Alex - Changes Episode 7, Part 1
by Muscle Fan
A fictional work of domination, muscle worship and brutality by Muscle Fan


covert.1@hotmail.com

My name is Alex and I'm a dominatrix; a dominatrix that is big, powerful and
always in control, but there is something going on in my life, something that
is hard for me to explain.

Robbie, my slave, calls me insatiable, and that may be true, after all our
sexual sessions last three or four hours. I've trained him and Olivia, my
other slave and housemate, the art of making sex last. It takes practice and
self-control. The three of us find fulfillment in domination, or at least me
dominating them.

Domination is part of it, but it's more the humiliation and brutality that is
of concern to me and changes in my life. This is a glimpse of what I am going
through.

I work out a lot, hours in fact, lifting heavy weights, making sure that I
don't cheat, getting all of my repetitions sets in, and focusing on my form. I
don't rush my work outs. The same may be said about my on-line video; I focus
on pleasing my audience, delivering feats of strength, domination or
humiliation of slaves, or simply muscle worship.

I was leaving a meeting with the company that produces and distributes my
videos. Their company is in a suite with offices in front and a warehouse in
the back where the master video is copied and then shipped. It's one of many
in an office complex.

"So," Ray, the manager said, "That about wraps it up, mistress." I stood up,
as did the rest of those gathered around the conference table. We had
discussed shipping, orders, merchandising, production, etc. and I was quite
pleased. Besides Ray and me, Connie and Bill were also there. Connie is the
front office girl and Bill is in charge of production and shipping. Bill is a
devoted female muscle fan and Ray is in to humiliation, though few people knew
this. Connie, I could tell, was simply intimidated by me, something that
amused me.

"Thank you, Ray," I said, and then stepping next to Connie who took a step
backwards bumping into Bill, "Could you show me to the ladies room?" I knew
where it was but I couldn't resist intimidating the secretary just a little
more. "Ah, sure, mistress," she replied, "it's this way." I knew she was
uncomfortable even calling me 'mistress', but she followed Bill and Ray's
lead.

I walked down a short corridor trailing Connie. I watched her hips move,
encased in a tight skirt. Connie is five foot, eight inches and attractive in
a plain sort of way. Today she had on a tight skirt, simple white cotton
blouse and high heel pumps.

She opened the door and stepped aside. "This is it," she said. I turned
sideways to step past her and halted only inches from her. "Hmm," I said,
sniffing her short blonde hair, "that smells good." Unsure of what to say, I
said, "Your shampoo or conditioner, it smells good." "Ah, thank you,
mistress," she said, looking up at me. I chuckled and put a finger under her
chin, and asked, "Do I intimidate you, Connie?" I knew I did.

She didn't answer at first, no doubt weighing whether to be truthful or not.
Finally, she said, "Ye-yes," and then added, "a little." I laughed and said,
"Good; thank you for being honest," and then stepped into the bathroom. She
still had her hand on the door knob when I turned and asked, "Would you like
to watch?" "Ah, err, no, that's OK," she stammered finally pulling the door
shut behind her.

As I stepped into the foyer, I stopped at Connie's desk and said, "If you ever
want to explore what you're too afraid to confront, let me know. I'd love to
help you break out of your shell." She looked at me, blinking several times
before saying, "Thank you, mistress, I will." I hesitated a moment and then
turned away from her desk and stepped into the sunshine.

I was still thinking of Connie and was on my way to my car when I heard a
whistle. I turned. "Hey, baby, you're looking hot," a young man in a car said.
I smiled and stepped between two parked cars and leaned down to look in the
open passenger window. "Hi," I said, "Do you really think I look hot?"

I was wearing a leather mini-skirt, silk blouse and my ankle boots. "Uh-huh,"
he replied. I knew he was looking at my tits as my blouse hung open. I smiled
and opened the door and got in. "What's your name," I asked. He scooted back
in his seat sitting up a little straighter. "Ah, Frank," he said, not
expecting me to have gotten into the car. "Hi, Frank," I said, extending my
hand, "I'm Mistress Alex." Frank looked at me a moment before taking my
extended hand, undoubtedly wonder what I meant by 'Mistress Alex'. We shook
hands and I wanted to crush his, but had a better idea.

