for that joke, but obviously the big
blonde did, because now she was doing just that to Ursula
Parkheart, and laughing all the while. She had inserted two
fingers into her vagina, and a thumb deeply into her asshole.
And, with slow, crane-like sureness, she was lifting her
like a two hundred and thirty-five pound six-pack.
And she was more than ready to put her on ice!
All this while, I had been cornered, near the ledge of the
rooftop. Cowering, too, I suppose.
Ursula returned from whatever emptiness she had briefly
visited; recovering from her collapse under the blonde's blows
only by the shriek of distress that now shot forth from her
private parts. Her face contorted in pain; only the slick
rainfall lubricated her orifices, and so prevented the fingers of
her enemy from tearing away at her womanhood.
"Hey, Bikini-Boy," Ms. Hallison taunted at me in victory,
her voice unfamiliar, distorted by the broken nose. She spat
waterfall as she corralled the black rope of Ursula's hair with
her free hand, to pull it hard, like a horse's reigns.
"It looks like I turned your girlfriend into a handy 'n
portable container! Stay right there and watch the show, Mousie,"
she laughed, even as blood ran down her cheeks, and my bosslady's
neck craned back in pain. She let out a rain-soaked yell, but a
crash of thunder overwhelmed any sound she might have made, and
rendered it a mute and animalistic thing...
She began walking with her, under an unrelenting sky,
ignoring the persistently-pushing hands of the incensed winds
that blew blonde blankets of hair over her smashed and swollen
face, and tried to sweep her from her determined feet...
But Raye-Anne Hallison--bloodied, bent, or otherwise--was
apparently not a woman who would allow herself to be swept off
her spike-heels, in any sense of the word; by neither man, woman,
nor force of nature.
Cries of pain now cascaded from the dark-haired beauty she
was towing about by the genitals; sounds of torture all-to-clear,
chilling to my ears.
Ursula attempted to find a footing underneath her; her
shapely ass wriggling in an attempt to find the angle that would
win her freedom from the blonde, like a shark as it struggled on
a hook...
But Raye-Anne didn't give her the chance; humiliating her
before my eyes as profoundly as she had me, in full view of a
hundred pairs of mute doll-eyes in her little-girl bedroom.
She pulled upon her hair with violent tugs, only adding to
the excruciating pain my Brunette Goddess must have felt. Her
arms tried, but could not reach her persecutor above her.
Ursula called out for help.
"JT!," she howled, at one with the wind, unable to see where
I was standing.
She was The Woman I Loved, even if she didn't have the sense
to realize how much, and how deep, was my ardor for her. Not
just her magnificent super-woman's body; but her survivor's heart
and her Warrior Queen's soul as she fought for right in the hard-
bitten city, never faltering to catch a crook or miss a session
in the gym..
But heck, what could I do? The gun was gone; or had it's
dark lines merely blended into the background of the wet rooftop,
in cruel camouflage from my near-sighted eyes when I needed it
most?!
A flash of guilt shot through me as I caught a quick glimpse
of a grimy heart carved into the black-tar roof, near my naked
feet. I had put it there last summer, on a love-sick lunch-break
after listening to Ursula tell me all about her new lover, her
now-future husband.
I had retreated up here to entreat the goddesses above for
assistance in winning her heart, and had paused long enough in my
prayers to carve "J.T.L. & U.V.P." neatly in the center of the
amorous symbol, as though in a pagan offering.
It hadn't done me any good...
But all along, as the three mortals played their parts on
the old rooftop, that sly singular third-party-candidate must
have been looking down from above all along. Not content to
merely make her voice heard, and pour her handiwork down upon us,
she decided to flex a little herself.
Perhaps she had a favorite in this fight-to-the-death
between two evolved specimens of femininity; perhaps these two
precursors to the burgeoning New Woman had an appreciative
audience in Mother Nature as she watched the fight from invisible
heights above...
Whatever the reason, a flash of lightning now crackled and
descended from the stormy black skies, striking the old
building's aerial as it teetered in the wind on the corner of the
rooftop. It lit up like a sparkler, white and orange and bright
red, amidst furious, sharp-smelling sparks, before groaning,
teetering slowly, and falling over the side of the brick
embankment, to the street below, stopping Raye-Anne in her
tracks.
And meanwhile, as though somehow strangely rejuvenated by
the electric gift from another, older, Goddess, Ursula's neck
snapped upright, her eyes afire with a strange red glow.
Like some pumped-up Lady Popeye, her vigor and energy were
instantly returned. Her muscles fairly flowed with new life, the
new energy palpable. And she was suddenly ten years younger,
unscathed by the battle; and so, she took another try at the
SkyCap from Hell, as she slowly carried her to the ledge, to
deliver her to Death On A Very Short Flight...
She grabbed the calve of the blonde, and pulled it off it's
balance. The two gladiatrix's teetered and swayed, and they hit
the deck once again, making a pronounced splash as they crash-
landed in the puddle-pool that pinged and popped with falling
raindrops as though it was a boiling cauldron.
But this time youth wasn't everything. Experience was a
Lady with something going for her, too. Ursula hit her shoulder
and rolled gracefully, even as Raye-Anne awkwardly hit the
blacktop with a thud! And this time, when she found her feet
again, Ursula had long since had a chance to catch her breath.
MuscleBossLady was ready for more. She was flexing her
thick physique, standing naked and proud on spike heels, every
sinew alive, flowing with womanly vitality. I saw her in profile
against the skyline of the city, as though it was her own private
kingdom, with her as the Queen Protector, as she stood below evil
clouds that fast-forwarded in the wind, like time-lapsed wonders.
