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