"What are you doing here, Frank," I asked. "Um, I just got off work," he said,
pointing to an office nearby. "Heading home, then," I asked. He nodded. "Wife,
kids," I asked. Again, Frank hesitated before saying softly, "No." "Hmm," I
said, "then let's go."

"Wh-what, where?" he asked. "Your place," I said, "of course. You want to have
a little fun, don't you? That's why you whistled at me, right?" "Ah, I guess,"
he said, but not sounding sure. I sat there a moment before saying, "Well,
let's go then." Frank started the car and backed out of the space.

He pulled into a motel parking lot a few minutes later. "Is this where you
live, Frank," I asked. "Yes," he said, "temporarily." I nodded and he pulled
into a space in front of unit number sixteen. As I got out of the car, Frank
was putting the key into the lock of unit sixteen. I looked around; no one was
watching. 'Good,' I thought as I made my way to the open door.

It was an old motel, a queen size bed dominating the room, a sink and a closet
at the back end of the unit in front of what I was sure was the bathroom and
tub. A small table with two chairs sat just to the left of the door. I closed
the door and silently through the deadbolt.

"You're just here temporarily, Frank?" I asked as I unbuttoned my blouse. He
looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. "Ye-yes, Mistress Alex,"
he said. "Frank," I said, lying my blouse on one of the chairs by the door,
"You know I'm a dominatrix, don't you?" He didn't say anything but turned to
face me. "A what?" he asked. "A dominatrix, do you know what that is?" I
asked. He shook his head and I chuckled, "Well, I discipline men and women,
sometimes I humiliate them, but they all get off on me doing that. I get off
on doing that. Do you want to get off, Frank," I asked stepping closer to him.
His eyes were riveted to my chest.

Wordlessly he nodded and I said, "Good, now take off your clothes, Frank." He
hesitated and I said, "Take them off or I'll take them off," and I held my arm
up flexing my bicep, "either way is fine with me." I watched as Frank
swallowed hard but began unbuckling his belt.

I walked around the room and looked in the bathroom; toilet and tub as I had
suspected. The closet had an assortment of pants and shirts as well as a
folded ironing board, an iron on the shelf above the clothing. There was a
small suitcase on the shelf. 'Frank doesn't have much,' I thought.

He stood there in only his boxer shorts as I stepped in front of him. I smiled
at him and he tried smiling back. I reached behind me and unzipped my leather
skirt and stepped out of it and tossed it on the chair with my blouse.

"What do you think, Frank," I asked standing in front of him with my hands on
my hips, feet spread slightly, "do you like what you see?" "You, you're
fantastic," he said. "Thank you, baby, now why don't you take off those
boxers," I said. His penis made a small 'tent' in the front of his underwear.
As he stepped out of them, I let out a sigh. His erect penis was no bigger
than my thumb. Disappointed, I said, "Your cock is small, baby, Mistress Alex
is use to a little more meat." He frowned and studied the floor.

I strode to him and he backed away, the back of his legs coming into contact
with the bed. I threw a short jab to his gut, doubling him over driving the
air from him. With a hand on his shoulder I pushed him and he fell back on the
bed. I got on the bed and straddling his face, lowered my pussy until it
covered his mouth. Frank wreathed beneath me trying to deliver some air to his
oxygen deprived lungs. "Hmm," I said, "That's it; I love to feel a man
squirming beneath my pussy. That's turning me on." I moved my hips back and
forth in rhythm with his squirming. Frank was nearly spent, but I was just
getting started.

Frank was limp when I stepped from the bed, his breathing shallow. 'He never
stood a chance,' I thought looking down at him, 'It's a shame; I'll have to
have Robbie take care of me when I get home, but what to do with Frank?'

I rolled Frank onto the floor, his body hitting the carpet with a thud. He
didn't even try to break his fall. I sat on the edge of the bed and taking a
handful of his hair, pulled his head between my muscular thighs. The feel of
the back of his head against my pussy was making my clit hard. I began to
slowly squeeze his head, exerting more and more pressure. I knew it was like a
vise closing on his skull.

"Hmm," I said with a little more effort and I was rewarded with a soft crack.
I increased the pressure and noted there was more 'give' to his head. 'I
fractured his skull,' I thought with some satisfaction.