She was breathing hard and daring Raye-Raye to come for her.
And she did.
Squinting, I spotted the Dirty Harry Special now as it was
illuminated in a quick flash from a stormy, riotous sky above...
I saw my chance. There was just enough time to make a bold
move; I streaked over to where the gun lay, just feet from the
doorway.
I grabbed the wet pistol and pulled it from the puddle,
never taking my eyes off the violent, magnificent duo as their
sinew collided again, in furious little charges and retreats.
Womanly grunts filled the air, punctuated by flesh slamming into
flesh as the two she-hulks traded blows that would stun a horse.
Raye-Anne stood with her back to me until Ursula managed to
spin her around with a diving shove.
And give me a clear target to aim at...
"Shoot, JT, shoot!," Ursula ordered me with a frantic,
straining voice I had never heard before, as she lay on the
blacktop, winded from the crash-landing, exhaustion taking her
energies, sapping her strength.
Raye-Anne had been spun off-balance, her breasts flopping
like seals; and was an easy target as she wobbled, naked and
bleeding under the late-morning deluge.
I wasn't sure how long I had paused there, frozen and
saturated in the downpour myself, paralyzed by fear and numbed by
stinging rain and shock, reeling from scenes past, as the sinews
of the two ultra-muscular women had flexed and commenced again to
battle, in ugly, yet wonderful spike-heeled combat.
It was the only time in my life when such superbly-built
ladies would inspire anything but lust and longing and five-pound
erections in my heart and in my loins...
And the beautifully-naked masterpiece that was Raye-Anne
stood there, her chest heaving, boldly daring me with her ice-
arctic eyes to do what I had been told, if I was man enough...
Finally, after seconds that felt like hours, I obeyed my
Bosslady. The barrel of the gun was aimed and pointed straight
at where the blonde's heart would have been, if she had one.
I pulled the trigger of the ten-pound firearm, turning away
from the loud expected boom!, and the coming mule-of-a-kick-back
that went with it.
But I heard nothing but a dead metallic click.
The gun had been immersed for too long in the puddle, and
the gunpowder rendered inert. A look of relief crossed the
hateful, battle-ragged face, now grown pale with blood-loss, the
nose a plugged, blood-spattered wreck; but she was not weakening,
at least, not enough. My eyes stung with the raindrops,
blurring my vision, and I looked up from the muted firearm just
in time to see a horrific sight through the watery veil.
She was coming for ME, now...
Her wicked laugh resounded as she began to approach.
She stalked me slowly; Ursula was still down, her face a
pained and unfamiliar mask, as she fought her magnificent body,
commanding it to rise one more time. She rose, fell, collapsed in
a puddle...
Raye-Anne had time now, time to torture me, and she did it
with long, long steps that were all the same very, very slow; she
placed one foot directly in front of the other, giving her hips a
wild vampish gyration as she approached, flexing cannonball arms
at her sides. Her eyes were shining brightly above that wrecked
nose; her headband had all but turned red. But she would keep
coming...
I backed up, mindful of the limited runway behind me, and
the hard wet canyon that lay just beyond the low wall.
I glanced over my shoulder, to ascertain how much room I had
before I ran out of luck...
When I looked back, everything had changed.
An exhausted Ursula had sprung to life again, maybe for the
last time, and moved quickly to intercept the approach of her
enemy as she neared her faithful assistant. She darted across my
field of vision like a big brown blur, and grabbed and held her
in a desperate half-tackle that did not bring her down...
The two gigantically-muscular lady bodybuilders tangled once
again, furious with each other that her foe had not been
vanquished after all this brutal battling...
Blinded by anger and frustration, they swung at each other
wildly, at arm's length; like exhausted prize-fighters with no
saving-by-the-bell...
They lost their footing moments later.
They teetered and tussled together in a punch-drunk tango,
veering this way and that, locked together in steel-trap arms,
too exhausted to continue, too proud to stop. Raye-Anne now held
only a tiny remnant of the now-pathetic document in one clenched
fist; but this was about more than money now, or a case, or a
small man in a swimsuit whom one lady called a secretary; the
other, a sex-slave.
And neither one was able to release her powerful grasp upon
her foe long enough to find a safe handhold on the nearby
ladder's rain-slickened railing as they had veered towards it,
then past it; carried by their own unstoppabale momentum, their
pythonesque arms each entwined around the other; arms and legs
refusing to give up their holds even now, as they scrambled for
too-lost balance in a frenzy, amid steady shouts, under a curtain
of unforgiving rain.
And before they or I could respond to their plight, the two
pumped-up ladies---the world's biggest bosslady-brunette and the
most-muscular blonde bitch to ever strap on a bikini and lay
poolside---tumbled head-first over the building's low ledge;
their perfect bared asses disappearing as they commenced a
horrible fall, locked in each other's thick muscles and dressed
only in high-heels, snarling and screaming together as they
rushed to meet a harsh death seven stories down.
It had taken my bosslady to sweep the blonde she-beast off
her feet at last, after howling winds and teeming rain had tried,
and failed, to bring her down. And in doing so, she very
possibly had saved me from a fate worse than death...
But it would cost my hot-flexing Goddess-In-A-G-string
dearly; it would cost her...
Everything...
I called Ursula's name in an anguished shout as I ran to the
building's edge, begging the fates to re-wind the horrible,
sickening dance of death that had just been enacted before me...
And Mother Nature looked on, remote, detached, invisible;
the grief she felt upon her warriors' deaths made her tears
cascade to earth in a fresh onslaught of warm rain...
FROM THE AMAZONS ARENA BBS 702-243-7723