I stood up and picked Frank up. His head lolled as I put and arm under his
knees and under his back. I carried him to the bathroom and place him in the
tub. I adjusted the water and stepped in between his legs. Working up a nice
lather, I scrubbed my body, allowing my fingers to linger as I played with my
clit. Rinsing under the hot shower, I turned off the water and wiped down the
faucet.

Going back into the room, I wiped down everything I had touched, finally
toweling myself off. I got dressed and taking his keys and the motel towel,
went back to his car and drove back to the office park, which was now nearly
deserted. I parked next to my car and then wiped down the inside of his car
with the towel. I took the towel with me when I was convinced I had not left
any fingerprints.

I had just picked up and killed a man but had no remorse. Something was
happening to me, but I wasn't sure what it was. The thought that crept into my
head as I drove home was; 'I wish it would have lasted longer, I killed him
too quickly.'

Robbie and Liv were in the kitchen when I got home. "Would you like something
to eat, mistress," Olivia asked as I walked in. "No thanks, Liv," I said, "but
I'm glad you're both here. I just killed a man." They looked from me to one
another and then back to me. "Who," Robbie asked. "I don't know," I said, "all
I know is his name was Frank. I crushed his skull." "What happened," Olivia
asked. "I was leaving the production office and he whistled at me," I told
them, "so I went to his hotel room and killed him." "Just like that?" Robbie
asked. "Not exactly," I said, "I was going to have sex with him but, well,"
"He was too small," Liv asked, finishing my sentence. "Yes," I said, "He was
too small and I got carried away and crushed his skull." "With what," Robbie
asked. "I crushed his skull between my legs," I said, "it was so easy."
"Uh-huh," he said, "Do you think you left any evidence behind?" I shook my
head. "No, I don't think so," I said, "I wiped everything down and drove back
to the office complex and wiped the car down then came straight here."

"Oh, that's terrible," Liv said. I looked at her and then to Robbie. "But
that's just it," I said, "I don't feel any remorse, in fact; I wish it would
have taken longer. It was almost as satisfying as sex." Again, Liv and Robbie
exchanged looks. "Maybe you need to talk to someone," Robbie said, "we have
several excellent psychiatrists on staff at the hospital; I could get you in
to see one of them." "I don't know," I said, "let me think about it, right now
I need you two to satisfy me, come on."

Robbie and Olivia obediently followed me to my bedroom. I undressed and lay on
the bedspread with Olivia cradled in crook of my arm. While Robbie teased my
pussy, Liv teased my nipples. We pleasured each other well into the night. It
was past midnight when both Liv and Robbie fell asleep in my arms.

The next morning, Liv had one of the news channels on the TV in the kitchen.
The body of a man had been found in a motel in Santa Ana. The newscaster said
that it appeared the man had been beaten to death and that police are asking
for the public's help.

"I didn't beat him to death," I told Liv, "I simply crushed his ribs and then
his skull." Olivia nodded, but I could tell that it was a minor point to her.
"You're not afraid of me are you, baby?" I asked stepping behind her and
holding her close to my body. She put her head back against my chest and said,
"No mistress, but I'm concerned that you may get caught and go to jail; have
you given any thought about what Robbie said, seeing someone?" "I have but if
I talk to one of his psychiatrist friends, he'll report the whole thing to the
police and besides, it will expose Robbie and his lifestyle," I said, and then
added, "Our lifestyle. I'm not sure I want the spotlight on us. I'll talk to
Robbie tonight but today I need to go see Emily and pick up a few things."

Emily is a seamstress that works for a movie studio but also has a small shop
not far from us. I had come to meet Emily because she was having an affair
with a movie star. The stars wife had asked me to tell Emily to break things
off. I, in turn, had broken one of Emily's fingers as a warning.

"Hello, Emily," I said, walking in the back door of her shop. She was at the
front counter with another customer, an older woman with short black hair.
"Hello, mistress," Emily said, turning to me, "I'll just be a minute." I saw
the woman's eyes go to Emily questioningly as she turned back to her. I walked
past the layout table and the bolts of fabric to where Emily and the woman
were. The woman kept glancing at me.

"That will do it Mrs. Martin," Emily said, "Enjoy the party." Mrs. Martin
looked at me from head to toe. "What!" I said sternly. The woman flinched but
said, "Who are you?" I hesitated looking at the woman. She wore a pair of dove
gray pants with a black satin blouse. 'Stylish,' I thought. "I'm Mistress
Alex," I said, "Who are you?" "Jennifer Martin," she said, "Are you a
bodybuilder?" I laughed. "No, bodybuilders appear to be strong," I said, "but
they're not, I'm a dominatrix." She seemed to consider this and then said, "Do
you make house calls?" I laughed once more, and said, "I could come by your
house if that's what you're asking, do you want me to spank you, humiliate you
or just act out your fantasy?" She looked from me to Emily and then back to me
and said, "I'd rather speak to you in person," and removed a card from her
handbag, "Please call me." She turned and left before I could ask anything
else.

I looked at the card Jennifer Martin had handed me, dove gray with black
embossed script. 'Jennifer Martin, Certified Sexual Therapist', it read with a
lot of letters after her name. It gave a telephone number only, no address.

"A sex therapist," I asked Emily, "has she been a client of yours long?" Emily
smiled. "About two years now, mistress, Emily said, "I have your leggings and
tops on the rack." She walked to a clothes rack and selected a half dozen
pairs of leggings and four blouses. "You've outdone yourself, Em," I said, as
she laid the clothing on the counter. "It's my pleasure, mistress," Emily
said.

The front door opened and a heavy set woman with grey hair waddled in. "Hello,
Mrs. Romero," Emily said. The woman stopped a few feet into the shop, looking
at me, her mouth open slightly. I smiled and said, "It looks like you're
pretty busy, Emily, I'll be going." I gathered up the hangers with my clothes
on them. I smiled and hugged Emily, kissing her full lips, exploring her mouth
with my tongue all the while watching the elderly woman watch us.

Mrs. Romero had a look on her face like she smelled something bad and it
almost made me laugh. "Is your finger alright?" I asked, stepping away from
Emily. "Oh, yes, mistress," Emily said, holding her hand up and flexing her
fingers including the one I broke, "Good as new." "Good, I'm glad I only broke
one," I said. "Me too," Emily said, and laughed.

I turned and headed for the back door, carrying my new outfits. Outside, in
the small parking lot, I was hanging the clothes in the backseat of the car
when I noticed a man peeing on the wall. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?" I
said as I approached him. He turned, still urinating, the stream making an arc
from the wall to the pavement.

"What does it look like I'm doing, riding a bike?" he asked, and laughed at
his own joke. He held his penis between thumb and forefinger, and I noticed it
was several inches long. As I watched, he stopped peeing, shook it twice, and
put his cock back into his pants, zipping up his fly.

"You're just jealous because men can pee anywhere," he said as he turned to
walk down the alley. I laughed and said, "Watch this," and pulled my leggings
down to mid-thigh; held my clit between thumb and forefinger and sent a stream
of pee arcing towards the man. He quickly jumped clear of the stream of urine.
"Hey, bitch, watch it," he said. I stopped and then stepped towards him.

"What did you say?" I asked. The man was a half foot shorter than I but didn't
lack courage, although I suspected his judgement might have been clouded by
alcohol. "You almost got my shoe wet," he said. "Uh-huh," I said, taking hold
of his shoulders and finished peeing, this time directly on his shoe. "Bitch!"
he said.

I pulled my leggings up and then delivered an upper cut to his jaw. His knees
buckled and he fell to his knees and then head first to the pavement. I
quickly glanced around. The alley was desserted, so I dragged his body behind
a parked car.

I knelt beside the man and raised his head, placing his neck in the crook of
my elbow. I flexed my bicep slowly and watched as his neck snapped. 'Too
quick,' I thought, 'too easy.' The entire killing took less than a minute.

I stood up and saw a pickup truck across the alley. It looked like it hadn't
run for years, and was sitting on flat tires. I lifted the dead man by his
belt and carried him across the alley to the far side of the truck. The bed of
the truck was littered with car parts and rags. I picked up a rag and going to
the front bumper, lifted the front of the truck using the rag so that I didn't
leave fingerprints. I lifted the front about three-feet off the ground and let
it drop, the flat tire and wheel landing on the dead man's chest. 'Hopefully,
that will look like an accident,' I thought.

Driving home, I thought, 'I have to be careful. It's just too easy to kill
people. I've been letting my emotions get the better of me.'

To be continued ...